I'm coming back from an 11-day holiday break with a clear head, an open heart, and a renewed sense of purpose. I feel ready to reconnect with my work, the families I support, and the path ahead. After experiencing the deep benefits of truly disconnecting, I went ahead and blocked off my next week of rest in the calendar. Knowing it’s there gives me something to look forward to, while helping me take on the workload ahead with more clarity, energy, and the mindset I want to bring into everything I do.

It’s funny to me that even though I teach the importance of disconnect, after all, sleep is the ultimate form of it, I still find myself needing to focus on and prioritize this lesson again and again. I’ve always valued disconnect, both when my children were little and now that they’re older. Back then, just knowing I’d have time at the end of the day to clean up, have dinner with my partner, move my body, sit in silence, or go to bed early was enough to carry me through. It didn’t matter what that time looked like. What mattered was that it was mine and that I had hit the "off" button. That simple act of protecting space for myself fueled my ability to connect fully with my children. Without it, I can’t imagine how I would have had the strength to face another day, one where I was giving endlessly to my children, my home, my husband, my extended family, and my work. How can we keep giving with love and intention if we don’t regularly refuel ourselves? Giving only feels like giving when it comes from a place of fullness.

Honoring connection, both with our children and with ourselves, is a core pillar of my sleep practice. Everything I teach is built around fostering a healthy, balanced connection. And yet, the most common challenge I see is not a lack of connection, but the absence of intentionally disconnecting. Either we don’t recognize the need for it, or we’re so afraid of losing the connection that we stay stuck in it, and end up feeling resentful.

Think about how often you’ve felt uncomfortable telling a friend you need to leave or that you can’t meet for coffee. Instead of speaking up, you override your need to set a boundary and stay in connection, while quietly building up uncomfortable feelings. This same dynamic shows up around sleep. We give and give to strengthen our bond with our children, but then hesitate to step back. We’re afraid to leave the room, worried our child won’t be able to handle it. So we stay stuck in the connection, wishing the discomfort would pass on its own.

But what if moments of intentionally disconnecting are actually what protect and preserve our connection? Let’s look at what a healthy connection really means and how practicing disconnect can support it.

Now that my children are a bit older and more self-sufficient, I have many more opportunities to refuel myself. I’m no longer responsible for every moment of their day, and that space has allowed me to gradually and intentionally take on more work. I feel deeply privileged to be in this phase, expanding beyond the one-on-one coaching I’ve offered for nearly two decades to reach a wider audience. My new website, the comprehensive online course, the monthly blog, weekly YouTube videos, the Quiet Nights Community, and now the launch of my social media presence are all new and exciting directions I’ve stepped into.

And while this growth brings a lot of joy and purpose, I’ve also noticed something else. I wake up early, full of energy and butterflies, excited for the day ahead… but somewhere along the way, I started to lose touch with my own disconnect.

Over the past stretch, I’ve found myself feeling overwhelmed, burnt out, and even a little defeated. The work never seems to end; there’s always another space to show up in, another idea to work on. Even when I’m “off” for the day, my mind keeps running: planning, thinking, imagining the next exciting thing.

What I’ve come to realize is that I’m now running more than just a family system or a one-on-one sleep coaching practice. I’m stewarding a growing online platform that reaches and supports families in many different ways. And honoring my need for disconnect in this new context takes just as much clarity and courage as it did when my children were little. It means putting myself first (which is still hard every single time), checking in regularly, and daring to carve out space where I can truly turn off the noise. My mind runs fast, and if I want to show up with intention, I need to intentionally slow it down and put focus on myself.

And for those of you parenting and caregiving, don’t forget that you’re modeling this too. When you take care of yourself, especially when things feel tough or busy, you’re showing your family that you matter. You’re teaching that when we refuel ourselves, we have so much more to give when we return to connection.

It almost feels absurd that I’m facing this challenge within my own sleep practice. I’ve always considered myself a kind of “master of disconnect.” As a young mom, I was so intentional with my time, fully present when I was with my children, and then able to truly enjoy the “off mode” once they were asleep. Even when they were babies, I’d soak in those quiet moments during naps.

I remember my girls requesting one more story or another round of chills on their backs. And I could lovingly reassure them: We’ll have more of that in the morning. But now, it’s time for sleep. It wasn’t always easy to say, but I knew it was necessary, for them and for me. 

When I create a pause or set a boundary, I always anchor my child in the next connection, whether it’s our morning routine or another familiar moment they can count on. That simple act gives them something to hold onto, making the disconnect feel safer and more tolerable. It’s a quiet rhythm I return to often: by naming the next connection, we give our children a bridge that helps them ease into the space in between.

The truth is, we’re all human, doing our best to move through this thing called life. We’re intentional, until we’re not. We stay on our game until something sweeps us off our feet and we lose our sense of balance. Often, it’s only when we feel stretched too thin that we realize we’ve gone off course.

Those moments of overwhelm, exhaustion, or frustration aren’t failures; they’re invitations. They gently remind us to pause and check in: How am I really doing? Is my tank full enough for what’s ahead? Is the pace I’m keeping sustainable? Can I breathe here? Or am I running on fumes?

If the answer is yes to that last question, then it’s time for something to shift. Most likely, it’s time for a pause. A breath. A disconnect. Not as an escape, but as a way to preserve the relationship both with our loved ones and, most importantly, with ourselves.

That shift will look different for each of us, depending on the season of life we’re in, what our days demand, and how we’re feeling within ourselves. So I invite you to join me in bringing more awareness to our opportunities for disconnect, especially in the spaces that ask the most of us. When you sense that a connection has naturally come to a close, dare to name it. Reinforce it with kindness, knowing that in the space that follows, there is room to refuel.

I’d love to hear from you. How do you honor your need for a disconnect? Do you feel confident in setting that boundary, or does it still feel uncomfortable?

If you want to dive deeper into what a healthy connection really looks like, including how to navigate the delicate dance between closeness and boundaries, I teach this in depth inside the "Thriving Relationships" module of my online course.
Explore the full course here → Quiet Nights Digital Course