What I saw from the Inside

For years, I played along.

• Toned it down.

• Stayed in line even when it felt off.

• That’s what the old Meredith did.

The cracks started small.

Moments that should’ve meant something — recognition, trust, shared accountability — but didn’t.

The reduced-hours schedule that proved my value but somehow made me “not leadership material.”

The project I refused to rubber-stamp, where leaders agreed privately but left me to take the fallout.

The evaluation that turned into humiliation while silence filled the room.

Each one chipped away at something steady in me.

Each one asked for more loyalty, less self.

And each time, I wondered if 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 body gave out. I took a leave.

For the first time in my career, I stopped. I didn’t check in. I slept. I sat outside in the sun. 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 the same. My mom’s confused phone calls pierced every meeting, but my heartbeat was steady. 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 done carrying more than my share.

I had no patience left for meetings that went nowhere.
That was Truth — refusing to pretend the noise was productive.

I worked fewer hours. Not as a statement, but because exhaustion wasn’t proof of value.
That was Self-Trust — honoring my own limits instead of letting the job define them.

I stopped asking permission. I held my ground when the pushback came, and I stopped smoothing things over just to keep the peace.
That was Agency — choosing not to bend for the system’s approval.

I let the cracks show. And in doing that, I finally saw the truth: they weren’t in me after all.

The system rewards endurance until you disappear. I finally realized endurance wasn’t leadership — it was depletion.

So when my boss said, “I want the old Meredith back,” I understood. They wanted 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.”

You don’t have to burn it all down to get clear. But you do have to understand the forces shaping you—and how to stay grounded as you rise.

If I’d known how to handle the Murmur better, I might’ve stayed forever. I loved my work — leading people, solving hard problems, building things that mattered. But I didn’t know how to stay without losing myself.

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

Leaving wasn’t clean. My mom died weeks after my last day. I lost the identity I’d carried for decades and had to face the truth 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. I earned my coaching certification — not as a business plan, 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 job 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.
Today, it’s Truth, Self-Trust, and Agency — saying out loud what others avoid, honoring your own read of the situation, and refusing to bend yourself for the system’s approval.

Whether you’re questioning how long you can keep playing along — or you already know you can’t — the first step is the same: tell the truth about what’s really happening.

That’s where we start — with a real conversation about what’s true and what’s next.