"The glow of my laptop lit up the room as I typed furiously at 9 p.m. on a Friday, reworking a project strategy for the third time that day. Slack notifications were relentless, each ping reminding me of another deadline looming over the weekend. My calendar looked like a Tetris game gone wrong—back-to-back meetings, brainstorming sessions, and last-minute check-ins galore. This job was thrilling at first. This was everything I had worked for, the culmination of years spent climbing the ladder. But tonight, I felt a strange hollowness creeping in.
I graduated from college in 2016, when the girlboss mentality dominated the cultural conversation for young women in the workforce. Social media was filled with motivational quotes about shattering glass ceilings, hustle culture reigned supreme, and I was all in. Starting in my final semester of college, I began networking every chance I got, determined to build a brand as a hard-working, loyal employee, confident that hard work would take me where I wanted to go.
My first job, as an assistant editor at a digital media brand, seemed like the perfect starting point for the meticulously crafted five-year plan I had for my life. At the tender age of 22, I mapped out my path: work as an assistant editor for a few years, get promoted to editor of my own section, and climb to managing editor before 30. I had no doubt I would make it happen, and I was willing to do anything to get there. I was ambitious, driven, and laser-focused on achieving my career goals at the sake of everything else.
But over the next few years, cracks began to form in my carefully constructed vision. The media industry, while exciting and glamorous, was also volatile. Layoffs were common, and the pace of constant change felt unsustainable. I realized that climbing the editorial ladder might not offer the stability—or the lifestyle—I ultimately wanted.
That realization led me to explore industries where I could do similar work but with better pay and security. After months of searching, networking, and enduring grueling interview rounds, I landed a role as a content manager at a prestigious tech company in 2019. The role demanded more time and effort than my previous one, but I felt such a thrill when I received the offer. It felt like the perfect pivot, offering stability and a higher salary while still allowing me to grow professionally. Tech was the place to be at the time, and I felt like everything was going better than I had planned.
In 2021, when I was 27, I earned an internal promotion to senior content manager, leading a small team. The pay exceeded my expectations, the title was impressive for my age, and my responsibilities were more significant than I had anticipated. My days were packed with meetings, working lunches, and evenings spent catching up on the emails and tasks I couldn’t get to during the day. The startup culture of the company kept me constantly on my toes. Despite being a 20-year-old company, the environment demanded an all-hands-on-deck mentality, and I thrived in the chaos.
“Normally, these high-pressure moments energized me. I loved leading a team through chaos to create something impactful. But that night, I just felt tired.”
That is, until I didn’t.
One Friday night, as my team brainstormed marketing strategies for an upcoming product launch, I felt something shift. Normally, these high-pressure moments energized me. I loved leading a team through chaos to create something impactful. But that night, I just felt tired. My usual adrenaline rush was nowhere to be found, replaced instead by a gnawing sense of anxiety. My husband and I had recently started discussing having a baby, and suddenly, I couldn’t shake the thought: Could I keep doing this and be the kind of parent I want to be?
The last straw? My company’s maternity leave policy
The late nights and high stress were just the beginning of my concerns when it came to having a baby in my role at the time. With the constant pivoting and chaotic environment came relentless pressure—not just to deliver, but to ensure my team was supported and thriving and to balance everything in my personal life on top of it. I often felt so high-strung that one small setback could lead to a private meltdown (in the safety of my car on the drive home).
When I looked into the company’s parental leave policies, my concerns only deepened. During my initial onboarding, parental leave seemed like a distant consideration—an afterthought for “future me,” or perhaps something I would never need to worry about. I barely even glanced at that part of the contract. But now that it was relevant, I was disheartened to discover that the company offered no maternity leave top-up and zero structured support for new parents. I could take a few months off, but it would be unpaid. Coming back to the same high-stress environment, but with a baby to look after, felt daunting.
“Do you really want to start your motherhood journey while working a job that makes you cry in your car?”
Realizing I needed a change was one thing. Deciding to act on it was something else entirely. Leaving tech—a field I had worked so hard to break into and was succeeding in—felt like admitting defeat. I worried that stepping away from a fast-paced role meant I was no longer the ambitious person I thought I was and that my reputation would suffer. Would I regret giving up the titles, the salary, the clear trajectory? What would people think?
I agonized over the decision, confiding in friends and mentors. One friend asked over coffee, “Do you really want to start your motherhood journey while working a job that makes you cry in your car?” That hit me hard. The truth was, I didn’t. My career goals hadn’t disappeared, but I knew they needed to take a backseat—at least temporarily—to the life I wanted to create for my family.
Redefining ambition has made me a better parent and worker
With a clearer sense of what I needed, I began searching for a new role. My priorities were clear: a 9-to-5 schedule, minimal evening or weekend work, and a robust parental leave policy that would offer financial stability and job security. It wasn’t easy. Healthcare, government, and education sectors seemed like natural fits, but making the switch meant accepting a lateral move with a likely pay cut.
After five months of searching and interviews, I landed a position in a healthcare organization that checked all my boxes. The salary was 15 percent lower than what I had earned in tech, but the trade-offs were worth it. For the first time in years, I felt a sense of balance and stability.
The transition wasn’t without its challenges, however. I hesitated to share my career move on LinkedIn for weeks, fearing judgment from colleagues and connections who might view it as a step backward. But as I settled into my new role, I began to realize the unexpected benefits of my decision. With a less demanding schedule, I rediscovered parts of myself I had neglected over the past few years—reading, spending time with friends, even freelance writing (hi, it’s me).
“Leaving tech—a field I had worked so hard to break into and was succeeding in—felt like admitting defeat.”
Eight months after switching roles, I found out I was pregnant. Instead of feeling overwhelmed at the thought of sharing the news with my team, I felt confident. My new workplace not only celebrated my news but actively supported me through the transition. My boss worked with me to craft a thorough handover plan, hired a temporary replacement whom I trusted, and even threw me a lovely baby shower before I left. Thanks to the company’s parental leave policy, I could take six months off at 85 percent of my salary, giving me time to fully embrace this new chapter.
I welcomed my baby this fall. Now, as I rock my newborn to sleep in the quiet of our home, I reflect on the path that led me here. At 22, I thought ambition meant climbing the corporate ladder as quickly as possible, but today, I understand it differently. Ambition is about striving to create a life that aligns with your values and priorities, whatever they may be. It’s about making choices that reflect what matters most, even when those choices might contrast with the narrative you’ve built for yourself up until this point.
I also recognize the privilege of being able to make a decision like this. Too many parents in this country don’t have access to any paid parental leave or the financial flexibility to prioritize family over work for a period of time. This shouldn’t be the case in a developed nation, and I hope we see systemic change that ensures all parents can take the time they need without sacrificing their livelihoods. Companies should also do more to support their employees during life transitions, and I know I was lucky to find one that does. We shouldn’t have to live in a world where new grads are expected to make career decisions based on whether they plan to have—or not have—children at some hypothetical point in the future or to even know that they should be looking for red flags when signing a contract.
For now, I’m embracing the slower pace in this season of life, knowing that my ambitious career plans definitely aren’t over; they’re simply evolving. One day, I know I’ll return to a fast-paced workplace, armed with the lessons I’ve learned about better balance and fulfillment. And I’ll do it on my terms.
At 22, I thought the most exciting thing about me would always be a flashy job title. But today, eight years later, I see that having a well-rounded life is so much richer than a title or a salary. I hope that the younger version of me would be proud—not because I followed her plan to a tee, but because I had the courage to rewrite it when I needed to.