My Advice: Get Out of Your Own Way

Once upon a time, I knew everything. I was just out of college, and thought I had life by the tail. Two decades later, the only thing I know is how I work doesn't work for me any longer.

Fresh out of college, I was working in the field I'd studied - marketing, specifically advertising. I wanted to work. That's how I had always envisioned my adult self. I wasn't one of those little girls who dreamed of the day she got married, or wrote lists of names, which would become my children. Kids, marriage, and all the "traditional" roles were not for me.

I worked. I loved the work - the long nights. The camaraderie at the office, filled with other young, single people working hard, and loving it. I wrapped the mantel of hard worker around me like a second skin, competing with my peers for the title of Who Worked Latest Last Night. I didn't resent keeping all my weeknights free of personal plans, because my day really started around 4pm. That's when my clients would call back with all their needs, as they packed their briefcases and headed out the door. That was my job, to care for my clients while they enjoyed dinner out with friends, or home with family. That's what I got paid for, and I loved being needed.

One day, I married a great guy. He knew all about my work demands. In fact, he loved (and still does) having an intelligent wife who got out there and made things happen.

I missed lots of dinners with him. I cancelled lots of plans. We rearranged our vacations because of this project or that deadline. He understood. He always did.

Then, one day, we had a baby. She was beautiful. I congratulated myself on making it through three months of nursing, then three more of pumping while I worked and nursing when home. I came home every night the first year by about 6:30pm. I had too. She had to eat, and I had the food! But, after a year of pumping, I quit (she still nursed morning and night). I didn't "need" to be home at 6:30, so I kept working.

A few years later, we welcomed our son. He nursed too, and I pumped. But this time, I was skilled at working late and feeding babies. I didn't change my routine much.

The kids grew. My husband understood. I loved my job.

Then, one day, it all quit working for me. I missed my kids and husband. I resented working so late, so hard, and seeing so few results. I didn't even know that burnout had crept in. I was the only one that didn't see it. I had just accepted my depressed, frustrated, anger-filled life as normal. It wasn't normal. And I wasn't ok.

It took what I call a "little kick from God" to make me come to my senses and force me to leave a job that I honestly thought I'd retire from one day. Did I leave exactly the way I'd thought? No, of course not. Because I'd never thought to leave, really. I just knew that I'd reached a breaking point, and realized that forces beyond my control were leading me down a path from which there was no turning back. I experienced a sort of out-of-body experience. A cathartic revelation that I couldn't return, no matter how much I wished. The business hadn't changed. I had. I wanted much more out of life.

So, here I am. I've started my own business, based on the principles learned from 20+ years of marketing experience. My business team employs the philosophy of attracting like-minded professionals who are done with Business-As-Usual, and who want a home-based business with true passive income. We have partnered with a stellar network marketing icon, whose commission structure fuels our business model. And we love it!

What's the moral to my story?

Get out of your own way.

Don't keep jamming a "normal" work routine down your throat because you "think" it's the right thing, even if it clearly doesn't feel good to you. Go with your instincts. Don't be afraid to spread your wings, find your own path, and set sail for a new horizon. And remember, you can always chart a new course at any point. That's the wonderful thing about life. It's all yours, so you get to choose what's right for you.


Copyright (c) 2008 Laura Klieves