Meeting The Manager:

How I Discovered the Part of Me That Was Running (and Ruining) My Life

A year ago, I was drowning in my own good intentions. I had all the right things, the perfect plans, the endless mental lists of what-ifs to prevent. I was the mother who anticipated every need, scheduled every moment, carried the invisible weight of managing everyone's comfort and happiness. I thought this was love. I thought this was responsibility. I thought this was what good mothers do.

I was wrong.

The Woman in the Flowing Dress

There's a version of myself that lives in my imagination—barefoot, wearing a flowing dress, radiating joy and presence. For the longest time, I dismissed her as unrealistic, impractical, even irresponsible. How could someone so carefree possibly raise children well? How could someone who dances in rain and follows her impulses manage the serious business of family life?

But this summer, something shifted. In a moment of pure spontaneity, I found myself running into the ocean with my four-year-old daughter, both of us fully clothed, laughing and shrieking with delight. No towels, no backup clothes, no plan for what came after. Just pure, unadulterated joy.

That night, as we got to bed thirty minutes late—fed, warm, and glowing from our adventure— I realised how happy my daughter had been in that moment.

Not when I'd planned the perfect day. Not when I'd anticipated every need and prevented every discomfort. But when I'd thrown caution to the wind and chosen presence over planning.

That's when I first noticed her. The Manager.

The Discovery

The Manager is the part of me that's been running my life for years without me even realizing it. She's the voice that needs to plan everything, schedule every moment, decide exact times for everything. She's the one asking endless what-ifs: What if I get wet? What if the children get hungry? What if this? What if that?

She's always resisting the present moment when it doesn't match her perfect plan. She's been quietly shutting down my impulses to actually live life, convincing me that spontaneity equals irresponsibility, that good mothers don't let their children get uncomfortable, even for a moment.

I started seeing her everywhere—in my mental rehearsals of conversations before they happened, in my inability to leave the house without seventeen backup plans, in my constant scanning for potential problems to prevent, in the toning down of my genuine joy to fit in. She wasn't malicious; she genuinely thought she was keeping my family safe, keeping me loved, keeping me approved of.

But she was also keeping me from actually living.

The Pattern

When I became a mother, The Manager went into overdrive. Suddenly there were two little lives depending on me, and she convinced me that love meant anticipating their every need, preventing their every discomfort, managing their every experience. I became a stage manager in my own family's play—orchestrating everything from the sidelines but never actually being present for the story unfolding.

The first six months after my second daughter's birth were the hardest of my life. I was trying to perform motherhood perfectly while completely overwhelmed. I had all the right things, all the proper schedules, all the anticipated solutions—and I was drowning. More importantly, I felt a disconnect from my children in ways I couldn't even articulate.

It felt like I was doing everything around them instead of with them.

The Awakening

The shift began when I fully started to see myself beneath The Managers stifling "protection". That ocean moment with my daughter felt like coming home and being alive. I got to really feel what it was like to choose joy over fear, presence over planning, trust over control and see the magic of the moment unfold. It was the catalyst even if it took a couple more weeks before I began to see The Manager clearly. It was like seeing a layer I could choose to shed with every decision I made. I started noticing what she would say or do in any given moment, and then I began choosing differently.

I choose to dance in the rain. To let my children get muddy. To skinny dip in the ocean. To trust that things work out and that I am capable of solving problems as they arise, in the present moment.

There is such joy now, bubbling up from a place inside me that I'd forgotten existed.

This isn't about becoming someone new. This is about remembering someone I have always been. This is about trusting that I am a good mother—not because I manage everything perfectly, but because I love deeply and show up fully.

I've started to see that children don't need perfect mothers; they need present ones. They don't need us to prevent every discomfort; they need us to trust their resilience. They don't need us to manage their happiness; they need us to model what authentic joy looks like.

The Choice

Every day now, I have a choice: Will I listen to The Manager, with her endless planning and worry and need for control? Or will I listen to the woman with the flowing dress, who knows that life is meant to be lived with reverence and joy and trust?

Most days, I am aware enough to choose her. To choose curiosity over control, presence over planning, connection over management. I want to look back at my life and see that I used every breath I had here on this earth connecting deeply, seeing beauty and being in love with living life.

The Manager is still there, she still whispers her what-ifs and shoulds. But now I recognize her voice. I thank her for trying to keep us safe, and then I choose differently.

I choose the present moment. I choose trust. I choose joy. I choose to remember who I've always been. I choose to live life instead of managing it.

What would change in your life if you could identify your own "Manager"? What version of yourself have you been keeping hidden beneath the need to plan and control and manage?