Author: nadiajfa

Sometimes the hardest part of having a dream is not the dreaming.

It’s figuring out what to do with it.

I think many women reach a point in life where they know they want something different. Maybe it’s a business they’ve been thinking about for years. A career change. More travel. A creative project. Going back to school. Moving somewhere new. Or simply a life that feels a little more like their own.

The problem isn’t always a lack of ambition. Sometimes it’s a lack of clarity.

I learned this fairly young. When I was 18, I went through my first real heartbreak and personal rejection. At the time, it felt like the end of the world. I was sad, felt inadequate and, if I’m honest, a little lost. Then I read Eat, Pray, Love by Elizabeth Gilbert.

I know some people consider it a cheesy book. I probably would have agreed with them once upon a time. But for me, it became a catalyst. Something about reading a woman’s story of traveling, exploring herself and building a life beyond romantic love made me realize that there was a much bigger world available to me.

I could dream. And I think that was important because, when we are young, it is easy to imagine that our lives will revolve around finding the right person, getting married, having children and building a family.

There is absolutely nothing wrong with wanting those things. Romantic love can be one of the most beautiful parts of life. But it is not the only part. There is friendship. Adventure. Purpose. Creativity. Faith. Work. Learning. Community. The places we go and the people we become along the way.

That realization made me start dreaming bigger. But eventually, dreaming bigger creates another problem: What do I actually do with the dream? This is where I think many women get stuck. A dream is usually too vague to act on. “I want to start a business” isn’t a plan. Neither is “I want to travel more” or “I want to do something meaningful with my life.”

You need to bring the dream down to earth. I like to think about it in five stages: Dream → Vision → Goal → Next Step → Action.

Start with the dream. What is the thing you find yourself thinking about, even if you don’t quite know how it would happen?

Then create a vision. What would that dream actually look like in your life? Where would you be? What would you be doing? Who would you be surrounded by? How would an ordinary Tuesday feel?

Next, choose a goal. What is one specific thing you could accomplish that would move you closer to that vision?

Then comes the part we often overlook: the next step. Not the entire plan. Just the next step. If your dream is to start a business, perhaps the next step is researching your idea. If you want to change careers, perhaps it is talking to someone who already does the work. If you want to write a book, perhaps it is opening a document and writing the first page.

And then: action. Do the thing. Not perfectly. Not with every detail figured out. Just enough to learn something.

Looking back at my own life, so many of the biggest changes began with just an idea, a thought; followed by one small decision that made the idea feel a little more possible.

Dreams don’t usually arrive with instructions. Sometimes you have to give yourself permission to dream first, and then work backwards until the dream becomes something you can actually do.

So if there is something you’ve been quietly wanting, don’t dismiss it because you don’t know where to start. Start by getting curious. What is the dream? What would it look like in real life? What would make it a goal? And what is the very next thing you could do?

You don’t need to know the whole road. You just need to be willing to take the next step.

There is a particular kind of tiredness that doesn’t necessarily come from doing too much.

It comes from having to remember too much: the dentist appointment, the school form, the birthday present, the groceries, the bill that needs paying, the family event, the work deadline, the child who has outgrown their shoes, the friend going through a hard time, the holiday plans — and the thing your husband mentioned three weeks ago that he needs you to remind him about.

For many women, particularly mothers, this is the invisible part of keeping a family and a life running. You may not physically be doing every task, but you are often the person thinking about the task before it happens. And that is work too.

I know this feeling well. There have been seasons of my life when I could look at everything I was managing and technically say, “It’s fine.”

In my early 30s, I was a mom with an active toddler, running my own small PR business and trying to keep up with multiple clients, deadlines and projects. On top of that, I was creating a faith-based magazine — a passion project I cared deeply about but was squeezing into the margins of an already-full life.

There was Sunday church and Tuesday small group. Rent, bills and the general cost of living in Bermuda. Family commitments. Appointments. Birthdays. The never-ending list of things that need to be remembered when you’re responsible for a small person who cannot, in fact, remember anything for themselves.

None of it seemed extraordinary on its own.

But altogether, it was a lot.

That’s the tricky thing about mental load. It rarely arrives as one enormous thing that makes you stop and say, I can’t do this anymore. It accumulates quietly — one appointment, deadline, obligation and “I’ll take care of it” at a time.

Looking back, I don’t think I was necessarily doing too much of everything. I was simply carrying too many things in my head at once.

