A few weeks ago, I did something that felt both radical and risky—I went on holiday without my laptop.

For years, I’ve been tethered to my devices, even during time off.

The logic always seemed sound: What if a client needed me? What if a critical email came through? What if there was an emergency only I could resolve? These “what ifs” became such a regular part of my thinking that I never questioned them. I simply packed my laptop, phone, chargers, and power banks along with the boardgames and passports.

But this time was different.

Something in me knew I needed a deeper break—not just physical distance from work, but a true mental reset. So I left my laptop behind. No safety net. No work check-ins. Just a decision to trust that the world wouldn’t fall apart in my absence.

The first couple of days were difficult. I’d catch myself instinctively reaching for my phone, tempted to scroll through emails or peek at our project dashboards. At one point, out of pure habit, I tried to dial into a business call. My client answered, and to my surprise, said, “Everything is under control.” That moment stopped me in my tracks. I hung up, sat back, and let the realization sink in: I was not as indispensable as I believed, and that was a good thing.

It was a humbling, yet freeing thought.

That interaction became the turning point. For the rest of the holiday, I slowly began to unwind. I spent real, quality time with my family—without the distraction of notifications, unread messages, or looming deadlines. I had long conversations with my spouse and kids. I laughed more. I felt present.

And as the days passed, something unexpected happened: my mind started clearing. Ideas for projects that had stalled for months started to resurface—organically, without force. Tasks that had once felt overwhelming now seemed manageable. By day eleven of the break, with three more days still to go, I found myself jotting down ideas for how to finally wrap up those lingering initiatives.

That’s the irony of real rest. When we step away from the noise, the mind finds space to solve problems we’ve been too burnt out to face. Creativity, it turns out, thrives in silence.

Coming back to work, I felt different. Not just rested, but re-centered.

I noticed I wasn’t rushing to “catch up.” Instead, I approached my tasks with fresh clarity. I was more intentional about prioritizing what really mattered and letting go of the urge to micromanage everything. I realized that my constant need to be plugged in wasn’t just about client service—it was about control. And by learning to let go, I gave my team the chance to step up and take ownership in ways they hadn’t before.

To their credit, they did just that. Projects moved forward. Decisions were made. Problems were solved—sometimes better than I could have handled them myself. It made me appreciate the strength and capability of the people I’ve built around me. Leadership, I’ve learned, isn’t about doing everything; it’s about creating space for others to succeed.

This experience gave me two important lessons.

First, work-life balance is not a buzzword—it’s a survival strategy. Especially in today’s always-connected world, the pressure to be “on” all the time is real. But being constantly available doesn’t make us better leaders or more successful professionals. If anything, it drains us. And when we’re running on empty, we’re no good to anyone—not our clients, not our teams, and certainly not our families.

Second, unplugging isn’t a luxury; it’s a discipline. It requires trust—in your systems, your people, and yourself. It requires setting boundaries that, at first, may feel uncomfortable. But the benefits are immense: better focus, deeper creativity, stronger relationships, and renewed energy.

Now that I’m back in the rhythm of work, I’ve made a commitment to myself. I’ll continue to create pockets of disconnection—not just during annual leave, but as part of my regular schedule. Whether it’s a device-free weekend, a quiet evening walk without my phone, or just turning off notifications during deep work sessions, I’m learning to be more intentional with my time and attention.

To anyone who feels like stepping away isn’t an option, I offer this: try it, even for a short while. Leave your laptop behind. Step away from the screen. Give yourself permission to disconnect. You might be surprised by what happens when you do.

For me, it wasn’t just a holiday—it was a reset. And I came back refreshed and ready for a new challenge.