Abundance is Presence

THE PULSE

This is what matters this week.

There’s a version of abundance you can perform.
And there’s a version you can actually feel.

You can hit every milestone—money, title, dream vacation—
and still feel hollow when you lay your head on the pillow at night.
Because true abundance isn’t measured in outcomes.
It’s measured in aliveness.

It’s the felt sense of being in your body, in your life,
and in integrity with what matters most.

For much of my life, I thought abundance was about arrival:
Becoming a doctor. Owning a home. Upgrading the car.
Checking all the right boxes.

And for a while, it worked—
or at least, I thought it did.
But I wasn’t standing still—
literally or figuratively—long enough to actually know.

Abundance was a “someday” concept.
A finish line I hadn’t earned yet.
A reward for pushing harder, proving more, keeping it all together.

I hadn’t convinced myself I was even worthy of it.
And because I couldn’t feel it in the moment, I kept moving the bar.

Even when it looked good on paper,
my body was telling a different story—
one of exhaustion, pressure, and quiet disconnection
from the very life I had worked so hard to create.

That’s the thing about chasing abundance outside of you:
It doesn’t matter how much you gather
if you’re too disconnected to feel it.

It wasn’t until I redefined abundance—
not as achievement, but as presence—
that everything started to shift.

Now, abundance looks like this:
Eight hours of sleep.
A slow morning with my daughters.
Sitting still long enough to hear myself think.
Knowing I have everything I need—
because I am everything I need.

That’s the kind of wealth we’re talking about here.
Rooted. Resourced. Real.

Because abundance isn’t just having more.
It’s needing less to feel full.

THE DEEP TAKE

Where we go deeper—science, story, truth.

Abundance Isn’t a Goal—It’s a State of Being

Growing up, we didn’t have money.

I was the kid on the free lunch program. The one without the designer clothes. The one who didn’t go on spring break trips or have a brand-new backpack at the start of the year. I learned early what it meant to feel the absence of things others took for granted. Not just material things—but ease, permission, presence.

And like many women who grew up with “not enough,” I got really good at proving I could do more.

So I did.

I became a doctor. I hit the milestones. I paid off debt. I upgraded the house. I took vacations in Europe. I had the title, the respect, the salary—and the stress to match.
I kept pushing, performing, providing.

I told myself: This is abundance.

But it didn’t feel like abundance.

Especially not in those early years of motherhood when I was working full-time, delivering babies, admitting patients to the ICU, getting called in at 2am, and trying to be everything to everyone—including a mom to a little boy I loved more than life itself.

I was young, and I had energy. But I was running on fumes and grit. On most days, my nervous system didn’t know the difference between passion and pressure. I was doing what I thought I “should” to create a good life—for him, for our family. But I was rarely present enough to enjoy the life I was building.

I looked abundant from the outside.
But I felt depleted on the inside.
Flat. Disconnected. Tired in a way that sleep couldn’t fix.

I now see that what I was calling abundance was actually survival dressed up in nice clothes.

Because real abundance—the kind that nourishes instead of drains—requires space.
Stillness.
Self-permission.

And for a long time, I didn’t believe I had earned that.

Abundance was a “someday” concept. A reward I hadn’t reached. A feeling I hadn’t yet proven I deserved. So I kept achieving. Chasing more. Hoping it would eventually feel like enough.

It wasn’t until I slowed down—really slowed down—that I saw how far I’d been from myself. It required me to go into the depths of what I was running from to see it.

I remembered what abundance actually felt like.

It felt like my grandmother’s house.

Where we played dress-up in her costume jewelry and heels.
Where we sipped imaginary tea from porcelain cups and pretended to be rich.
Where safety was assumed. Presence was offered. Love was the air we breathed.

My grandparents didn’t have much money—but they were rich in spirit, rich in laughter, rich in love. And in those memories, I’ve always found something truer than any version of wealth I chased later on.

That’s what real abundance feels like:
Not earned. Not measured.
But remembered.

Rooted in connection. Saturated in presence.

Today, I still want nice things.
I love luxury. I believe in beauty, excellence, and being well-resourced.

But what I no longer believe is that more will make me feel more whole.

Now, abundance feels like:
Sinking into my own bed at night, beneath cool linen sheets, knowing the day was lived fully.
Walking barefoot with my girls to get the mail and ending up in the driveway for an hour, just talking.
Long walks at golden hour.
A text from a friend at just the right moment.
It’s knowing what I need—and honoring it without justification.

