The Curious Break

It’s been two months and 5 days since I stepped away from my big 4 career, but who’s counting? I’ve been learning what it really means to slow down. For me, it looks like being intentional with my time—especially when it comes to my girls. One of our favorite new routines has been reading together, and we just finished Charlotte’s Web.

(Spoiler alert if you’ve somehow missed out on a cherished childhood classic: it’s traumatically sad.)

We all had a good cry as we reached the end, but it felt cathartic in a way. Sharing that story together, watching my girls process the themes of friendship, sacrifice, and love, and seeing them fall in love with reading—it reminded me why I made this choice. Slowing down isn’t just about stepping back from the grind; it’s about being present for these small but profound moments.

The pace of this new chapter has started to shift—something I somewhat expected. The first month was a whirlwind, with meetings and conversations that felt like extensions of my old world. Colleagues reached out to understand my decision, share their own reflections, or seek advice on their own trajectories. It was energizing, but now that initial boom has quieted into something steadier—a rhythm that feels more grounded. I’m beginning to see which connections are with me on this ride, and that’s been a comfort.

During this time, I had the honor of attending two very different milestones: my own farewell event and a true retirement celebration just this past week for a woman who has been a guiding light throughout my career.

When I joined the firm, seasoned female partners weren’t exactly running rampant in my local practice. The fact that two women made partner and managing director within weeks of my start date seemed groundbreaking. This woman, however, was already an established force. She was a name I heard before I ever had the chance to meet her. She was known as a hard driver, someone who demanded excellence—a reputation that, frankly, intimidated younger staff. I remember hearing whispers about how people tried to avoid her jobs, and then finally meeting her at a social event.

She was personable. Inviting. Invested. Within ten minutes of talking, I felt like she had already started mapping out ways to help me succeed. I remember thinking, How could anyone not want to work with her? Her demand for excellence wasn’t unusual—if anything, it mirrored what many of the male leaders around her were doing. And yet, because she was a woman, those demands rubbed people the wrong way. It drove me absolutely bananas. I worked with partners whose intensity felt like standing in front of the sun, and no one batted an eye. But her? She was labeled “too tough.”

She never let that stop her. And as I watched her celebrate her retirement, surrounded by peers and protégés who had been shaped by her leadership, I couldn’t help but think about her legacy. Her resilience, grace, and sheer impact paved the way for so many others. I truly, truly hope she knows that.

It got me thinking about my own legacy—not in terms of replicating her path, but in building something that has that kind of meaning. Something that leaves a mark, that opens doors for others. Right now, that goal feels a bit…hazy. I’m sitting in this strange, empty-feeling space—a break I chose, but one that doesn’t come with a roadmap.

And in that space, I’ve found myself grappling with something I didn’t anticipate: doubt.

I’ve always been confident in my ability to deliver results, but that confidence was built in a space where I had years of experience and a solid track record. Now, as I lean into food content creation, I feel like I’ve stepped into a completely different arena—a crowded, oversaturated one where I’m constantly wondering if I really belong.

There are days when I have my foot on the gas, full steam ahead, excited about the potential and all the ways I can bring my ideas to life. And then, there are days when I get stuck in a vortex of self-doubt. It’s the voice that whispers, What makes you think you can stand out here? or Why would anyone care about what you’re creating?

I remind myself that I’ve been here before—maybe not in this exact situation, but I’ve been at the starting line of something big and uncertain. I’ve built skills from scratch, proven myself, and grown into roles I didn’t initially feel ready for. So why should this be any different?

Watching that woman retire after such an impactful career reminded me that legacies aren’t built overnight. They’re a result of showing up, over and over again, even when you’re doubting yourself or unsure of the outcome. Right now, my focus is on showing up for myself. I’m giving myself the space to experiment, to fail, to learn—and maybe, eventually, to build something that leaves its own mark.

The legacy will come—I just need to trust that I’m on the right path to building it.