The Pause That Paid Off

For the first time in a long time, I’m letting myself feel proud of taking the much-needed break I apparently, and desperately, needed.

I took a pause that scared me, and my husband, to be honest. I resisted the urge to rush back into something simply for a paycheque, to feel productive, relevant, or reassured. And now, over a month into a new role, I’m sitting with a feeling that still catches me off guard: this feels right.

That hasn’t always been my experience. Over my 20+ year career, I’ve had the highest highs and the lowest lows.

The past decade has been full of momentum and disruption, growth and recalibration, wins followed closely by hard lessons. I’ve learned how to adapt quickly, how to rebuild, how to stay visible and valuable even when circumstances shifted underneath me. What I hadn’t learned — until recently — was how to wait. And don’t worry, there were still plenty of tears, anxiety, worry, and sleepless nights that came with feeling all of the above.

This pause wasn’t passive. It wasn’t a gap or a drift. In fact, it was 100% deliberate, when the unexpected happened. I held out for something I couldn’t fully name yet, but I knew what I didn’t want: to land somewhere that required me to prove my worth again, shrink my voice, or work for the worst of the worst insecure micro-managers.

My last two roles were very different — one offered real growth and experiences I genuinely value and still miss, but also had its many flaws, and the other was simply the wrong move to the wrong department managed by the wrong people. But they shared one common thread: leadership that operated from control, heavy oversight, constant critique with very little praise for the work you did, and less space to lead independently or feel trusted in the work.

I learned a tremendous amount in one of those environments, and I carry that with me. The other clarified what happens when alignment isn’t there and when toxic managers have no right leading departments. Both taught me something, but neither allowed me to do my best work freely.

I was prepared for this pause to last months, even a year. I had mentally rehearsed what it might look like to still be searching a year from now, doing the internal work, staying patient, trusting that something aligned would eventually surface.

And then, in a very roundabout and unexpected way, it did.

One month ago, I stepped into a role where, for the first time in a while, I feel genuinely respected. Not managed, not second-guessed, not tolerated, just respected and heard.

I’m doing work that’s creative, strategic, and energizing. I’m working with people who are kind, sharp, and collaborative. And perhaps most meaningfully, I’m working for someone who listens, who values my opinion, trusts my judgment, and lets me do what I was hired to do.

That alone speaks volumes.

I catch myself waiting for the other shoe to drop, reminding myself that it’s okay to enjoy this. That it’s not “too good to be true.” That this isn’t luck, it’s alignment meeting experience; timing meeting patience. Like I always say, trust the timing of your life and boy am I ever glad I did.

I’m not declaring permanence or certainty just one month in. Instead, I’m cautiously optimistic, and grounded enough to know nothing is guaranteed, but confident enough now to say this: I earned this.

This role didn’t come from pushing harder. It came from trusting myself enough to stop pushing altogether. and to be clear by setting boundaries and expectations of what I wanted from a role and there was a mutual respect on both ends. How refreshing!

Looking back, I can see how necessary that pause was. I needed space to recalibrate my confidence, to remember what I bring to the table without performance or urgency attached, and I needed to reconnect with my instincts and quiet the noise that says faster is better and busy equals value.

If I stretch the metaphor just a little, this doesn’t feel like a dramatic transformation or a sudden reinvention. It feels like emerging with steadier wings, stronger because of the stillness that came before.

I don’t know how long this chapter will last, but I know how it started — with intention, patience, and self-respect.

And for now, that’s more than enough.