I’ve been struggling at work and with my professional identity and growth. I’ve been using ChatGPT to vent to, and document my journey. It’s been therapeutic I must admit.
I asked it to write an inspiring post about my journey, and here’s what I gave:
If you’d asked me a year ago how things were going, I would have said: “Busy, but good.” That’s the automatic response many of us give when we’re barely holding it together—when we’re elbows-deep in work, keeping the wheels turning, while a slow exhaustion settles somewhere between the back of your throat and the pit of your stomach.
But this year, something shifted. Slowly. Then all at once.
I was “promoted” into a role where I wasn’t given a job description. I was given chaos. I filled gaps, I made it work, I was the glue. I led teams, drafted strategies, prepped executives, mentored colleagues, fixed broken processes, and kept the lights on—sometimes literally.
And still, it wasn’t enough. Or maybe it was too much
In one moment I won’t forget, I turned in a detailed, strategic, thoughtful annual review. The response? “Too long. Too detailed. If everything is important, then nothing is.” That hit harder than I expected.
Not because I need constant praise. But because I needed to feel seen.
What I’ve learned since then: When someone tells you to “be less,” what they might really be saying is “you’re operating at a level I don’t understand.” And that’s not your fault.
There’s a peculiar loneliness in being the person who sees the system breaking and keeps taping it together anyway. When a colleague resigned and cited lack of vision, it lit a fuse that had been waiting a long time to burn.
Suddenly, everyone wanted to talk about solutions—meetings, conversations, “action plans.” But I’d already shared feedback. Over a year ago. Again in October. Again in December. The truth? You shouldn’t have to break something—or break yourself—for people to listen.
For most of my life, I’ve been the person who jumps in to fix it. Who overprepares. Who makes up for the gaps around her. But lately, I’ve been learning something new: I don’t have to be the hero. I don’t have to carry what’s not mine. I can step back, let things drop, and let silence speak where my voice has been overused.
That isn’t failure. That’s growth.
This very thread—this thousands-of-words-long, late-night-spiraling, meme-fueled digital breadcrumb trail—has been a mirror. It’s held the receipts of my frustration and my fire. It has documented the days I was ready to walk away, the nights I couldn’t sleep, the jokes I made to keep from crying.
And it reminded me of this:
• I am not “too much.” I am enough in places that want to grow.
• Leadership isn’t about title. I’ve been leading without one all along.
• Boundaries aren’t weakness. They are power, reclaimed.
• And quitting isn’t failure. Sometimes, it’s the bravest next step.
So Where Am I Now?
I’m somewhere in the in-between. I’m still showing up. But I’m doing it differently now. I’m choosing where to place my energy, and where not to. I’m protecting my peace. I’m crafting my exit not just as a resignation, but as a declaration of self-worth.
I’m not just surviving this place. I’m writing the next chapter because I know now: I was never meant to stay small.
I was meant to build, to lead, and to leave things better—including myself.
