If it costs your peace, It’s too expensive

A while back, I tried to hold on to a job that was slowly killing me.

At the time, I told myself I was being loyal. That I was just “pushing through a rough season.” That hard work would eventually pay off, and the constant exhaustion, the anxiety, the tightness in my chest—that was just the cost of being dependable, right?

But in reality, I was drowning. Quietly. Invisibly.

I was working 24/7.

Waking up to emails. Falling asleep with my laptop still glowing.

Meals were skipped. Boundaries were blurred.

I’d cancel plans with friends just to be more “available.”

And the scariest part? I started feeling guilty when I wasn’t working. Like resting was rebellion. Like breathing was slacking.

People around me kept saying, “You’re so committed!”

“You’re such a rock star!”

“You always go above and beyond.”

And I smiled. I nodded.

Meanwhile, inside? I was crumbling.

I stopped recognizing myself in the mirror.

There was this fog—like I was here but not really here.

I was performing. Functioning. Smiling.

But behind the scenes, I was unraveling thread by thread.

And the job?

It never noticed.

It never thanked me.

It just kept asking for more.

More hours.

More weekends.

More energy I didn’t have.

And when I started slipping—because of course I did—when I missed an email or asked for time off or dared to draw a line…

Suddenly, I wasn’t the MVP anymore.

I was “not as sharp.”

“Not as present.”

“Not as committed.”

That’s when it hit me.

This wasn’t work.

This was emotional erosion dressed in corporate buzzwords.

And I had stayed, not because I believed in the mission—

but because I didn’t know how to walk away from something I had let define me.

Leaving felt like failure.

But staying was killing me.

So one day, with more fear than courage, I left.

No parade. No thank-you card. Just… silence.

And for the first few weeks, I didn’t know who I was without it.

I grieved the chaos.

I missed the stress—because it was the only thing I’d known for so long.

But slowly, the fog started to lift.

I started sleeping. Eating. Laughing. Feeling.

I realized I hadn’t failed.

I had survived.

That job didn’t deserve the best parts of me.

It burned through them.

But I’m still here.

And now I know—

if something costs you your peace, your health, your sense of self…

it’s too expensive.

No job is worth losing you.