Rewriting Capacity in Systems of Care

Last week, I had the honor of speaking at Children’s Healthcare of Atlanta, sharing Rewriting Capacity: Building Sustainable Work & Wellbeing for Changemakers with a room full of support staff; human resources, administrators, and leaders — people who live at the intersection of care and constant demand.

We didn’t gather to “fix burnout.”
We gathered to reimagine what it means to hold our work, our lives, and each other — so that growth and service don’t cost us ourselves.

The Lock-In / Lock-Thru Moment

One of the ideas that resonated most came from Dr. Brené Brown’s work on the concept of “lock-in” and “lock-through.”

I described the metaphor using a canal lock — where a boat moves between two levels of water. The gates close, the water adjusts, and only when the levels are equal can the next gate open. You can’t rush that process — if you do, the system floods.

The same is true for us.

When we leave work and head home, our bodies and minds are still calibrated to work mode. Our nervous systems are locked in — alert, focused, managing, holding. Then, without transition, we expect to instantly lock through into connection: with partners, children, animals, our own inner world.

But our internal water levels haven’t equalized yet.
We need a moment — a ritual, a breath, a pause — to let them settle.

That’s what the lock-through represents: the quiet space between effort and presence.
When we give ourselves that time, we arrive differently. We show up more fully, more awake, more available to the people and relationships that matter most.

During the talk, several people shared their own micro-rituals for this transition — small acts that send the body the message: we’re shifting now. One person said taking off her makeup after work is the signal her system recognizes: you can rest. Another parks in the farthest spot in the parking deck to walk, decompress, and let the day settle before going home. Someone else described listening to silence on the drive home — no calls, no music — just space to return to herself.

These may seem ordinary, but they’re acts of nervous-system intelligence. They remind us that meaning and presence can’t be rushed.

And they lead to one of the biggest shifts in how I define capacity:

Capacity isn’t about how much you can carry — it’s about how present you are while carrying it.

When we allow ourselves to equalize, to move through the lock instead of forcing the gate, we don’t lose time — we gain connection.

The Feminist Principle of Regeneration

From there, we explored the Feminist Principle of Regeneration.
It isn’t about gender — it’s about designing systems and cultures that honor the cycles of life itself.

Feminism began as a movement for women’s rights, but at its heart, it’s an ethic of interconnection and justice — a framework for building environments where everyone can flourish without exploitation.

True collective, intersectional feminism says:
No one’s thriving should depend on someone else’s depletion.

So I asked the group:
Where might the greatest impact of a Lock-Through practice show up for you or your teams?

Maybe it’s between patients, between meetings, or even between breaths — those micro-moments of recalibration that restore humanity in the flow of care.

Imagine if that principle — honoring transition and renewal — were built not just into our personal routines but into the structures we work within.

In a hospital, that might look like noticing where renewal already happens — in moments of teamwork, mentorship, or shared humor — and creating a little more space for those moments to breathe.

In leadership, it might mean recognizing that tending to well-being supports the very outcomes we all want: safety, quality, and longevity in the work.
It’s not a tradeoff; it’s a more sustainable form of excellence.

In nature, regeneration is everywhere — the tide, the moon, the way our hearts rest between beats.
Every living system depends on that rhythm of exertion and renewal.
Rest isn’t a luxury. It’s part of becoming.

The Response That Gives Me Hope

After the talk, 67 people downloaded The Capacity Reflection Guide — a tool I created to help teams and individuals explore these ideas in their own lives.

That number isn’t just a metric. It’s a sign of readiness — a collective curiosity about how to build systems that make restoration possible, not optional.

Because the truth is, the work of care will always be demanding.
But it doesn’t have to be depleting.
When we give ourselves and each other permission to move through the locks — to honor transitions, to recalibrate — we make space for sustainability to emerge naturally.

The Question That Stayed With Me

As we closed the session, someone asked a question that has lingered with me since:
“How do you get to integration?”

It’s such a profound question — one that sits at the heart of this work.

Integration isn’t something we force; it’s something we allow.
It happens when our nervous system feels safe and steady enough for meaning to settle in.
When we’re in protection mode — braced, pushing, surviving — nothing new can take root.
But when we pause, breathe, reflect, or move with awareness, we become porous again. The experience or insight that was hovering finally finds its place.

Integration is the quiet exhale after exertion — the moment when what we’ve lived becomes part of us.
It’s what allows growth to feel embodied, not just achieved.

And maybe that’s the real invitation beneath Rewriting Capacity:
to create conditions — in ourselves, our workplaces, and our culture — where integration can happen naturally. You can download the Capacity Reflection Guide here