Why This Matters to Me

For years, I played along. Toned it down. Stayed in line with the system even when it felt off. That’s what the old Meredith did.

The cracks began early.

The time I was on an 80% schedule — 80% pay, 100% work — and when I asked about leadership opportunities, I was told I didn’t fit their picture of a leader because of my reduced hours. I felt used. My contribution was valuable enough to stretch, but not enough to respect.

The time I refused to sign off on a project with terms the company couldn’t actually meet. My leaders agreed with me behind closed doors but left me to take the fallout. It was betrayal wrapped in silence.

The time my new leader turned my evaluation into a display of hostility, saying if it were up to them, I wouldn’t have received the rating I’d earned. I looked to their leader, expecting some acknowledgment, some interruption — but they sat by silently, watching. The humiliation landed squarely on me.

Each moment compounded the same message: loyalty was demanded, but never returned. And each time, I questioned myself — maybe I was the problem. That’s the system’s trick: it convinces you the cracks are in you, not in it.

The breaking point came when my mom’s Alzheimer’s worsened, my division was in constant reorg, and my family needed more of me. The stress triggered relentless heart palpitations. I took a leave.

For the first time in my career, I let go. I didn’t check in. I didn’t ask what was happening at work. I slept. I journaled. I sat outside in the sun. I remembered what silence felt like. The urgency I’d been conditioned to carry dissolved, and the truth hit me: it was a job. Not life or death. Not worth trading myself for.

When I returned, I wasn’t perfect. I was still raw, still unhealthy. My mom’s confused phone calls pierced through every meeting I was in. But still, I was different from before. My heartbeat was steady. My perspective had shifted. I no longer had the fire to keep bending myself to the system.

So my behavior changed — not in ways that looked polished or “professional,” but in ways that made it clear I was finished carrying more than my share.

I had no patience left for wasted time in meetings. I didn’t participate in the spirals or debates over decisions that were already made. When the same topics kept circling, I showed my frustration instead of smoothing it over. That was Truth — refusing to pretend the noise was productive.

I worked fewer hours. Not as a statement, but because I no longer had the energy — or the interest — in proving myself through exhaustion. That was Self-Trust — honoring my own limits instead of letting the job dictate them.

I stopped asking permission. One day, I switched offices after checking with my peers. That led to a full-on chewing out that, in hindsight, was more about someone else’s bad day and the pressure they were under than the office switch itself. But those pressures weren’t mine to carry anymore. I argued until it was clear there was no point. I removed my personal items and left the office stripped bare, just a workspace, nothing more. When they circled back later to smooth things over, I kept it brief and left it there. I wasn’t interested in repairing the moment. I was interested in holding my ground. That was Agency — refusing to bend just to keep the peace.

I asked for resources. When the answer was no, I stopped covering the gap. I let the cracks show, even when the fallout landed on me. And in doing that, I finally reversed the system’s trick — the cracks weren’t in me after all, they were in it.

The truth is, I was worn down to zero. The belief, the drive, the sense of influence I once carried was all gone.

So when my boss said, “I want the old Meredith back,” I understood. The ask was for the version of me who would bend herself to the system, who still had fight left for battles that didn’t matter. But she was gone.

My answer was simple: “She’s dead.”

I gave notice a few weeks later, stayed long enough for a smooth transition, and left on my own terms.

Leaving wasn’t clean. The grief came in layers. I lost the identity I had carried for decades, and my mom died weeks after my last day. I was hit with the sharp reality that some things can’t be fixed, no matter how hard you work.

I gave myself a year before stepping into anything new. It was the first real pause of my career, and I used it to earn my coaching certification, not as a business plan yet, but as a way to move closer to the work that energized me.

From there, it came in stages — a bridge role without the weight of leadership, a short-lived role in another company, and eventually building my own practice. Each stage carried its own reckoning, but together they became the path to something truer.

Back then, what carried me was fear, loyalty, and determination. I kept going because I didn’t know how to stop. Fear kept me pushing. Loyalty kept me tied to the system. Determination kept me trying long after it was clear it wasn’t working.

Today, what carries me is different. I live and teach what I had to learn the hard way: Truth, Self-Trust, and Agency. The same values that surfaced in those final months are now the center of my work — saying out loud what others avoid, honoring your own read of the situation, and refusing to bend yourself for the system’s approval.

If my story sounds familiar, you’ve probably reached the point where “go along to get along” isn’t an option anymore. You’re ready to lead from a place of clarity and conviction.

If you’re ready to stop bending to a broken system and start acting on your own terms, let’s talk.