For almost two decades, my job title preceded me. It opened doors, set the tone in rooms, and gave people a sense of who I was. It also became how I introduced myself, how I measured progress, and—without fully realizing it—how I defined my value. Then suddenly, I wasn’t that title anymore.
At first, I thought I was ready to jump right into the next thing. I started planning, networking, building my next move. But every time I tried to push forward, it felt heavy. I couldn’t get through the lists I made for myself. The more I forced it, the more disconnected I felt.
I was surrounded by people who cared—family, friends, former colleagues—all trying to help in their own way. I appreciated their support, but most of their advice didn’t land. It was based on their experiences, not mine. And I didn’t want to follow someone else’s path. I needed space to understand what I wanted, beyond the expectations and timelines.
A friend suggested something different: speak to a life coach and start journaling.
That simple advice changed everything.
Through journaling, I started asking deeper questions—not about my next role, but about why I was always rushing toward something. I realized I had spent years in a cycle of running. Running to meetings, running between countries, rushing through conversations, even rushing through joy. I was always trying to be the perfect leader, the best mom, the strong friend. I never paused to just be.
Somewhere along the way, my identity became tightly wrapped around achievement and productivity. So when I took a break from that pace, I didn’t just have free time—I had unfamiliar space. And in that space, I started reconnecting with the parts of myself I hadn’t given attention in years.
I started reading again. I exercised to feel strong, not just fit. I joined networks not to find a job, but to learn and contribute. I made time for my family—real, present time. I connected with people not because I had to, but because I wanted to. And I let myself explore without having every answer.
That’s when I began defining my prism.
Each side of it—career, wellness, health, family, creativity, purpose—deserved attention. When the prism is balanced, it reflects light beautifully. But when one side takes over, things start to feel dim. I wasn’t trying to slow down—I was trying to show up differently.
This journey hasn’t been linear. Some days I felt energized and clear. Others, I felt unsure. But I kept grounding myself. I practiced self-love, reflection, and asked for support when I needed it. I realized simple acts—like a good meal with my kids or time alone to think—can be just as meaningful as big wins at work.
Today, I still care deeply about my career. I’m still building, learning, growing. But I’m no longer defined by a title. That’s just one part of who I am.
Identity isn’t about what’s on your email signature. It’s about how you live, how you love, and how you show up for the things that matter.
