As I sit in this tension of exhaustion and reward, I can't help but also feel a bit, well...hypocritical.
The last three nights, I've been up until 4am, 5am, and before that, 1am. Tweaking. Testing. Adjusting one more thing on the website. Moving a button three pixels to the left. Changing the wording on a call-to-action for the seventh time. Refreshing analytics. Making sure everything is just right.
Yesterday, we went live. I hit publish, sent the announcement, and held my breath a little.
Within 24 hours we were looking at: 4 sales. 7 email subscribers, 3 SMS subscribers, 39 new Instagram followers. 300 website visits.
No, these numbers aren't astronomical or super impressive, but you know what they tell me?
The site works. People are buying. The thing I've been building from the front end to the back end is doing what it's supposed to do.
So why am I still up at 4am fidgeting with it?
The Hypocrisy Hits Different
Here's what's sitting heavy with me today: I'm being a hypocrite.
If someone came to me right now and told me they'd been up three nights in a row working on something that first of all, had no deadline and second of all, was working successfully by day 2, I'd tell them to step back. I'd remind them that there's a difference between faithful building and anxious tinkering. I'd ask them what they're really afraid of.
Rest. Trust. Surrender the outcome. These are things I believe in, things I talk about, things I'd counsel anyone else to embrace.
But me? I'm still here, fingers hovering over the keyboard, convinced there's one more thing that needs adjusting.
The truth I'm learning in real time is this: I've accomplished enough to no longer stay up until the wee hours of the morning. I've done the work. I've built faithfully. The results are already showing up.
And yet, I haven't let it go.
From Builder to Steward
There's a season for intensity. For the late nights and the all-in hustle. For pouring everything you have into building something from nothing.
I was in that season. Those 4am nights weren't wasted—they were necessary. They got the site across the finish line. They turned an idea into something real, something people can actually visit and buy from and benefit from.
But there's also a season for stepping back. For transitioning from builder to steward. For moving from creation mode into growth, tweaking, and maintenance mode.
I'm in that season now, whether I'm ready to admit it or not.
The website doesn't need me to fix it at 5am. It needs me to trust that what I've built is enough. It needs me to release my grip on controlling every outcome, every metric, every pixel.
It needs me to take a dose of my own medicine.
What Are You Still Holding?
So here's where I turn this mirror on you, because I have a feeling I'm not alone in this.
What are you up toiling over at ungodly hours when what you really need is rest?
What have you held onto for too long—something you've already built, already launched, already started, someone you've already raised—but can't seem to release?
Where is life asking you to step back, trust what you've done, and let it breathe?
Maybe it's a project that's already live but you keep tweaking. Maybe it's a relationship you keep trying to control instead of letting it unfold. Maybe it's a plan you've made that needs space to work without your constant interference.
Maybe, like me, you've been so focused on building that you've forgotten there's a season after the building. A season where you get to rest in what you've created and trust that it's enough.
Tonight, I'm Going to Bed Early
I'm making myself a promise right now: tonight, I'm going to bed at a reasonable hour. And you know what? I have to if I'm going to honor the 6am Monday Prayer commitment I've had over the last couple months.
I'm releasing my grip. I'm trusting that the work I've put in will continue to bear fruit without me micromanaging every detail. I'm surrendering the outcomes from here.
I've faithfully built. Now I'm learning to faithfully release.
If you're holding onto something too tightly today, maybe this is your invitation to do the same.
What would it feel like to finally let go?
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