There are two women inside me this morning, watching the storm roll in.

The first woman sees the gale-force winds and the sheets of rain. She feels the headache pressing behind her eyes. She sees the groceries we bought, the computers already backed up. She points to the cozy bed, the unread book, the promise of a favorite show. Her voice is a soft whisper: “The world is giving you permission to be still. Listen. Hunker down.”

The second woman hears that whisper and frowns. She’s looking at the calendar. She sees the end-of-financial-year deadline circled in red. She sees the accountant’s email, the author invoices waiting to be sent, the edits that won’t make themselves. Her voice is crisp and clear: “A storm doesn’t move a deadline. Let’s be responsible.”

For years, the second voice always won. Duty was the sun my entire world revolved around, and I would burn myself out to keep it shining.

But today, a negotiation is happening. A truce.

The accountant will get his documents. The most urgent client tasks will be handled. The non-negotiables will be met.

And then?

The second voice will be thanked for her service and gently asked to take a seat. The first voice will lead me to the sofa with a cup of tea.

I’m learning to be the manager of both. To understand that sometimes, the most productive thing you can do is honor the storm, both outside and in.