in those quiet moments

I used to think my life was important. Interesting. Almost glamorous in a way — not because of what I had outside of work, but because of the pressure I lived inside of it.

My previous job was stressful, high stakes, and full of challenges. And I loved it. Every task I owned, every roadmap I built felt like it carried weight in the organization. People noticed. And honestly? I won’t lie — I felt important

I was surrounded by high-performing people, people with incredible intellect. I was also very lucky with my bosses and mentors. They were smart, sharp. Each of them had their own strengths that I admired — even though, yeah, some of them didn’t exactly have the best people skills (~oops). They were so good at what they did that nobody dared to challenge them. I looked up to them. I learned from them. Being in that circle made me feel like I belonged to something bigger.

And my team? They were everything. I couldn’t have done it without them.

We worked hard, we laughed, we carried each other through the chaos. I honestly thought we’d be together for a long time. We were very passionate people, really love doing what we do. And then, just like that, it was over. When the announcement was made — just like that, the rhythm we built together ended.

I remember staring at that reality and thinking: What now?

Do I still want this job if I don’t have these people with me?

Was it the work I loved — or was it them? The comfort of them that gave me confidence?

I didn’t have the answers. I still don’t, really. But I do know that moment cracked something open in me.

What I do know is that everything changed after that. Eventually, I decided to move into a completely different role — one that tests me in new ways: my discipline, my patience, my ability to stand without the same support system I once leaned on. I don’t have a team now. I run the show mostly alone, with only the support from my manager. We don’t own the roadmap — we only influence it. And to this day, I still struggle with that.

Technically, I’m part of a team. But in practice, I’m alone. My teammates all do completely different scopes, different worlds. Which means in practice, it’s a lonely world. And that loneliness is its own kind of challenge.

It’s a whole new game, and it doesn’t feel good. Not comforting at all.

But through all this, one thing has become clear: I didn’t know who I was when it was taken away from me. For 6 years, I woke up and fell asleep with my mind running through tasks, projects, and accomplishments. My worth was measured by how much I got done, how many slack fires I put out, how important I seemed in the eyes of others.

And then suddenly, it was quiet. Too quiet. Who was I without all the noise?

So I let myself dwell in this feelings and thoughts for 3 months, I gave myself 3 months before I decide what I want to do about it. And somewhere in between, I started blaming myself. For caring too much. For being too passionate. For letting work mean so much to me.

But is that really wrong?

To give a part of myself to something I loved doing?

To care enough that it hurts when it’s gone?

Because the truth is, that same passion — the one I thought broke me — is the very thing that will carry me forward.

And I’m glad I gave my all into everything I did. Even if it cost me pieces of myself along the way, at least I can look back now and know I didn’t hold back. I showed up fully. I cared deeply. I poured myself into my work — and that is something to be proud of. The achievements, the challenges I overcame, the people I worked alongside — they’re all part of me now. They shaped me, and no one can take that away.

But then I thought — what is so interesting about that, if in the process I lost the sense of living?

I let work define me so much that I forgot what it meant to actually live. For years, I measured my days by tasks completed, rollouts done, roadmaps delivered, OKRs achieved. My life was a checklist. My worth was tied to output. And somewhere along the way, I stopped noticing the quieter moments — the ones that weren’t about deadlines, but about simply living.

That realization was hard. Because while I’m proud of what I built, I also see the parts of myself I neglected. The pauses I skipped. The fun I never allowed myself to sit with. The life I put on hold because I thought the work was more important?

And the truth is, I don’t know how to undo that yet. I don’t know how to separate myself from the need to achieve something, or how to measure a day without a to-do-list. All I know is that I lost something along the way.

#Disclaimer -This picture was taken years ago — back when I still drank coffee. These days, not even Nescafe.