“I’m burning out again.”

The words hung in the air.

I thought I should feel embarrassed. I’d tried so many things. Surely this time should’ve been different.

But there wasn’t any embarrassment. Instead, all I felt was relief. Because I could finally admit that things weren't working.

Here's the story so far:

For 9 years, I’d worked hard to build a career as a marketing writer for both huge brands and small businesses. I’d operated as both a business owner and an employee. I'd found some kind of success.

I was chasing a career path I’d fallen into when I was barely out of my teen years. Meanwhile, I was spending my weekends writing, drawing, sewing costumes, and constantly fiddling with my website.

My career was focused on being creative for others. But I craved being creative for myself.

In October 2021, it all came to a head. My latest job was feeling heavy. We were about to move to a new house. My husband was facing some serious knee problems, leaving him barely able to walk.

And a little blue test line showed that our tiny family was about to grow.

So I did the only thing that felt right: I quit. And in the ashes of that decision, I've begun to find something in me a bit deeper, a bit truer.