There's this moment in every seasonal transition where you can feel your body asking for something different, but your brain hasn't caught up yet. You find yourself resistant to routines that served you beautifully just weeks ago, or suddenly energized by possibilities that felt overwhelming in spring's intensity.

I've been sitting with this tension as I've settled into summer's rhythm:

How do you honor what's been working without getting trapped by it?
How do you expand into new possibilities without losing the foundation you've built?

And most importantly, how do you design systems that can handle both your need for protection and your readiness to take up more space?

The truth is, most productivity advice assumes you're either in growth mode or maintenance mode, but never both simultaneously. Summer challenges that binary thinking. It offers us spaciousness and energy while asking us to trust that we can scale up without burning out, that we can want more without sacrificing what's already good.

This week, we're redefining what sustainable expansion actually looks like—let's dive in...

If spring taught us momentum, and summer offers us spaciousness, then surely there is a special kind of magic happening in the handoff between the two.

As I've settled in post-move, I've been acting like the routines that have served me well all spring are suddenly toxic waste that I need to avoid as if my life depends on it. For me, this is related to my neurodivergence in part, but there is something about seasonal changes that our bodies intuitively know that our brains (and culture) fight against.

Maybe you've felt it too—that internal resistance to routines that used to feel supportive.

Not because our routines are broken—they actually served us well for a time. But the body starts practically screaming for something different, something that matched the longer days and new energy that summer offers us.

Most of us handle seasonal transitions like we're changing gears in a car that's about to stall out—either white-knuckling our way through spring's intensity well into July, or completely abandoning everything that actually worked because "summer should feel different."

But here's what I've learned from years of fighting against my own rhythms: neither approach honors the who you actually are.

What if there's a third option?

What if you could create intentional bridges that honor both the momentum you've built AND the permission to shift that your body is asking for?

I call it Energy Inheritance—the art of letting spring leave you gifts while making space for summer's different offerings. Because here's the thing: that morning routine that finally clicked? The creative project that's gaining momentum? The boundaries you've been practicing? These aren't just habits to maintain or abandon. They're energy patterns that deserve conscious consideration.

I use a Bridge Protocol that walks you through three conscious handoff points to support us through seasonal changes:

Momentum Bridge: What energy patterns genuinely serve you regardless of season? These are the non-negotiables that support your nervous system, not the "shoulds" you inherited from productivity culture.

Rest Bridge: What aspects of your spring routine are asking for an intentional pause? Not because they failed you, but because your body is ready for summer's different rhythm. This isn't abandonment—it's strategic rest and accommodation that creates space for what wants to emerge.

Renewal Bridge: What gets completely reimagined? The routines that worked beautifully for spring's energy but are ready for summer's creative rewrite. You're not fixing what's broken—you're expanding what's working into something that honors who you're becoming.

As you begin adapting to summer's rhythms:

Remember: Your best self is your supported self. And sometimes support looks like honoring the fact that what worked in March might need a different expression in June.

The goal isn't to optimize every transition—it's to trust that you know how to adapt your systems to serve the human experiencing them.

When was the last time you gave yourself permission to want more?

I'm not talking about more stuff, more achievements, or more external validation. I'm talking about more space for who you're becoming. More room to experiment with bigger versions of yourself. More permission to claim the shifts you desire rather than just manage the survival mode you keep falling back into.

Here's what I've noticed from my own journey and that of my clients:

We become experts at seeking permission for the small stuff—rest, boundaries, saying no. All essential skills that most of us had to fight tooth and nail to learn after decades of conditioning to be smaller, prioritize others' needs, and not rock the boat. 

But what about permission for expansion?

Permission to outgrow the containers that held you through the last season (whether that's spring or the last couple years of life) and step boldly into something larger?

I was reflecting on this recently when I was reviewing my business goals that were feeling more "bare minimum" than "stretch"—not because they were bad goals, or even short changing me. They served me well the last couple years while I was dealing with health issues, personal challenges behind the scenes, and finding my feet without the external validation that had ruled much of my career.

Because deep down I knew that some part of me was terrified of what it would mean to actually claim the space I wanted to take up. The safety of reasonable goals felt less risky than the vulnerability of actually going for what I wanted. Even though I was being drawn to a bigger container and was holding back.

Maybe you've been doing this too. Playing small in ways you haven't even noticed, or maybe you have and it was a conscious choice for a season of life like it has been for me. Keeping your creative projects "manageable." Maintaining social rhythms that feel increasingly suffocating. Staying within professional boundaries that no longer fit the person you've become.

Summer's energy is inherently generous. Those longer days don't just give us more time—they're literally offering us more space to inhabit ourselves fully. The season expands around us, creating natural invitations to do the same internally.

But here's the thing about expansion: it requires us to believe we're worthy of taking up space. And if you're someone who spent years proving your worth through productivity and people-pleasing, that belief doesn't always come naturally (or easily.)

Summer asks a different question: What if you took up more space? What if you claimed this season as yours, even if you've never been a "summer person"? What if instead of constantly defending your energy, you spent it differently—more boldly, more generously, more authentically?

