There’s a rhythm in Washington, DC.
Decisions move fast, coffee flows stronger, and ambition never sleeps.
But even here, in a city defined by titles and timelines, we’re quietly reaching a breaking point.

Because here’s the truth:
We’re not just burned out by bad bosses or broken systems.
We’re burned out by the inner war between who we truly are and who we think we have to be.

And in tech? That tension is amplified.

We’re told to chase growth, equity, and visibility.
We jump from role to role, startup to startup, holding onto that promise of “next”—even when we’re falling apart inside.
But underneath the headlines and polished profiles, there’s a growing need that no one talks about:

The need to pause.

Not to escape.
To recalibrate.
To rest.
To return.

Because this idea that we should work on auto for 40 years, with limited leave, unreliable benefits, and increasing volatility, is outdated.
Tech careers churn. Two years per role is the norm. Layoffs are common. Growth isn’t promised.

Still, we shame the break.

We act like taking time off means you’re not serious.
That if you aren’t launching something or getting promoted, you’re falling behind.

But I’ve lived another story.
And I’ve helped many leaders—especially women—rewrite theirs too.

I started with a steady six-year career.
Then I took the leap: founded my own company, led it for three years, built a product, consulted, worked full-time—sometimes all in parallel.
I kept going until I couldn’t. Divorce forced a reset. I closed the company. Returned to full-time work. Stayed four years.

Then came another startup.
I wasn’t the founding founder, but I was building deeply, passionately.
No salary—just the promise of equity.
To fund my role, I sold an investment property. Not to “cash out,” but to buy time.
To honor my contribution without waiting for external validation.

Eventually, I stepped back.
Because I couldn’t afford to keep burning myself out while building someone else’s dream.

That break? It became a hinge point.
I didn’t disappear. I redefined.

Then came another job. Then a layoff.
Then another job. Another layoff.
Now I consult. I coach. I build again—with clarity, with fire.

But my story isn’t unique.
It’s the quiet anthem of a new generation of leaders, especially women.

Women who paused to raise children.
Women who stepped away to care for aging parents.
Women like me—single, divorced, no children—who faced something quieter and harder to name:
A career break that offered no title to hide behind.

Not a mother. Not a wife. Just… a woman choosing to rest.
And in a patriarchal world, that can feel disorienting.

Because when our value has been defined by how we care for others, or by who we belong to, what does it mean to simply belong to ourselves?

And yet, this is the moment of leadership.

To choose wholeness. To heal without needing justification.
To rebuild not for optics, but for alignment.

Some are traveling the world.
Some are deep in grief.
Some are just trying to get through the day.

All are valid.

So if you’re in a pause—whether chosen or forced—here’s what I want you to know:

• You are not broken.
• Your story is not over.
• Your break is not a liability—it’s a leadership decision.

This isn’t about resilience as survival.
It’s about rising, Phoenix-style.
From the ashes of what was.
Into the clarity of what’s next.

And if you don’t know how to tell that story yet—that’s where I can help.

Through Phoenix Coaching, I work with tech leaders navigating identity shifts, career gaps, and leadership transitions.
Together, we turn your pause into power.
We craft a narrative that reflects who you really are, not just what you’ve done.

Because breaks don’t break your story.
They deepen it.
They make space for the comeback you didn’t even know you needed.

Ready to return—not with apology, but with authority?
Let’s shape your next chapter together.