You Are The Magic Wand

"Empowerment is being aware that there is no one to blame for my choices and actions; that I have a personal choice and responsibility for my life.” — Steve Maraboli

We were on our weekly Zoom call—no cameras, just voices floating through the ether. These calls have become our rhythm now: part catch-up, part accountability check, and somehow always grounding. Most weeks we hang up feeling lighter, more focused. A little less alone in the mess of it all.

But that day was different. The tone shifted.

She said it with this tired laugh. Not defeated exactly, but heavy. Like something had been weighing on her for weeks and just happened to slip out:

"If only we had a magic wand..."

I went quiet.

There was something in her voice that caught me—wistful, maybe? Not sad, just… stretched thin. Like she was holding so much more than she wanted to say. And, dang, I felt it too. That quiet craving for ease, for something to make it all less damn complicated.

I've spent almost six years as a certified life coach and nearly a decade in UX research. Some wonder if I get tired of asking questions. Honestly? I love it. I've learned to listen not just for what's said, but for the hesitations, the sighs, the words people choose when they think no one's really paying attention. My job isn't to give advice  —  it's to reflect. To hold up the mirror and gently ask: is this belief still serving you?

And before I could stop myself, I said —

"But aren't we all our own magic wand?"

It tumbled out before I fully knew what I meant. But once the words landed between us, they stuck.

Because yeah, we want ease. We desperately crave that spark that makes everything lighter, faster, clearer. That fantasy where one wave of the wand makes it all feel doable again. God knows I've wished for that magic more times than I can count.

But what if the magic we're looking for isn't out there "somewhere?"

What if it's already in our hands—quiet, steady, just waiting to be used?

This question lingered with me long after our call ended. It wasn't the first time I'd encountered this idea, either. I remember when my mentor first suggested this concept to me years ago. I laughed it off. Magic wands were for fairy tales and Hollywood endings. Real life was messy and complicated. Real life required hustle and sacrifice and saying yes even when your body was screaming no.

At least that's what I told myself.

“The most common way people give up their power is by thinking they don’t have any.” — Alice Walker

Let me be clear: this isn't some shiny story with a perfect takeaway. I haven't mastered this—not by a long shot. I still catch myself saying yes way too much. Still reach for the overwork, the overthinking, that identity that whispers being capable means saying yes to everything. Just last week I took on three new projects when I'd promised myself I would slow down. Old habits die hard, you know?

The fascinating thing? I wasn't saying yes just out of guilt or obligation. It ran deeper—more ingrained than that.

I said yes because I truly believed I was supposed to. Saying No didn't cross my mind. Because I was asked. Because I could. Because somewhere along the line, I bought into this belief that if I didn't do it, everything might just fall apart.

This pattern wasn't limited to my professional life, either. It seeped into every corner of my existence. And I didn't just say yes to other people.

I said Yes to overanalyzing — what if I miss something critical?

I said yes to over-processing — what if I don't show up fully present?

I said yes to overworking — what if I'm not doing enough to matter?

Each yes felt like control at the time.

But really—as some of us figure out a little too late—it was a cage.

One I built myself, brick by brick, using the very parts of me I once celebrated… mostly because others did. Because that's how I'd always shown up for everyone else. I just never stopped to ask what any of it cost me.

And it cost more than time. It cost presence. Joy. Creativity. Breath.

Even distraction felt easier most days. Not because I don't care, but because facing what needs to change feels so much heavier than another mindless scroll, another checkbox, another rabbit hole I probably could've skipped altogether. My phone screen time report is basically a weekly intervention I ignore.

Because change requires awareness. And awareness requires slowing down—which can be way more uncomfortable than over-scheduling ever was.

I felt this deep in my core one evening last fall. I remember sitting at my desk after a particularly packed day of back-to-back Zoom calls and long sessions supporting acquaintances via social media Live sessions, community interactions, and balancing family. My calendar said I was done, but my brain was still racing. There were unread texts, forty-three emails to review or respond to, and this persistent twitch around my left eye that no amount of massaging seemed to help. My eyes were red and there was a dull ache in my head. And I just sat there, computer taunting me with more unfinished tasks, wondering when exactly I'd forgotten how to breathe.

That moment became a turning point for me. Because somewhere deep down, the words of one of my coaches echoed in my ear. To paraphrase: every single time I say yes to spinning my wheels, I'm saying no to something that actually matters.

But I've started shifting. Not perfectly. Not all at once. Just… slowly, imperfectly.

I pause before I respond now. I give myself permission to not be the only one who can hold everything together. At times, it is hard. 

I let things drop — intentionally. I reign in that desire to be the first to offer assistance. And sometimes, I let people be disappointed. The world doesn't end when I say no, though sometimes it feels like it might.

And, you know what’s happened? Nothing catastrophic. Just space to breathe. Space I desperately need but wouldn't have given myself if I'd said yes or jumped in to help.

“Daring to set boundaries is about having the courage to love ourselves even when we risk disappointing others.” — Brené Brown

I remind myself that being my own magic wand doesn't mean I can—or should—do everything under the sun. It means I get to choose where my magic actually goes.

It means remembering that my power isn't in proving or pleasing. It's in protecting what matters most—even if no one claps for it. Even if no one sees it.

So I'm asking this out loud—not because I have the perfect answer, but because maybe you've been sitting with it too:

• Where are you saying yes because you think you're supposed to?

• Where are you giving your magic away—to people who don't value it, to pressure that doesn't deserve it, to the comfortable pull of distraction?

• Where might you be busy instead of brave?

• And what if—just what if—you started choosing something softer?

Not because it fixes everything overnight (it won't). But because it's the only way anything really begins to shift.

Everything starts with a choice. Even a small, messy, imperfect one.

And sometimes the bravest magic we can use is simply saying "No,” or “not this time."