My nephew turns two today.
And it is such a reminder of how quickly time moves.
I cannot believe it—my little guy is two years old.
It had me thinking about the quality time I got to spend with him and my niece and the rest of my family a couple of weeks ago for my daddy's 66th birthday. That trip, honestly, brought me back to myself.
We belly laughed on our 4-hour drive to Pigeon Forge about how confident my niece is...even when she's loud and WRONG. I told her I love her confidence and she's got to learn how to back up what she be talking bout and sis literally started physically backing up lol!
O, to be a child and innocent.
We really got to spend quality time together.
We had a pizza night. A hamburger night. A Southern-style dinner night where we ate family-style.
Picture a table full of fried chicken. Meatloaf. Fried okra. Fish. Mashed potatoes. And a table full of cups with Southern Peach Tea.
I shared a room with my niece, who’s five. Every morning, we woke up like little roommates—making our beds, sitting on the balcony, chit-chatting about preschool before anyone else was awake. That’s a core memory for me. And I hope it’s one for her too.
My nephew, who was running through the house at full toddler speed, would turn around, flash that little grin, and say, “Hey TT, how you doing?”—right after refusing to sleep until 11:30 pm or pushing away the fries that were his favorite food last week.
Toddlers are gangsta.
They’re fearless, resilient, wildly unpredictable—and somehow, completely irresistible.
Watching him reminded me:
They fall and get back up like nothing happened.
They haven’t learned to feel ashamed when they fail.
They haven’t absorbed the world’s idea that failure should slow you down.
And something about being with them—just being their TT, not the CEO, not the CFO—quieted something inside of me.
I didn’t even realize how much I needed it until I was there.
I wanted to remember what it felt like to just be Ashley.
Not responsible Ashley. Not booked and busy Ashley.
Just someone’s sister. Someone’s TT. Someone’s daughter.
I think I was craving joy I didn’t have to earn. I wanted to rest without having to perform it. I didn’t want a curated moment. I didn’t want the version of vacation you post online.
I went to the water park with my niece, and we covered every inch of it—every slide, the lazy river, the wave pool.
At one point, she turned to me and said, “TT, I had so much fun with you this weekend. I had so much fun waking up with you. I had so much fun going to the water park with you.”
I realized how much I just wanted to have fun, too.
I didn’t care what my swimsuit looked like.
I didn’t care if my stomach was a little bloated.
I didn’t care about my hair—it stayed pulled back in a ponytail the whole trip anyway.
After her parents took over for their waterpark shift, I went to do all the things by myself.
I went down all the slides again.
I stood in the wave pool and let the waves rush over me.
I ran under the splash buckets.
I floated in the lazy river.
I didn’t take any pictures once I got by myself. I didn’t even know where my phone was.
I just played.
What I got was so much more than I expected—it was joy without performance.
That trip gave me back a part of myself I didn’t even know I’d been pushing aside.
It reminded me why I built this business the way I did.
Why I protect my time.
Why I set up the systems that let me walk away for a week and not worry about Slack.
Because this is what it’s for.
It’s for the mornings on the balcony.
The water slides.
The pizza and quality time, and preschool gossip.
It’s for being TT.
It’s for joy.
We don’t always have to document our rest.
I’m sharing this because I know I’m not the only one who needs that reminder.
You don’t need a luxury trip or a curated photo dump to justify stepping away.
Sometimes the most sacred kind of rest is the kind no one else sees but you.
And sometimes, you have to go back to being 12-year-old you again to remember who you really are.
So here’s your nudge:
Take the trip.
Go touch grass.
Put your phone down.
Let it be fun.
Let it be enough.
If you’ve had a moment like this lately—where you remembered yourself—tell me about it.
And if you haven’t… what’s one tiny thing that might bring that version of you closer?