Don’t Let Your Tombstone Read: She Worked
I don’t want my tombstone to read “She Worked.”
For nearly two decades, I was a workaholic. And I was damn good at it. I prided myself on being the first one in the office in the morning and the last one to leave at night. The first thing I did when I opened my eyes was check my email; the last thing I did before bed was the same. On the weekends, I brainstormed ways to make the business more profitable, more efficient, more everything. I devoured every self-help, leadership, and business book I could get my hands on. And for a stretch of four years, I didn’t take a single vacation. Four years. WTH.
By 2017, the wheels came off. I was on the backside of another two-year sprint — no breaks, no time off, too many balls in the air — and I snapped. I remember googling Park Ranger jobs in the middle of nowhere Utah because disappearing into the woods felt easier than holding up the life I had built. I was ready to walk away from everything I had worked so hard for.
It all came crashing down in a coaching call that week. My coach, who could be a bit of a bulldog, finally said, “You know, Laura, maybe we should just end the call early. It doesn’t seem like you’re prepared.” Long silence. And then the tears came. I told him I felt like Atlas, holding up too many worlds. He softened, pressed pause, and for the first time in a long while, I admitted how heavy it all felt.
The following week I left for a long-overdue break — a birthday trip with one of my best friends. I slept through most of it. When I got back, I knew something had to change. Over the next couple months, I started digging out, righting the ship, and slowly giving myself permission to breathe again. It wasn’t perfect, but it was a start.
Fast forward a few years and the shift grew deeper. I began adventuring again. I got clear on my values. I found a circle of powerhouse women to walk alongside. And somewhere along the way, I realized: this life is short. We only get the dash — the time between when we’re born and when we die. If we’re lucky, it’s a long dash. But tomorrow is never promised. One night my soul whispered the words that changed me: I don’t want my tombstone to read “She Worked.” Call it an awakening, call it a defining moment, it reset everything.
From then on, I started carving out time for myself, my hobbies, my friends, my dreams. My identity began to shift from she worked to she lived. My circle grew wider. New opportunities appeared. I climbed a mountain. I jumped out of an airplane. I traveled internationally, solo. I hopped flights just to see the people I love. I scheduled time on my calendar with no destination yet decided, just space to breathe.
And here’s the surprising part: the business thrived. It didn’t need me as much as I thought. I was actually a better leader when I came back rested and whole. Creativity returned. I had a lightness in my step. I still worked hard when I worked, but I lost the guilt about closing my laptop and leaving when the day was done — even if everyone else was still grinding away.
So if you find yourself in a season where all you do (or all you talk about) is work, it might be time to take a hard look in the mirror. Do you really want your tombstone to read “He Worked” or “She Worked”? My guess is no. You are so much more than that. Yes, hard work and earning a living are part of your story, but they are not the whole story. It’s time to start living.
And if you’re nodding along but unsure how to begin, you don’t have to figure it out alone. That’s what I love helping entrepreneurs do — create businesses that leave room for life. If that’s what you need, let’s talk.
To get you going, here are a few questions to sit with this week:
What is one small shift you can make to invest in relationships, experiences, or your soul — not just your work?
If you could design your own “life résumé,” what would make it on there besides work?
What would you want people to say about you around a dinner table, long before any tombstone is etched?