And I know I’m not alone. So many women are incredibly capable at making things happen that we can become the default person who holds everything together. The problem is that being capable can disguise the fact that you’re overwhelmed.

You keep saying yes because you can. You remember because nobody else does. You organize because it’s easier than explaining. You take care of it because you know it will get done properly.

Until one day, you realize you have become very good at managing everyone else’s lives — while having very little idea what you actually want for your own.

So I want to suggest a simple exercise: do a mental-load inventory.

Take a piece of paper and write down everything currently occupying space in your head. Not just the things you physically do, but the things you remember, anticipate, organize, worry about and follow up on.

Then ask:

Does this actually need to be done? If not, delete it.

Does it have to be done by me? If not, delegate it.

Am I doing this because it still matters, or because that’s simply how it has always been done? Maybe it’s time to renegotiate it.

Then ask one more question: What would I make room for if I wasn’t carrying all of this?

Not what you should do with the extra time. Not what productive thing you could squeeze into the gap. What would you actually want?

More rest? A creative project? Time with your husband? A business idea? Exercise? Travel? A career change? Or simply sitting down without someone needing something from you?

Sometimes the first step toward figuring out your next chapter isn’t adding another goal to the list. It’s taking something off it.

You are allowed to build a life where you are not responsible for everything. And you are allowed to discover that underneath all the things you do for everyone else, there is still a woman with her own wants, ambitions and dreams.

Not every uncomfortable season means you should quit your job, end your relationship or move to another country. Sometimes you’re simply tired. Sometimes you need a holiday, a better boundary or a little time to catch your breath.

But sometimes a feeling that keeps coming back is worth listening to.

The difficult part is knowing the difference.

I’ve thought about this a lot because one of the biggest changes I’ve made in my life started with a desire I spent more than a decade trying to talk myself out of. I wanted to live overseas. Not for a holiday. Not for a few months. I wanted to build a life somewhere in Southeast Asia.

And for years, I tried to make myself stop wanting it. I prayed about it. At one point, I tried to pray it away. Then I got married. I had my first son. I built a career I genuinely enjoyed in journalism, PR and communications. There were challenging projects, interesting opportunities and plenty of reasons to stay where I was.

I traveled for a few weeks each year and got my “fix.” Maybe that would be enough, I thought. I could have the adventure without having to uproot my entire life. Because wanting to spend three weeks in Thailand is very different from moving your family to the other side of the world.

There are finances to consider. Careers. Schools. Marriage. Children. Family. The possibility that you could make the enormous leap and discover you got it completely wrong.

So I focused on other things. Easier things. Practical things. Things that didn’t require me to question the life I had built. But the dream never really went away. And that, I think, is one of the first things worth paying attention to when you’re wondering whether it’s time for a change.

Does the desire survive when life is going well?

There were plenty of times when I was happy. I was building a successful business. I had a family I loved. I had a life in Bermuda that contained many things I was grateful for.

And still, the desire remained. That doesn’t automatically mean you should act on every persistent thought. Sometimes we romanticize another life because we’re unhappy with the one we’re living.

But there is a difference between wanting to escape something and being consistently drawn toward something.

Another question I find useful is: Have you actually addressed the feeling, or have you just learned how to manage it?

Have you taken the holiday? Changed the routine? Started a new hobby? Thrown yourself into work? Told yourself to be grateful?

Those things can help. But if the same desire keeps resurfacing, perhaps it isn’t something you need to silence. Perhaps it’s something you need to understand.

I also like asking: What keeps getting pushed to the bottom of the list?

Because sometimes we know what matters to us, but it keeps losing out to what feels more responsible. The business needs attention. The children need you. The bills need paying.

Everyone else has something that seems more urgent. And eventually, years can pass.

For me, the question eventually became less about “Should I move to Southeast Asia?” and more about “What am I giving up if I never allow myself to explore this?”

That question helped me understand that the dream wasn’t simply about a location.

It represented adventure. Freedom. A different pace of life. The possibility of doing something that scared me. And eventually, in 2022, I made the move with my family.

It wasn’t easy. It didn’t magically solve everything. And I certainly didn’t arrive with my entire future figured out. But I stopped trying to convince myself that I didn’t want something I clearly did. I think that’s an important distinction.

