I’m Still Here

I had to step outside this evening and get some fresh air after reading all these stories. Stories of beautiful, brilliant humans who gave everything they had — and still felt invisible. Stories of families breaking apart, marriages strained, kids growing up wondering why mom or dad was always “finishing up one last email.” Stories of people losing not just their jobs, but their sense of self.

I stood there on the sidewalk, hands in my pockets, staring at the sky like some lost philosopher in a grocery store parking lot. I watched a squirrel scurry by with more purpose than I’ve had on some workdays. And I thought: How did we get here?

How did we decide that KPIs matter more than kitchen dance parties with our kids? That job titles matter more than being present at dinner? That burning out until our souls feel like old microwaved leftovers somehow equals success?

I think about all the people who stayed late to rewrite a presentation for the fifth time because a boss wanted “just one more version.” The ones who sacrificed birthdays, anniversaries, quiet Sunday mornings. The ones who believed loyalty would be enough to keep them safe.

And then one day — poof. A five-minute meeting. A templated email. A security badge that stops working before your last coffee even cools down.

So many are left standing in their living rooms, cardboard box in hand, thinking, Wait… was I ever really seen? Did I ever really matter to them?

Meanwhile, your dog is thrilled. Your cat is plotting a silent takeover of your keyboard. Your kid is tugging at your sleeve, wanting to show you a wobbly cartwheel they’ve been practicing for weeks. Life is right there, in technicolor, begging you to notice it again.

We are not designed to be spreadsheets. We are not built to be “resources” shuffled around on a reorg slide deck. We are built to laugh until our sides hurt. To feel the sun on our face. To savor weird late-night snacks with our favorite people.

If you’re sitting there reading this tonight, wondering if you’re alone — you’re not. If you’re questioning every career choice you’ve ever made, welcome to the club. Membership dues include overthinking at 2 a.m. and impromptu existential sidewalk moments.

We all deserve to be more than “heads counted” or “roles eliminated.” We deserve to be the main characters in our own lives again, not just guest stars in a quarterly earnings report.

You are not a disposable badge number. You’re not “redundant.” You are stardust and stories and terrible dad jokes. You are the late-night laugh that echoes down the hallway. You’re someone’s favorite hello and hardest goodbye.

Take that walk. Feel the air on your face. Reclaim those silly, beautiful, ordinary moments that never asked you for a single deliverable.

Your worth isn’t tied to the next big project. It’s right here. Right now. In the messy, magical, unfiltered moments waiting for you to finally look up and say: I’m still here. And I matter.