Sharpen The Saw - Bitch

A Written Reminder To Self

There’s an old story that’s been told in leadership books and workshops for years — the kind that sounds simple but sticks with you.

A man is deep in the woods, struggling to cut down a tree. He’s been at it for hours, sweating, straining, frustrated that the tree isn’t falling. His saw is dull, barely cutting. Another man passes by and watches for a moment.

“Why don’t you stop and sharpen your saw?” he asks.

The man snaps, “I don’t have time to sharpen the saw. I’m too busy cutting the tree.”

Of course, the irony is the whole point. If he had just stopped for a few minutes to sharpen the tool he was relying on, he would’ve saved himself time, energy, and frustration. But in his urgency, in his drive to keep going, he couldn’t see that pausing would have actually helped him move forward faster and better.

It’s a familiar story. One I think about a lot. Because, truthfully, I’m that man in the woods (woman in this case).

I’m a mom, a therapist, a daughter, a friend — the kind of person who naturally wants to help, support, hold it all together. I care deeply. I stay up late finishing things that could probably wait. I say “yes” when I’m tired. I tell myself I’ll rest after the next thing. Or the next.

And yet — when I’m exhausted, distracted, and stretched thin — I’m not showing up as my best self. Not for my kids, not for my clients, not for the people I love. And definitely not for me.

We live in a culture that rewards doing. We admire people who push through, keep going, never stop. We treat rest like a luxury instead of a necessity. But here’s what I’ve come to understand: pausing isn’t weakness. It’s wisdom.

Taking time to check in with yourself — to rest, to breathe, to sharpen your saw — doesn’t set you back. In fact, it’s the only way to move forward with any clarity or purpose. It’s how we protect our energy, our creativity, and our ability to be present in our lives.

And presence, real presence, is what so many of us are starving for.

When I slow down — not with guilt or judgment, but with intention — I notice more. I feel more connected. I appreciate the small things: the way my child laughs at something ridiculous, the warmth of my coffee, the quiet moments that would’ve rushed past me if I hadn’t stopped to look.

I still get where I’m going. Sometimes faster. Sometimes better. But I also experience the journey in a fuller, more meaningful way.

So if you’re feeling dull, burnt out, spread too thin — maybe it’s not because you’re failing.

Maybe it’s because your saw needs sharpening.

And that’s not laziness. That’s smart.

That’s sustainable.

That’s human.

(Now if anyone has any suggestions on how I remember this I am open - )

xoxo - Corinne

Photo by Bob Osias on Unsplash