My parents sandwiched me on the couch just like they did when I was thirteen. The glassy-eyed disappointment I felt then paled in comparison to the hysterics I displayed now. Maybe that was why instead of telling me to stay the course, my dad said, “Quit.”
I whipped my head around to look at him. He had never told me to quit anything in my life.
“They don’t own you, Val. You don’t need to be this miserable.”
At thirty-one years old, I didn’t need my father’s permission to quit my job, but his support meant a lot to me.
They finally get it.
In their defense, I spent years convincing myself and everyone around me, including my family, that I was doing great. “I love my job. It’s interesting and challenging, and I’m getting great performance reviews,” I would say. I would send them those press releases about the splashy deals I’d worked on and tell them about the big bonuses I’d get at the end of each year. I felt accomplished, and the personal sacrifices—sleep, extracurriculars, dating, workouts, plans, events—seemed worth it.
But I wasn’t so sure it was anymore.
I looked back and forth between my parents’ heavy expressions. They waited patiently for me to respond to my dad’s suggestion.
I didn’t want to miss important family events like my brother’s graduation. I didn’t want to show up exhausted to weddings and parties and other gatherings with my friends. I didn’t want tonotmake plans for fear of having to cancel them when something flared up with work. And I didn’t want to spend holidays up in my bedroom crouched over my laptop instead of downstairs with my parents, my grandmother, and my brother and sister-in-law.
More than all of that, I wanted to enjoy things again. Relentless crashing waves of cortisol had broken down whatever mental barriers I used to have between work and leisure that allowed me to enjoy things like dates and musicals, birthday parties and wine nights with my girlfriends. I needed to build them back.
Between this tech company deal from hell and the regular cataloging of all the things I’d given up over the last six years that it had inspired, something had snapped inside me. I didn’t care about success, prestige, money, or being the best corporate lawyer anymore.
I have to get out.
The warning had already been rattling through my head, almost every second of every day, like a ringing in my ears I couldn’t shake. It had manifested itself in tears and shakes and panic attacks and musings about what my life might look like if I didn’t spend every second working.
I’d been ignoring it, but not anymore. Hearing my father tell me to quit was the last push I needed to finally listen.
6
On Monday, after three hours of sleep, I walked into my office in a trance. I’d only finished one of the two contracts for Carl last night. The godforsaken Brower tech company deal was supposed to sign this week, but I wasn’t sure I could make it to Friday. I headed toward Mallory’s office.
“Val, come in!” she said after I knocked on the threshold of her open office door, putting down the printed contract she’d been reading. Apart from the bags under her eyes, Mallory looked like her typical sunny, put-together self in a black, cap-sleeve business casual dress and leopard print high heels. Meanwhile, I was in my usual T-shirt and blazer combo, looking as defeated as I felt.
“Can I close the door?”
“Of course.”
I removed the tasteful throw pillow and sat down in the chair across from her desk.
“How are things going? Any better since last week?”
I opened my mouth to answer but my eyes filled with tears. Instead of speaking, I shook my head.
“I knew it was bad. You haven’t caught a break in weeks. I assume this weekend wasn’t any better?”
I swallowed over the lump in my throat. “Nope.”
“How can I help? Maybe we can get one of your peers to tag into that deal, so you can take a few days to recoup.”
“I think I need more than a few days.” I refused to close my eyes and let tears roll down my cheeks. My hoarse voice was telling enough.
“Do you need a leave?”
“If I’m being honest, I think I need to quit. I’ve hit the wall. I’m miserable, I’m notmeanymore.” My lungs drew in an unsteady breath.
“I’m sorry, Val. I didn’t realize it had gotten to this point.”
“I haven’t exactly been telling people. I reached my breaking point this weekend.”