You don’t have to act on every desire. But you should be honest about the ones that refuse to leave. Sometimes the answer will be to stay. Sometimes it will be to change something small. And sometimes, after years of questioning, you may realize that the change you’ve been avoiding is actually the one you need to explore.

The goal isn’t to blow up your life every time you feel restless. It’s to become curious enough to understand what the restlessness is telling you. Because there’s a difference between running away from your life and making room for a life you’ve been quietly longing for.

And sometimes, the first step isn’t making the change. It’s finally admitting that you want to.

Sometimes we say we’re stuck when what we really mean is that we’re scared. We say we don’t know what we want. We’re waiting for the right time. We need more information. We’ll make the decision next month.

And sometimes, of course, we genuinely are stuck. Life can be complicated. We can have competing responsibilities, limited options or simply not know which direction to take. But sometimes there is something else underneath the procrastination: fear.

Fear of failing. Fear of disappointing people. Fear of looking foolish. Fear that if we actually succeed, our lives might change in ways we’re not prepared for.

I know this because I’ve experienced it myself.

For years, I talked about wanting to move overseas. It was one of those dreams I mentioned often enough that it almost became part of my identity. Then, in 2012, I found myself traveling through Southeast Asia on my own. I was backpacking and had made it to Thailand when, for a brief moment, the possibility felt very real – I could stay. I could start over. I could figure out a career. I could build a completely different life.

And then something inside me said: go home. At the time, I thought I was simply being rational. I called it listening to my head rather than my heart. But looking back, I sometimes wonder if my brain was doing exactly what brains are designed to do: keeping me safe.

Going back to Bermuda was familiar. I knew my career. I knew my surroundings. I knew what people expected of me. Starting from scratch in a foreign country? That was a different story.

I wouldn’t have another real opportunity to move to Asia until 2022. By then, the decision was much bigger. I was married. We had a young son. We had bills, responsibilities and an entire life to consider. I still made the move.

But I often think about that moment in Thailand and wonder what might have happened if I had recognized my fear for what it was.

That experience taught me something I now think about whenever I feel “stuck”… before deciding that you don’t know what to do, ask yourself whether you actually know—and you’re just afraid to do it.

Here’s a simple exercise you can use. When you find yourself procrastinating on something, finish this sentence honestly: “If I knew I couldn’t fail, I would…”

Then ask: “What am I afraid would happen if I actually did it?”

Your answer might surprise you. Maybe you’re afraid people will judge you. Maybe you’ll have to leave something comfortable behind. Maybe you’ll discover you’re capable of more than you thought. Fear doesn’t always mean “don’t do it.” Sometimes, it simply means this matters to me.

And sometimes the thing we call being stuck is really a decision waiting for us to get brave enough to make it.

There is something about a birthday that ends in a zero; or a big career milestone; or watching your children reach an age – that makes you suddenly realize how quickly time is moving.

You can be perfectly fine one minute and then, seemingly out of nowhere, find yourself asking: Is this really what I want?

I know that question well. At 25, I left my job as a newsroom reporter at The Royal Gazette and went backpacking for three months. I spent time volunteering in Nepal and exploring through Thailand, with a quick weekend in Singapore thrown in for good measure.

At 29 (on the cusp of turning 30), I left journalism altogether and started my own PR business.

At 35, I packed up my life in Bermuda and moved with my family to Southeast Asia.

And now, at 39 (a few months before my 40th Birthday), I am in the middle of another significant career pivot, building a life coaching business that supports women navigating their own next chapters.

None of those decisions happened because I had my entire life mapped out. They happened because, at different points, I stopped and asked myself some version of the same question: Am I content with where I am?

And sometimes, the answer was a little complicated. Because questioning your life doesn’t necessarily mean you’re unhappy. You can be grateful for your job and still wonder if you want to do something different. You can love your family and still wonder what happened to the parts of yourself that existed before motherhood. You can have achieved goals you once dreamed about and still feel a little restless. You can look around at your life and think, I should be happy. So why am I wondering what else is out there?

I think we have become very good at treating these moments of questioning as something that needs to be fixed.

The quarter-life crisis. The mid-life crisis. The existential crisis.

But perhaps questioning isn’t always a crisis. Perhaps sometimes it is simply information. Life changes us. Our priorities, circumstances and definition of success changes. And the things we wanted at 25 may not be the things we want at 35, 45 or 55.