It’s not something I achieve.
It’s something I create—moment by moment, by choosing to stay in integrity with what matters most.

Because abundance isn’t just about what you have.
It’s about how fully you’re able to receive it.

When we stop chasing “more” and start anchoring into enough,
something remarkable happens:

Our nervous system uncoils.
Our energy becomes sacred again.
Our presence deepens.

And we realize:

Abundance was never the prize.
It’s the pulse of life, already inside us.
Waiting to be honored.
Waiting to be lived.
It’s the Reality of me.

IN REAL LIFE

What it actually looks like.

Not hypotheticals.
Real practices that create embodied abundance.

🖤 Live with your eyes wide open.
Put the phone down.
Turn toward your life instead of scanning past it.
Say yes to a spontaneous card game with your kids.
Blow bubbles on the front porch.
Linger longer over dinner.
Presence is the richest frequency of all.
And it can’t be scheduled, rushed, or multitasked.
Set boundaries not because you're overwhelmed—but because you're choosing joy.

🖤 Build buffers between your commitments.
Transition time is not wasted time—it’s where your nervous system recalibrates.
Try finishing a Zoom call 5 minutes early and stepping outside.
Don’t run errands on fumes. Sit down between the gym and the next thing.
Let your body catch up with your life.

🖤 Choose luxurious enoughness over perfection.
Let the laundry stay in the basket.
Let the email wait until tomorrow.
Have two good pairs of jeans you love and wear on repeat.
Abundance doesn’t always mean more. Sometimes it means fewer things, more fully enjoyed.

🖤 Say no to over-scheduling—without the guilt.
If your calendar is full, but your cup is empty, it’s time to re-align.
Set boundaries like someone who knows her energy is precious.
Say, “Not this week.”
Say, “I’m keeping my weekend clear.”
Let your time reflect your values, not your obligations.

🖤 Surround yourself with symbols of sufficiency.
Wear the perfume you save for special occasions on a Tuesday.
Put fresh flowers in the bathroom.
Light the nice candle at breakfast.
Don’t hoard beauty—live in it.

🖤 Keep a record of everyday richness.
At the end of the day, jot down:
What did I receive today?
What felt nourishing?
What reminded me that I’m already supported?
Train your mind to notice abundance—and it will show you more.

This is abundance in action.

FROM THE WELL

What’s supporting the rhythm.

Tools and textures for a life that feels as good as it looks.

This week’s lavish practice:
The Summer Savor Board

Abundance doesn’t mean excess.
It means you let yourself enjoy what’s already here.

This week, create a Summer Savor Board:
A sunset picnic for one. A small spread for your senses.
Not a performance. Not for Instagram. Just for you.

Here’s how:

• Choose 3–5 vibrant seasonal items: ripe figs, blackberries, burrata, pistachios, cucumbers sliced paper-thin

• Add one lush herb: fresh mint, basil, or lavender to tuck between bites

• Drizzle something: wild honey, good olive oil, or aged balsamic

• Pour a chilled glass of something you love—sparkling water in a coupe counts

• Cue up a soundtrack—maybe Norah Jones, Khruangbin, or old-school Sade

• Take it outside if you can—or by a window with golden light. That counts too.

This isn’t about eating “clean” or setting a vibe.
It’s about tuning your frequency to savor.

This week, let your nervous system feel what plenty tastes like.
Let your body feel the luxury of slowing down long enough to savor it.

That’s real abundance.

THE LAST WORD

Abundance isn’t a finish line.

It’s a frequency.
A presence.
A way of seeing what’s already here and letting it be enough.

It’s in the way your child reaches for your hand.
The way sunlight spills across your kitchen counter.
The way your body exhales when you finally listen.

Abundance isn’t out there—it’s in the moment.
In the ordinary magic of a life you’ve built,
and the choice to be awake inside of it.

To stop rushing past beauty.
To stop measuring your worth by how much you’ve done.
To see the lavishness already surrounding you—
in the people you love, the life you’ve shaped,
and the woman you’ve become.

This is abundance:
Fullness. Awareness. The quiet knowing that nothing is missing.

It’s not performance.
It’s presence.

That’s the shift.
That’s the medicine.

Until next week…

Be well. Be fierce. Be lavish.