The Myth of Infinite Capacity ♾️

Hey there healers,

Last week, I shared a bit about losing my dad unexpectedly last month and how much it disrupted not only my personal life, but my rhythms, routines, and relationship with practice itself.

One thing I became acutely aware of through all of it was this:

• Everything suddenly felt heavier to carry.
• Answering emails felt heavier.
• Making decisions felt heavier.
• Small talk felt heavier.
• Even deciding what to eat some days felt heavier.

And I think part of what caught me off guard was realizing how many invisible things actually support my ability to function well day to day.

• My workouts.
• My routines.
• My usual schedule.
• Sleeping in my own bed.
• Knowing what my week looks like.
• Cooking familiar meals.
• The predictability of my normal life.

These little rhythms don’t seem particularly profound until they suddenly disappear.
And when they do, you realize how much energy they were giving back to you behind the scenes.

I think as practitioners, we often expect ourselves to continue operating at full capacity no matter what’s happening personally. Almost as if it's our duty.

We’re so used to being the reliable one. The calm one. The capable one. The one holding everything together.

But difficult seasons have a way of exposing the myth of infinite capacity.

At first, I kept trying to operate as though nothing had changed. 

But CAPACITY is a real thing. 

Capacity is your ability to care for yourself while still being able to show up to your commitments in a regulated and balanced way.

Basically, how well can you maintain your own mind-body-soul health and balance while being capable of performing the tasks, roles and responsibilities in your life.

Losing a parent somewhat unexpectedly with all the legal, financial, emotional and spiritual changes it ushers in?

This was more than I'm used to carrying. 
This was beyond my typical capacity.
And that requires a catching up and a recalibration.

I think I'm likely not alone to feel uncomfortable when operating from a place of reduced capacity because it can really feel like a personal failure.
If we’re more tired than usual, less focused, more emotional, less productive, less socially available → we immediately assume something is wrong with us.

And that is honestly one of the most bizzare things I experienced:

feeling like I WAS A FAILURE in the aftermath of my dad's passing. 

The number of patients I'd easily see in any given day felt like pushing a boulder uphill in crocs 😣 and then feeling so utterly exhausted going home that I'd see the gym and keep driving...

But sometimes nothing is wrong with you and it's not failure at all.
Sometimes you are simply carrying grief.
Or stress.
Or uncertainty.
Or caregiving.
Or heartbreak.
Or exhaustion.

Of course things feel heavier when life itself is heavier.
What surprised me most over these past few weeks was realizing how quickly I softened once I stopped trying to perform at my “normal.”

Simpler meals. 
Simpler treatments.
Less pressure.
More space.
More naps.
More honesty for where I was genuinely at. 

Just adjusting honestly to the season I was in instead of fighting it every step of the way.

Being beyond your capacity is kind of like showing up to a snow storm in flip flops and summer shorts: you CAN do it but this season requires boots, jackets and pants if you're going to feel comfortable and thriving this season.

You likely can't control the season, but you can control how you engage with it.

Strangely enough, it made me reflect on my patients differently too.

🤔 How many people are walking into our offices every day trying desperately to function at a level their current life circumstances simply don’t support?

🤔 How many people secretly believe they should still be operating at full capacity while carrying enormous emotional weight?

I think difficult seasons reveal something really important: sustainability isn’t about performing perfectly all the time.

It’s about building a life and practice with enough space to be human when life inevitably becomes complicated.

Because hard seasons will come.
Loss will come.
Change will come.
Unexpected things will happen.

And maybe the goal isn’t asking ourselves, “How do I force myself back to normal as quickly as possible?”

Maybe the better question is:
What would support look like in this season?

Hit reply and tell me what that would look like to you.

Geneviève 🌿