That doesn’t mean our younger selves got it wrong. It means we grew. And growth sometimes requires us to reassess the life we built with an earlier version of ourselves.

One of the questions I often encourage women to consider is surprisingly simple: If nothing changed for the next five years, how would you feel? Imagine you are in the exact same place in September 2031. Same career, same daily routine, same relationships, would you feel relieved? Content? Excited?

Or does something inside you quietly say, Oh, I don’t think I want that.

There’s no right answer. The point isn’t to convince yourself that you need to make a dramatic change. It is to pay attention.

Maybe the answer is that you’re already fulfilled and simply need to appreciate what you’ve built. Maybe there are a few things you would like to change. Or maybe you’ve been ignoring a desire for something different because you’re afraid of what acknowledging it might require.

When I look back at my own decisions, I don’t see a perfectly planned journey. I see a series of moments when I became curious enough to ask what was next.

Backpacking. Entrepreneurship. An international move with my family. A career change.

Different chapters, but the same woman trying to build a life that felt increasingly like her own.

So if you’re approaching a milestone—or simply sitting in the middle of an ordinary workday wondering, Is this it?—don’t immediately panic. Resist the urge to label it a crisis.

Instead, get curious. What is this feeling trying to tell you? What still fits? What no longer does? And what might you want to do differently with the years ahead?

You don’t have to have the answers immediately. But you owe yourself the honesty of asking the questions.

There is a particular kind of restlessness that can creep up on you in the middle of an ordinary Tuesday.

Nothing is necessarily wrong. Your life may look perfectly fine from the outside. You have a job, a family, responsibilities, people you love. You have worked hard to get here.

And yet, somewhere inside, there is a quiet question: Is this still the life I want?

I know that question well.

I have reinvented myself several times. I started my career as a journalist, eventually left to build my own PR business, and spent more than a decade running my company in Bermuda. Then I did something that probably looked a little crazy to some people: I left Bermuda and moved to Bali.

Now I am in the middle of another reinvention, building a career as a coach for women ready to embark on a new chapter of their own.

That is why I am excited to introduce She Builds Again—a column about navigating change, rediscovering yourself and building a life that feels more like your own.

I’m not writing from some mountaintop where I have everything figured out.

Quite the opposite. I’m writing from the middle.

And I think the middle is where many of us actually live; the messy middle.

We tend to tell our lives in neat little chapters: journalist, entrepreneur, expat, coach.

But living them is rarely that tidy.

There are stretches of uncertainty. Decisions you second-guess. Things you outgrow before you know what you want instead. Seasons when you aren’t sure whether to persevere or move on.

And sometimes there is grief involved in changing your life. Even when you know something isn’t right anymore, you can still mourn the version of your life you’re leaving behind.

This is something I want to explore in this column.

Because I don’t believe every season of dissatisfaction means you need to blow up your entire life. Sometimes you don’t need a new life. You need a new chapter.

What do you actually want?

The language of reinvention can make us think we need to quit the job, move somewhere new or completely start over.

Sometimes we do. But before making a dramatic change, perhaps we should ask: What is actually working in my life?

Maybe your career doesn’t need to disappear. Maybe you need a new challenge or better boundaries. Maybe you’ve simply lost touch with the woman you were before everyone needed something from you. Maybe you don’t need to become a completely different person. Maybe you need to become more fully yourself.

So rather than asking, “What should I do with my life?” try asking: “What do I want my next chapter to look and feel like?”

What do you want more of? Less of? What have you been tolerating that you no longer want to tolerate? What dreams keep resurfacing?

And perhaps most importantly: Who are you becoming?

Your next chapter isn’t only about what you accomplish. It’s about who you become while you’re building it.

You don’t have to have it all figured out. I have learned through my own reinventions—and through working with women in goal setting workshops and coaching groups—that clarity often comes through movement.

You take a step. You learn something. You change your mind. You adjust. You keep going.

That isn’t failure. That’s life.

So perhaps the goal isn’t to figure out your entire future before you begin. Perhaps it’s simply to get curious about what might be possible next.

That is what I hope She Builds Again will be about: the questions we don’t always have time to ask ourselves, the decisions we’re afraid to make, the dreams we’ve quietly put away, and the practical steps involved in building a life that feels more like our own.

Because you don’t have to burn your old life to the ground to create something new.

Sometimes you simply turn the page, and begin again.

Welcome to She Builds Again.