This isn't about forcing growth or pushing yourself harder. Goodness knows you've done enough of that. It's about recognizing when you've outgrown your current containers and trusting yourself enough to expand into what's been waiting for you.

Most systems are designed for damage control—what to cut when energy crashes, how to scale back when you're drowning, which boundaries to slam shut when you're running on fumes. 

But what happens when your energy actually surges?

What happens when opportunities start multiplying faster than you can process them? What happens when summer's abundance creates more possibility than your current "protection mode" systems can handle?

I see both friends and clients coming out of burnout who say something along the lines of, "I finally have energy again, but now I don't know what to do with it. I've been focusing on surviving for so long."

Can you relate?

Welcome to elastic capacity: systems that stretch with opportunity rather than just flex under pressure.

Here's the thing—traditional productivity frameworks assume scarcity as the default state, and when we land ourselves in a depleted or burned-out state, that's really useful. They're built for constraint management, crisis prevention, and keeping you from falling apart.

But what about navigating expansion? What about those moments when you're not just managing your energy but actually have some to spend?

Summer often brings energy surges, creative breakthroughs, and expanded social opportunities that your "barely hanging on" systems simply can't accommodate. It's like trying to pour a river through a straw—the opportunity is there, but your infrastructure isn't designed for it.

Think of it as seasonal capacity forecasting use the 'YES' System this summer. Just as you (hopefully) prepare systems for busy seasons or health flare-ups, what if you actually designed for energy expansion? What if your summer systems could expand to meet increased creative output, deeper relationships, or bigger projects without everything falling apart?

The Summer 'YES' System operates on three principles:

1️⃣ Yielding Boundaries: Instead of rigid walls, think of the permeable boundaries we covered a few weeks ago—flexible parameters that can stretch when your energy is genuinely abundant, not when you're forcing it. Learn to recognize your expansion signals: when you're energized by more rather than depleted by it.

2️⃣ Energy Filters: Develop criteria for strategic yeses during high-capacity periods. Not every opportunity deserves your expanded energy, but some absolutely deserve the bigger version of your attention. The key is knowing the difference.

3️⃣ Scaling Gracefully: Build systems that can elegantly return to baseline without it feeling like failure or regression. Summer's abundance isn't meant to be year-round, and that's not a design flaw—it's intentional. Design for sustainable cycles of expansion and contraction.

Remember: Your systems should support both versions of you—the one who needs protection and the one who's ready to expand. 

There's a portrait that hangs in my office—a pencil drawing of me at 5 years old that somehow survived my childhood and 2 cross country moves through my 20s.

My dad worked in body shops and spent the rest of the time (what would now be called) hustling as a commissioned artist doing murals, handlettering, pinstriping, and vinyl lettering. Which meant my brother and I spent a lot of time in art stores, surrounded by supplies and creativity. There was a young guy just out of school who worked there for the discounts on art supplies and who would help entertain us while our dad browsed materials and talked shop.

One day, this guy sat down and drew this portrait of me. Just because. No special occasion, no commission—he just saw me and decided I was worth capturing on paper. He titled it "Hannah Bannana," the closest thing to a nickname I ever had growing up, in his script along with his last name and the year, and handed it to me like it was the most natural thing in the world.

I keep it in my office now as a reminder of how far I've come, but also of who I work so hard for.

Because here's what's wild: I was in a therapy session this week and answered a leading question with "I've been in survival mode since I was like 5 years old. Until the last couple years, I didn't know what it was like to live NOT in survival mode."

Looking at this portrait while processing that statement—damn.

That little girl being drawn with such care was already learning that love was earned through usefulness. That her worth was tied to performance and not causing problems. Even without social media's constant comparison machine growing up (Facebook didn't even exist until my last semester of school), I had somehow internalized the message that wanting more was selfish, that my needs were too much, and that safety came from being small and manageable.

By the time I was a teenager, I had become an expert at reading rooms, anticipating needs, and making myself indispensable while simultaneously invisible. The perfect helper who never asked for help.

What's wild is how disorienting it's been to unlearn this. When you've spent 30+ years defining yourself by how well you can manage crisis and meet other people's needs, who are you when things are actually... okay? When you have energy left over? When you're not putting out fires or proving your worth through productivity?

I've been sitting with the difference between thriving and just "not drowning" lately. For so long, not drowning felt like the pinnacle of success. A day without crisis was a win. But thriving? That requires believing you deserve good things not because you've earned them, but because you exist.

If I could go back and tell that 5-year-old something about permission, it would be this: You don't have to earn your right to take up space. You and your needs aren't too much. And wanting more—more joy, more space, more of what lights you up—isn't selfish. It's human.

That little girl was already whole. She just needed permission to believe it.

Here's a few ways you can let me know:

Option 1: 💌 Share with a fellow creative or business owner. Community starts with each of us and friends don't let friends chase their dreams at the expense of their mental health! If you know someone seeking more sustainability and harmony in their life and/or business, send this their way.

Option 2: 👋 Say hi! Hit reply and share a sentence or two about anything you enjoyed or hit home for you. I always hope these words find the right people at the right time, but it's always makes my day to hear from you!