The Illusion of “Having It All”

There is a picture we are sold—polished, framed, and carefully curated—depicting a woman, effortlessly balancing career and family, self-care and social life, ambition and inner peace. A man, powerful yet present, providing without being absent, succeeding without losing his soul. A life that checks all the boxes.

The ultimate dream: to “have it all.”

But does this dream exist, or is it just a mirage we chase—exhausting ourselves while pursuing something no one has ever truly attained? And if we ever did “have it all”—would we even recognise it? Or would we still be reaching for more?

No one talks about the cost, the quiet compromises, the trade-offs we never intended to make but somehow did.

“You’re so lucky. You have everything—a great job, a beautiful family, an amazing life,” a friend once told me over dinner. I smiled, but inside, I wanted to say:

“Do you know how tired I am? Do you know how many times I have stared at the ceiling at 2 a.m., wondering if I am failing at everything? Do you know how often I feel like I am standing in the middle of my life but not truly living any of it?”

Instead, I laughed lightly and said, “Yeah… it’s a lot, but I’m managing.” Ha, ha, ha…

Because that is what we do. We manage. We keep the illusion intact. But at what point does “managing” become barely surviving? How much of ourselves do we lose in the process of keeping everything together?

We admire those who seem to do it all, but we never ask what they had to trade to keep the illusion alive. The mother who wakes before dawn to squeeze in work before her children stir, stretching herself thin between meetings and bedtime stories. The entrepreneur who pours everything into building an empire, only to look around and find herself alone at the top. The father who aches to be present but is constantly pulled into the gravity of providing.

Something always has to give. But do we ever stop to ask ourselves: Am I giving up the right things?

We talk about balance like it is a perfect equation. If we just move the right pieces around, everything will settle neatly into place. But balance is not a formula. It is a negotiation, a never-ending series of choices.

“Mom, you’re always working,” my daughter said one evening, standing in the doorway of my home office, her small face half-lit by my laptop screen.

I looked at the blinking cursor on my screen, then at her blinking eyes.

“I just need five more minutes, baby,” I said.

She nodded, but I saw it—the flicker of disappointment, the slow retreat of her footsteps.

How many “five more minutes” do we give before the people we love stop asking for our time? How many moments slip through our fingers while we chase the idea of a “balanced life?”

Some days, career wins. Some days, love wins. Some days, we choose ourselves, and some days, we forget who we are because everything else demands more. No one has it all, at least not all at once. Yet, we guilt ourselves for failing at an impossible standard. But who sets this standard? And why do we keep trying to measure up to it?

I once knew someone who walked away. Sophia had everything we were taught to want—an executive career, a beautiful home, a marriage that looked perfect on the outside. Then, one day, she quit her job, sold the house, and left.

“Why?” I asked her once when we met again years later.

She sipped her coffee slowly and said, “Because it wasn’t my life. It was the life I thought I was supposed to live. And I was exhausted from pretending it was enough.”

I stared at her, wondering if I could ever make a choice that bold.

“Do you regret it?” I asked.

She smiled. “Not for a second.”

Not all of us can—or want to—walk away from everything. But her story made me wonder: How many of us have lives that are not truly ours? How many of us are trapped in expectations we never even questioned?

Then, there is Daniel. He never chased the idea of “having it all.” He did not climb corporate ladders. He did not chase titles. He worked just enough to live comfortably, spent time with his family, and did what he loved.

“Don’t you ever feel like you’re missing out?” I once asked him.

He chuckled. “On what? Stress? Constant pressure? Feeling like no matter how much I have, it’s never enough?”

I opened my mouth, then closed it.

“I have what I need,” he said. “Isn’t that enough?”

His words stayed with me. And I began to ask myself: Is this enough? Have I been chasing the wrong things? Is there something deeper that we miss in the pursuit of “having it all”?

Does the answer live beyond the constant striving and acquiring? Maybe there is a peace found in releasing the need for everything to be perfect. And what if, instead of pushing harder, we started seeking something greater than the fleeting ideals of success—something lasting, fulfilling, and truly enough?

Jesus said, “But seek first the kingdom of God and His righteousness, and all these things will be given you besides.”

That actually makes good sense to me. It will not, to everyone. Not to people mired in the temporal, material and data-driven sides of existence. But for someone who rubs elbows with faith, it is an answer with a high ceiling and a tremendous upside.

Perhaps when we break it down it’s not that we cannot have it all—but that we cannot have it all without Him.

A revelation.

I have not attained peace by holding onto everything. Have you? I have discovered that grasping what matters and dumping the distractions is the course to chart. I trust God to design the chart, understanding that it will be more than enough. With the chart in hand, we just put it into play.

So, instead of asking, “Can we have it all?”, maybe the real questions are:

What is your all? Surrender the illusion?

Wouldn’t it stand to reason that the answer lies not in what we can do, but in trusting the One who has already given us enough?