When the Guilt Lifted

and the freedom felt paralyzing

I never realized how much guilt I carried about my work until the guilt was gone.

Maybe I noticed it a little. I mean, every time I did anything as a mom, my inner critic warned me that I should be doing something else. If I played with the kids, I should be cleaning the house. If I cleaned the house, I should be writing. If I were writing, I should be playing with the kids.

It was an incessant, insidious cycle. Always the whisper of, “You’re doing the wrong thing.”

But there was another kind of guilt too—a quieter, more specific one. A guilt for working at all. For doing anything other than focusing on the kids.

I guess I grew accustomed to it, because if you had asked me on any given day if I felt guilty for slipping into my office to record a podcast or coach a writer or write an essay, I would have told you no.

That is, until recently, when I sat down at my desk and began to work guilt-free.

It’s like having a power-outage in your home. What you previously perceived as “silence” was actually the humming of all the various appliance motors. Then, when your fridge and furnace suddenly go dark, stark silence replaces the hum…reveals the hum.

The humming guilt I felt about working while I had kids at home was like that–background noise that I misinterpreted as silence. I thought that I had successfully reconciled what often felt like competing holy callings: Motherhood and Ministry.

From October 1997, when I gave birth to my first child, until August 2025, when I dropped my youngest off at college, my primary calling was Motherhood. I worked during those years—leading ministries, writing books, coaching women, producing hundreds of podcast episodes—but whenever my work and my children competed for my time and attention, I always chose my children. Sometimes joyfully. Sometimes not. But consistently, for the last 28 years, I set aside my work to prioritize my kids.

But now, as I enter this new season of having all adult children—one of them now married—my primary responsibility of raising them is largely complete. I know my role as Mom is far from over, but the day-to-day responsibility of decision-making and caregiving has shifted from my shoulders onto theirs. As it should.

And with that shift comes something unexpected: the guilt has lifted.

When my priorities moved from parenting to calling, so did my permission. The humming stopped. For the first time in my life, I feel complete freedom to prioritize my calling as a writer—not because I’m neglecting my children, but because they no longer need me in the same way.

With this newfound freedom, I expected to feel all, “YAY! I can pour myself into my work now!”

And I do.

What I didn’t expect was how unsteady that freedom would feel.

As the Fall progressed and I moved into the new year, all this freedom felt paralyzing. I had the time, but I lacked the structure to steward it well.

Freedom without structure, I am learning, is its own kind of chaos.

This free-for-all schedule is unsettling. Exhilarating, yes, but also disorienting. I sit down at 9 am with basically Everything I’ve Ever Wanted To Do set before me. Then I look up at 2 pm, having accomplished little more than organizing my various email inboxes. Then I do a load of laundry and rearrange the bookshelves. I’m afraid that old familiar guilt will start creeping back in—only now it will be guilt for wasting the freedom I’d longed for.

I don’t need motivation. I need a structure that honors this new season.

I recently wrote an essay, Finding My Footing in a Year of Upheaval, where I explained my obsession with John 15 and the metaphor of The Vine and the branches. I explained how a grapevine cannot flourish without structure, so the Vinedresser builds a trellis and attaches the vine to it. The trellis lifts the vine off the ground, allowing light and air to reach every cluster, protecting the fruit, and giving the branch a backbone.

I shared how I was desperately searching for my new trellis–new rhythms, systems, and routines–to hold me steady while everything in my life is shifting. This search–it’s an ongoing process. I’m trying to redefine my days, set some parameters, and establish boundaries.

And so, I’m composing a Rule of Life

What is a Rule of Life?

Maybe the word “rule” sounds like an odd choice of words. Rules are restrictive, inflexible, and burdensome, right? I mean, with all this new-found free time, who wants more rules?

(Okay, me. I want more rules. 🙋‍♀️ I am a certified Rule Follower. I am the weirdo who approaches the giant “POOL RULES” board and reads the entire thing–Can we bring food in here? Is a lifeguard on duty? What is the maximum pool capacity? I must know the rules! I realize this is not normal.)

But this is not what a “Rule” of Life is.

The Latin word we translate as “rule” was originally the word for a trellis in a vineyard.

Rule = Trellis!

👀

(Is anyone else loving this as much as I am right now? Anyone?)

A Rule of Life is a structure–a trellis–designed to support our lives so that we can abide in the True Vine.

Creating my own Rule of Life has been both freeing and terrifying. I mean, what would I commit to now that no one else’s schedule was dictating mine? How would I both protect my calling from overcommitment and prevent my days from slipping through my fingers? How do I make space for everything important to me and honor God with my time in this season?

After much prayer and several drafts, here is what is emerging (it’s still a work in progress as I learn to walk this out through a daily schedule):

My Rule of Life

Morning

I begin each day grounded in prayer and Scripture, giving Jesus my first and best attention.

I care for my body with daily movement, using that time to listen, reflect, and stay connected to others without urgency.

Work

I do my most important writing early in the week and early in the day, protecting deep, focused time for the work to which I am called.

I engage with others—through coaching, community, and communication—within clear and intentional windows, refusing to be ruled by notifications or distractions.

I make space for ongoing learning and growth, approaching both with intention so that I can better lead the women entrusted to me.

I build margin and flexibility into my workdays to accommodate the unexpected.

I ruthlessly eliminate hurry from my life.

I end each workday by planning for the next day, closing my office, and taking a walk outside, releasing what remains unfinished.

Evening

I move at a restful pace in the evenings, prioritizing my family, nourishing my body, caring for my home, and reading.

Weekly

I practice fasting and restraint to remind myself that I am not my own; I am bought with a price. God is my sustainer.

I enter Sabbath with intention—at the beach when possible—allowing rest, joy, and attentiveness to restore me so I can approach the next work week with clarity and peace.

When I fall short of these commitments, I return to Jesus with humility, receive His mercy, and begin again without shame or guilt.

I’m sharing my Rule of Life not as a template to copy, but as an example of what’s possible when you choose to structure your life around what matters most in your current season. Maybe you’re still in the thick of competing demands, working through the hum of guilt. Or maybe, like me, you’ve found yourself suddenly free but unmoored.

Either way, a trellis–a Rule of Life–can hold you steady.

If you’re thinking, I could use some help building my trellis, I’d love to walk with you.

Beginning January 15, I’m leading The Abide Sessions—a spiritual formation membership for women who want to live with deeper roots, steadier rhythms, and less hurry.

If that sounds like what you need right now, I’d love for you to join us.

Wherever this finds you, may you have grace for the season you’re in and courage to build the trellis you need.

Love,

Sandy

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