The Three Decisions You're Avoiding (That Are Costing You More Than You Think)

You already know what you need to do.

Not the surface-level stuff: The marketing tweaks, the new offer, the email sequence that's been sitting half-written for weeks.

I mean the deeper thing. The one that shows up at 2am, taps you on the shoulder, and then gets immediately drowned out when you open Instagram to see if that reel landed.

Most successful women I work with aren't stuck because they lack strategy. They're stuck because they're sitting on decisions they've been actively avoiding. For months. Sometimes years. And all the motion around those decisions. The courses, the pivots, the constant thinking and rethinking, is usually just a fancy way to avoid deciding.

These aren't decisions you can research your way into. They don't have a neat ROI. You can't run them past three people and average the answers.

You feel them in your body first. A tightening. A little flip in your stomach. A quiet "oh… that one."

There are usually three.

The First: Who you're willing to stop being

There's a version of you you've outgrown. You both know it.

She's the one who softens everything before she speaks. Who starts emails with an apology she doesn't need. Who explains herself in circles so no one feels uncomfortable. Who spends far too long crafting the "right" response to a client when the honest one would've taken two sentences.

She says, "sure, I can do that," when internally she's screaming, knowing she just sacrificed something she actually wanted to do. She positions herself as helpful and agreeable when what she actually wants to say is direct and decisive.

She shows up to rooms trying to be likeable instead of interesting. She posts what's safe instead of what's true. She runs her business as if she's grateful to be here, rather than grounded in what she brings.

And she's tired.

Not tired from the work itself.
But from the constant performance. The editing. The self-monitoring. The quiet self-betrayals that happen every time you swallow an opinion or override a boundary.

You can feel it when you watch someone else say the thing you were thinking. When you agree to something and immediately resent it. When you walk away from an interaction knowing you just made yourself smaller for no good reason.

You know this version isn't serving you anymore.

But letting her go means admitting you've changed. And people know you as her.

Your clients hired her because she was easy. Your network knows her as generous with her time. Your industry peers see her as safe. Accommodating. Low-friction.

Your reputation has been built on not rocking the boat.

So what happens if you stop?

Some people won't like it. A few clients might leave. Engagement might dip when your content gets sharper. You might be less palatable, but more respected.

That trade-off is the decision.

And instead of making it, you tinker. You rewrite your About page. You adjust your messaging so it sounds bolder without actually being clearer. You add credentials, frameworks, proof, hoping you can somehow show up differently without actually having to be different.

You can't.

Second: What you're willing to let be easy

You've made things harder than they need to be.

You won't raise your prices until the offer is perfect. You won't share the idea until you've pressure-tested it from every possible angle. You won't reach out until you've found the one way to phrase it that guarantees a yes.

You build ten-step processes for things that could be handled in one conversation. You spend hours polishing things that didn't need polishing. You second-guess emails that would've been fine exactly as they were.

It's not because you care about quality. It's because ease makes you suspicious.

Somewhere along the line, you learned that if it doesn't feel hard, it doesn't count. That effort equals value. That exhaustion is evidence that you're doing it properly.

So you stay late even when you don't need to. You overcomplicate what could be simple. You drain yourself on tasks that feel heavy because at least then you can say you worked for it.

Meanwhile, the things you're genuinely good at, the things that come naturally, you dismiss.

The insight you see immediately. The pattern you spot without trying. The shift you can name in minutes that takes others weeks.

You discount it because it didn't cost you.

And that keeps you stuck doing work that drains you, while sidelining the work that actually energises you.

The decision here isn't about effort. It's about whether you're willing to stop punishing yourself for being good at something.

Because your best work probably won't feel heavy. And if you can't make peace with that, you'll keep manufacturing difficulty just so it feels legitimate.

Third: What you're willing to trust about yourself

You already know what to do. You just don't trust it enough to act.

You know which client needs to go. You know the offer that's run its course. You know which opportunity looks good on paper but feels wrong in your gut.

But instead of moving, you ask.

You poll your mastermind. You look for examples. You gather perspectives. You wait for someone to confirm that what you already know is correct.

Not because you need more information, but because you want permission.

Permission so that if it goes sideways, you won't have to fully own the decision.

You frame it like it's complex. But when you say it out loud, the answer is obvious. It's been obvious for a while.

Trusting what you know feels risky.

What if you're wrong? What if you miss something? What if there's a smarter way you haven't considered yet?

So you stay in analysis mode. Calling it thorough. Strategic. Thoughtful.

But that feeling of "I just need a bit more clarity" doesn't disappear with more input.

You will never feel completely certain. There will always be another angle, another expert, another possibility.

The only real shift is deciding whether you're willing to act without certainty first.

That gap, between knowing and trusting, is where time quietly disappears.

Why these decisions stay unmade

Because they're not strategy decisions. They're identity decisions.

Strategy has steps. Metrics. Clear markers of progress.

Identity decisions ask a different question: who are you willing to be now?

They come with discomfort. With disappointing people. With the risk of being misunderstood. With the possibility that you're no longer who you used to be.

So you stay busy with the tangible things. The systems. The plans. The next launch.

You tell yourself you'll deal with the deeper stuff later, when you have more time, more clarity, more certainty.

But clarity doesn't arrive before the decision. It shows up after you move.

What it's actually costing you

Time, obviously. Months of circling the same issue.

Energy. The mental load of carrying unmade decisions everywhere. They're there when you're making breakfast, sitting in the back of client calls, humming quietly while you try to sleep.

But the real cost is quieter.

Every time you ignore what you know, you teach yourself not to trust your own judgment.

And that leaks everywhere.

You hesitate when you don't need to. You second-guess in rooms you're qualified to lead. You outsource decisions that should be yours.

You've built something meaningful while slowly training yourself that your knowing doesn't count unless someone else validates it first.

No wonder things feel stuck.

What happens when you finally decide

Usually, nothing dramatic.

Just a noticeable drop in noise.

The overthinking eases because there's nothing left to debate. The energy that was tied up in indecision frees up. The gap between knowing and doing narrows.

There's relief. Not fireworks. Relief.

Like releasing a tension you didn't realise you'd been holding.

One decision can unlock months of stagnation. Not because it's magic, but because you stopped avoiding it.

What you're actually waiting for

Not permission. It's not coming.

Not certainty. You won't get it.

And probably not the perfect moment either.

If you're waiting for this to feel comfortable, you'll be waiting a long time.

You already know what these decisions are for you.

You're just treating them like problems to solve instead of choices to make.

The relief you're looking for isn't on the other side of more thinking.

It's on the other side of choosing.