The night I realized I couldn't go on like this…

My heart was pounding as I rode through the streets of San Francisco in a taxi that Wednesday night. I had just come back from a dinner with colleagues: I was feeling energized and excited to implement some newly learned business strategies the next day.

I was responsible for the marketing strategy and tactics of the radiology department at UCSF. My role was meaningful, and I was committed to helping doctors share the latest medical advancements.

And yet, as the taxi turned onto my street, panic set in.

How the heck am I going to do all this?

I’d been sick for months with a relentless cough that had literally broken one of my ribs. I had no energy. No vitality. I was exhausted beyond anything I’d ever experienced.

And as the cab stopped in front of my apartment, I had another gut punch: I couldn’t just crash in bed.

I had an 18-month-old daughter who would wake up crying in the middle of the night. She needed me too.

For months, I had been feeling completely disempowered. My life felt unmanageable.

"Being a working mom shouldn't be this hard," I kept thinking.

That night, walking up the stairs, I saw my then-husband and blurted out:

“I can’t go on like this. I think I need to quit my job.”

And just like that, I did.

But quitting didn’t fix everything—I was still sick, exhausted, and overwhelmed with no idea what was next.

And then, a thought hit me:

"I’m raising two daughters. What kind of role model will I be if I don’t figure this out?"

I needed to find a new way to live—not just for me, but for them.

I started searching. I experimented. I tried everything to bring more joy, energy, and balance back into my life.

But it didn’t happen overnight.

For months, I felt moody, impatient, and frustrated—with my family, with myself. I was constantly carrying guilt—guilt for not doing enough for my family, guilt for wanting more for myself, guilt for even thinking I should make myself a priority.

And beyond the guilt, there was isolation.

Because on paper, I had a good life—a loving family, a career, a home. "Must be nice," people might say. But having great things didn’t mean I never felt lost, exhausted, or unfulfilled.

And that’s the part no one talks about.

The unspoken rule that if you have a ‘good life,’ you shouldn’t feel bad. That if you’re struggling, you’re being ungrateful, indulgent, or dramatic.

I started questioning myself:

• Why do I feel this way when I should feel happy?

• Is something wrong with me?

• Why does no one else seem to feel this way?

I felt a deep, private disconnect—this sense that my emotions were somehow invalid because no one around me seemed to say them out loud.

👉Burnout wasn’t just exhaustion—it was overgiving, chasing perfection, and feeling like I was never enough. Sound familiar?

So I began making small but profound changes:

✔ Movement that inspired me → I joined weekly ballet classes.

✔ Connection to my aspirations → I enrolled in a coaching certification.

✔ Daily habits that supported my well-being → Meditation, being coached, and setting boundaries.

I used to think I had to push through. To keep proving myself. To never admit that I was struggling.

I wish someone had told me then what I now know: that struggling doesn’t mean you’re failing. That just because you have a life that looks good on paper doesn’t mean you don’t deserve support. That feeling stuck, overwhelmed, or lost isn’t a sign of weakness—it’s a sign that something within you is ready for change.

And maybe the real question isn’t, "Why do I feel this way?" but rather, "What is this feeling trying to tell me?"