Three years ago, I decided to write a book.

At the time, it felt like an inspired decision: I wanted to share my experiences of going through burnout, to consolidate the lessons I was offering my clients, and to create something that could reach a wider audience than I ever could through one-on-one visits alone.

I pictured how it would feel to hold the finished book in my hands. To see it out in the world. To feel that sense of completion and contribution.

But first, I had to get the thing written.

That was the first real hurdle, learning to love the process itself. Every writer knows this. There has been much said by minds greater than mine about the importance of showing up for the work and making space for the inspiration to strike. Motivation follows routine, not the other way around. One of my favorite books on the topic is Big Magic by Elizabeth Gilbert. 

Every morning at 5:30 am, I sat down for 30 to 60 minutes and wrote. I did this for six weeks straight. A big part of what kept me going was the group of other writers I met with regularly. We motivated each other and held each other accountable.

In that short, focused burst, I got about 80% of the manuscript done.

And then I lost momentum.

The book wasn’t finished, and it wasn’t out in the world, so the promise of having a published book felt just as far away as it had the day I started. My process sputtered out.

Nine months later, with the help of a great editor and some hard deadlines, I picked it back up. Another sprint. Another season of recommitting to the process over the promise. This time, I crossed the finish line and self-published.

That first week was fantastic! We sold over 1,000 copies.

I was elated. All the effort had been worth it!

And then a drop-off (of course, it was inevitable) 

Sales slowed. Attention moved on. And I was left with the same realization that every creator, every clinician, every entrepreneur eventually comes to: selling a book, promoting a course, managing a practice, showing up for work—none of it is a one-time effort. It’s a never-ending process.

Just like Sisyphus and his stone, this is the life.

The promise is always out there on the horizon. But the process—that’s the part we actually get to keep.

I’m learning this lesson over and over again.

Now I’m practicing falling in love with new processes: posting on social media, making reels, talking about my work, and finding ways to teach meaningfully in a 60-second world.

There are plenty of days when I catch myself thinking, Can’t we just go back to when it was easy?

But the truth is, it never was. That was always a story we told ourselves. Maybe it worked for a little while. Maybe it felt comforting. But sooner or later, reality reminds us that the outcome was never really in our control.

It’s so human to be attached to the promise. To believe that if we could just reach the finish line, we’d feel safe, validated, fulfilled.

And it’s so human to suffer when that promise moves or evaporates or refuses to satisfy us the way we hoped it would.

Paradox in action, baby.

So, what do I do to keep myself anchored in the process mindset?

Here are four things that help:

1. Meditation.
   A daily practice that trains me to notice when my mind is spinning out into the future and gently bring it back to what’s here now.

2. Studying texts and teachers who remind me why this matters.
   I read and re-read wisdom traditions that teach about non-attachment, effort, and the deeper purpose of our work. If you have a favorite text, pick it up. If you don't, maybe The Phoenix Blueprint  has the wisdom you need 😉 

3. Caring for my brain and body.
   Sleep, movement, nutrition. Simple stuff but so important to give me the capacity to notice when I’m stuck and reset instead of spiraling.

4. Good community.
   People who will lovingly remind me that the promise was never the point. This is what we do inside HVA. 

If you’re in a season where the results feel slow, where the promise feels far away, I want to say: I see you.

It doesn’t mean you’re doing it wrong.

It means you’re doing the work.

And if you can, try to fall in love with the process.

Because that’s the part you get to keep.