Maybe I’m Not Failing. Maybe I’m Just Angry.

I’ve been wondering lately if I’m going through the stages of grief with my job.

Or if I’m just angry.

Angry that I let it get to this point.

But then I think about how I actually got here.

I was promoted while I was on maternity leave with my son.

It was exciting. A recognition that I had worked hard for. Something I should have been proud of.

And I was.

But when I came back, my workload had essentially doubled.

I didn't come back to the exact job I had left.

I came back to a different level of responsibility, a different workload, and a job that required more of me at the exact same time my life outside of work had gotten exponentially bigger.

And maybe that’s part of my anger.

Because did I really choose this?

Or did I just keep moving forward because that’s what you do?

You get promoted, so you take on more.

You become a mom, so you figure out how to make it work.

Then you have another baby, and you somehow figure out how to make room for even more.

You keep adapting.

You keep saying yes.

You keep making it work.

Until you realize you’ve been making it work for everyone except yourself.

And then I start asking myself harder questions.

Did I not set enough boundaries?

Did I let work take up too much space?

Should I have said no sooner?

Could I have prevented myself from getting to this place?

Or is this just what happens when you’re constantly trying to be good at everything?

Because somewhere along the way, I think my generation was handed this blueprint:

Climb the corporate ladder.

Get married.

Have a family.

Build a career.

Be a great mom.

Be a great wife.

Keep the house together.

Take care of yourself.

And somehow… balance it all.

Where did we get the idea that we were supposed to do all of this at the same time?

And then there’s the part that makes me question myself the most.

I see so many moms doing it.

They’re building careers, raising young kids, leading teams, traveling for work, making it to school events, and somehow finding a way to hold all of it together.

They’ve figured out how to stay ambitious without feeling like their ambition is taking them away from their families.

And I look at them and wonder: Why doesn’t it feel that way for me?

Why does my version of having both feel like I eventually have to choose one?

Is there something wrong with me?

Am I not resilient enough?

Did I make different choices?

Did I fail to set the right boundaries?

Or maybe this isn't about failure at all.

Because underneath the anger, there is this pull toward my kids that I can't quite explain.

A feeling that this time is moving way too fast.

That I won't get these years back.

Sometimes I wonder if that feeling is just my heart.

And sometimes I wonder if it’s God gently pointing at my littles and saying:

You won’t get this time back. I’ve got you.

Maybe it’s both.

And I think that’s what I’m struggling with most.

Because I don't want to leave my career feeling like I failed.

I don't want to look at women who are doing both and wonder why I couldn't.

I don't want to believe that wanting more time with my kids means I wasn't ambitious enough.

And I don't want all of the hard work I put into my career to suddenly feel like a mistake.

So how do I get rid of this anger?

Maybe I don't.

Maybe I need to understand it first.

Maybe I’m angry because I worked hard for something—and then it changed.

Maybe I’m angry because I came back from maternity leave to a bigger job when my life already required more of me at home.

Maybe I’m angry because I thought I would get to choose what this next season looked like, and instead I just kept adapting to what was asked of me.

Maybe I’m angry because I thought I could do it all if I just worked harder.

And maybe I’m finally realizing that I don't actually want to spend my life proving that I can.

I don't have an answer yet.

I don't know if this is grief, anger, motherhood, exhaustion, God—or some combination of all of it.

But I’m starting to believe that figuring out what comes next doesn't mean I failed at what came before.

Maybe recognizing that something no longer works for me isn't failure.

Maybe changing my definition of success isn't failure.

Maybe admitting that I want something different isn't failure.

Maybe I’m not losing myself.

Maybe I’m finally listening to myself.

Still me.