Chap­ter 39 reflects a time when life felt con­trolled, but I still tried to hold on to some sem­blance of my old self. Before the con­ser­va­tor­ship, I was spon­ta­neous and free-spir­it­ed. My friend Cade would sug­gest a road trip, and I’d be packed and ready before he even fin­ished telling me the des­ti­na­tion. I had con­fi­dence in my choic­es, whether it was adjust­ing the sound at my shows or express­ing frus­tra­tion when things went wrong. I didn’t hold back—everyone knew how I felt, and I embraced that free­dom. But in Vegas, every­thing changed. I went through the motions, per­form­ing the same show over and over, like a robot, with no voice or auton­o­my. Smil­ing and nod­ding became my only option. The feel­ing of being reduced to just a per­former, with­out a say in the mat­ter, wore on me, and I longed for more free­dom.

The only thing that kept me going dur­ing this peri­od was the promise of two vaca­tions with my kids every year. This tra­di­tion meant every­thing to me, as it allowed me to recon­nect with them and recharge. How­ev­er, when Glo­ry was released, I was forced to tour instead, which meant no vaca­tion. I had to bring my kids along on the road, and it wasn’t fun for any­one. It was exhaust­ing and frus­trat­ing, espe­cial­ly since I was unable to enjoy the one thing I need­ed for my well-being. So, the fol­low­ing year, I made it clear to my team that I need­ed those vaca­tions. I wasn’t ask­ing for a break, I was demand­ing it. I flagged them down in the quick-change area before a show and told them, “I real­ly need those vaca­tions this year.” I explained how impor­tant these trips were for my men­tal health, and that Maui had become a sanc­tu­ary for me and my kids. It was our tra­di­tion, and it was some­thing I deeply relied on to main­tain my peace of mind.

My team, under­stand­ing the impor­tance of this to me, agreed to let me have the sum­mer off after fin­ish­ing two tour shows. I felt a sense of relief know­ing that we were on the same page. The deal was set—once Vegas was over, I would be able to take a break with my chil­dren. How­ev­er, as Decem­ber 2017 approached and my Vegas res­i­den­cy was final­ly com­ing to an end, I was hit with unex­pect­ed news. I had com­plet­ed hun­dreds of shows and was eager to be done with it all. But as I was chang­ing in my dress­ing room between acts, some­one from my team dropped the bomb­shell: I was expect­ed to go on tour again that sum­mer. This was not what had been agreed upon, and I felt betrayed. “That wasn’t the deal,” I said, frus­trat­ed. I had already made plans, and I had made it clear that I was tak­ing my kids to Maui. It wasn’t just a vacation—it was an essen­tial part of my men­tal health. Yet, it seemed that my needs were being over­looked once again. This marked a moment when I real­ized that, despite my efforts to assert myself, I was still bound by deci­sions made by oth­ers.

This expe­ri­ence high­lights the con­stant bat­tle between my per­son­al needs and the demands placed on me. I was caught in a cycle where my voice was often dis­re­gard­ed, and the pres­sure to per­form nev­er ceased. Despite this, I con­tin­ued to advo­cate for myself, even when it seemed like I was being ignored. The con­tra­dic­tion between my desire for a break and the ongo­ing demands of my career left me feel­ing exhaust­ed and defeat­ed. The hol­i­days and vaca­tions were sup­posed to be a chance to restore bal­ance in my life, but instead, they became just anoth­er source of stress. I was con­stant­ly giv­ing, but rarely receiv­ing the space I need­ed to heal. The promise of those vaca­tions was one of the few things that kept me ground­ed dur­ing the chaos of my career.