How to Get Out of Your Rut
From woodpeckers to weeds, and everything in between.
It’s early May. Graduation season. Tassels, speeches, and champagne. In our house, it's Erin. Our middle child. She graduates from Fairfield University in less than two weeks. Hard to believe. She’ll be home for the summer, then off to Westport in August to begin her first full-time job—teaching. The next chapter begins.
Maybe that’s part of why I’m in a funk—a rut. Whatever you call it, I’ve been in it.
Now, I’m still functioning. I cross things off the to-do list—yes, a real paper to-do list, not an app or digital planner. My ADHD brain can barely juggle multiple businesses—American Solutions merch, book writing, Bellarmine Publishing, coaching—let alone flip between screens to check boxes. I’ve got yellow legal pads and ballpoint pens scattered around like breadcrumbs leading me back to focus. But I’m slower than usual. Sluggish. And that bothers me.
Maybe it’s the weather? One day it’s hot—we’re sweating through our sheets, refusing to turn on the AC. Next, it’s cloudy and raw. I turned the heat back on this morning to take the edge off the 66 degrees inside. Sunshine, then rain. Wind, then stillness. I’ve lived in New England long enough to know better than to be surprised.
Or maybe it’s the end of golf season at Bates. No more weekend road trips to watch Sean compete. That rhythm, too, is over. Gone until next season.
But I think it runs deeper. It’s the change. The kind you don’t ask for but feel anyway. It sneaks up on you and camps out in your chest.
Sales have been slow, client activity is down, and tariffs loom, adding more weight to already tight margins. I still love the work, but my enthusiasm is wrestling with frustration. I promote my new book, create social content, and respond to inquiries, and it never feels like enough. It never is enough.
Coleen, on the other hand, is a machine. The most productive person I know. She’s been working 13-hour days preparing for Sturdy Hospital’s massive fundraiser this week to help fund a new emergency department. She juggles logistics, emails, volunteers, vendors—flawlessly. I admire her focus. Her discipline. Her organizational system. I want it. I crave it. I envy it.
But let’s be honest. That’s the key word here—honesty. When you’re in a rut, the best way out is brutal, unapologetic honesty.
So here it is: I feel a little lost. Not spiritually. Directionally. Like I’m walking down a path that keeps shifting underfoot. I’ve got two new authors working on their first drafts. I’ve got a book launch to push. I’ve got ideas and ambition. But it’s like trying to sprint through sand.
Mother’s Day is this Sunday, and once again, I’m scrambling. Every year, it sneaks up on me. I did get Coleen a thoughtful, practical gift. I think she’ll love it. I hope she will.
It’s May 6 already. 2025. How?
It’s grass season. And I used to love taking care of the lawn. Now? I’m over it. Nutseg—this nasty, take-over-everything weed—has declared war on our front yard. I’ve battled it for six or seven years now. Every season, I call the weed company. "We need to stay ahead of the nutseg," I tell them. "Of course," they say. But we never do.
Then last year—grubs. GRUBS. I should’ve fired the company on the spot. I didn’t. My loyalty sometimes gets in the way of logic.
Coleen had a smart idea: mow the lawn early in the morning instead of walking. Kill two birds. So I’ve started doing that. But mowing isn’t enough. Then you have to trim the edges. Weed-whack. Blow the debris. It's an entire production. The flower beds need weeding. The bushes need trimming. And the chipmunks are digging holes like it’s their full-time job.
Oh—and did I mention the woodpecker? No joke, this stubborn little guy doesn’t tap on trees like a normal bird. No. He goes after the aluminum siding near our chimney. Six in the morning. BANG. I bolt out of bed, throw on shoes—sometimes still in my underwear—dash outside, waving my arms like a madman. He flies off. Then comes back 30 minutes later. Rinse. Repeat. I want to get a slingshot. Coleen says I’ll break a window.
“Your aim’s terrible.”
She’s not wrong.
I had a weird dream last night. I was playing left field in some backyard whiffle ball and softball hybrid. I dropped every ball hit my way. Felt like Little League all over again. Back then, I led the league in strikeouts, walks, and getting hit by pitches. Not quite Cooperstown material.
The night before, I was running from danger. I can’t say what the threat was, but it was there. I came out of it just fine, but it was scary stuff. What’s tonight’s dream going to be?
The good news is that I can feel myself leaving this rut. Writing this helps. It really does.
That’s the trick I want to share with you.
The fastest way out of a rut? Write. Write it out. Be brutally honest. Who’s bothering you? What fear is hanging around your neck? What memories keep poking you from the past? Don’t filter. Don’t perform. Don’t worry about punctuation or grammar. Scribble. Rant. Rave. Stumble. Start. Stop. Swear. Sigh. Whatever you do—get it out.
You are not writing this for anybody to read, so get over yourself and just write.
Do it every day for 15 minutes, like Nicole Sachs recommends in Mind Your Body. Then tear it up. Burn it. Trash it. This is not a journal. This is not for legacy or reflection. This is combat writing. This is therapy on a deadline. Just get it out.
Still feeling stuck? Text someone. Email someone. Say something kind. "Hey, thinking of you." “Hope today’s a good one.” One tiny gesture. You’d be amazed at what it unlocks.
Text me something kind—anything—and then do it for someone else. (I said I was almost out of the rut, not out of it. Trust me, I will be grateful for your text.)
And one last confession before I let you go. The absolute truth?
I’m afraid.
I’m afraid to launch my self-publishing and coaching course, Brain to Bookshelf. Afraid no one will sign up. That no one will want what I’m offering. Classic imposter syndrome. It whispers that I’m not good enough. That it’s not ready. That I’m not ready.
But I am. And so are you.
We’re not meant to avoid the ruts. We’re meant to climb out of them. You get out with honesty. With courage. With paper and pen. You face it, name it, and then move forward. Bit by bit. Day by day.
I’m almost out. You will be too.
Let’s root for each other.
See you next week.
I have imposter syndrome too, Mark, and it shows up as procrastination, distraction, doomsday scrolling. I have a coaching program I want to launch, but I keep finding excuses. Need to get out of this self-imposed rut!