The Money Beliefs Running Your Career (Without You Knowing It)

I was presenting my chemistry dissertation at St Andrews University, about to graduate with a degree in Chemistry and Mathematics. When the formal part was over, one of the professors asked me what I would do next. I tried to avoid answering. He asked again, wondering if it would be Master's studies in Chemistry, and where exactly. I finally said I was going to London to do a Master's in Finance.

No answer, no comment.

To this day, I do not know if the judgment was real or if I imagined it. But I do know that I wished I did not have to answer. Part of me felt guilty for "leaving science for the money." For passing on the opportunity to potentially do something great (not that I thought I was destined for a big scientific breakthrough, quite the opposite!), and contribute to research of some kind, all to go down the more lucrative path.

It does not matter in the end. What matters is what it represented: the guilt and the shame around money. I did not recognize it back then, though - too young, too all over the place.

Arriving at Imperial, where applications to banks and consulting firms started in September, the moment the semester began, and where the daily conversation became "Where are you applying?" and "Where are you interviewing?", it quickly felt like there was no choice at all. You went with it. London is expensive, after all. If you wanted to live in a good location and enjoy what the city offered, your options were finance and consulting jobs - and then, most other jobs, if you wanted to earn half the salary.

Yet I did not examine those money beliefs then, either. It would take more than 10 years, after giving birth to my first baby, and deciding to redesign my career and create one that would actually fit my life, personality, and talents. Once I had to put a price on my own work, I realized that money was about something far deeper than career strategy or lifestyle choices. That is when my own journey began - understanding my relationship with money, the patterns I had been running for years, my beliefs about it, and how those beliefs had shaped my life and work choices.

Where money beliefs come from

Current research points to our early childhood for the formation of money beliefs - specifically, by age 6 or 7. There are a few tricky things about this:

• At this age, our conscious brain is not fully developed yet, and we are absorbing everything like sponges, learning incredibly fast (anyone with small children knows how fascinating it is to watch them connect dots every single day)

• We have not yet fully understood for ourselves what is right and what is wrong, and we take things at face value

• We generally trust our parents and caregivers, and whatever they model often becomes our template

We absorb feelings, not facts

This is the crucial part: It is not about how much money your family actually had. It's about how they felt about money.

You could have grown up in a relatively well-off family and still have scarcity beliefs, because what you picked up was not the state of bank balance. It was the stress in your mother's voice when bills came. Potential tension between your parents about spending. The unspoken anxiety that "it could all disappear."

Or the opposite: You could have grown up with very little money but never felt scarcity because your parents were relaxed and creative, and they modeled abundance even with limited resources.

What we pick up as children:

• How parents talked about money: stressed? relaxed? never mentioned?

• Whether there was "enough" or always a sense of lack

• Whether money was easy to earn or "it did not grow on trees."

• Whether having money made you good or bad

• Whether you could trust it to be there, or "it always comes and goes."

And unless we question these beliefs as adults, they run invisibly in the background, silently shaping most career decisions we make.

How money beliefs show up in your career

Most of us do not even realize that our money beliefs are driving our careers. We think we are making rational decisions based on ambition, fulfillment, opportunity, or "what is next."

But underneath, we are often making decisions based on a 6-year-old's understanding of money and safety. Here's how it shows up:

Why do we choose certain paths

The career you chose at 22 was probably not just about "following your passion" or "what you are good at."

It was also about: Will this pay well? Will I be financially secure? What will people think? Is this a "safe" choice?

Those questions are not neutral - they are loaded with the beliefs you absorbed about money:

• If you learned "money = security," you chose the corporate path over the risky one

• If you learned "money = status," you chased titles and prestige

• If you learned "you have to work very hard to deserve money," you picked the most demanding and exhausting path available

Why do we stay in jobs that no longer fit

The golden handcuffs are not really about the money.

Yes, the salary is good. Yes, you would have to take a pay cut to leave. Yes, there are bills, and mortgages, and childcare costs.

But the real reason you stay is the belief underneath:

• "If I leave, I will never earn this much again."

• "I will not be able to support my family."

• "Money is hard to come by; I cannot risk losing this."

• "I should be grateful for what I have" (even if it is making you pretty miserable)

These are not facts. They are your beliefs. And they have the potential to keep you stuck for quite a long time.

Why we overwork

If you learned that "money does not grow on trees" or "you have to work hard for everything you get," guess what?

You work hard. Very hard. Even when you do not need to anymore. Even when you are earning well, and have substantial savings too. Even when you have "made it" by external measures. You cannot shake the belief that if you stop working this hard, it will all disappear.

Signs your money beliefs need examining

How do you know if your relationship with money needs examining?

Here are some patterns to look for:

1. You spend what you earn (no matter how much you earn)

You get a promotion. Your salary increases. And somehow, your spending increases to match it.

There is always something that "needs" buying. The nicer apartment. The better nursery. That great holiday your friends recommended.

You are not bad with money. You just have a belief running underneath: "Money is meant to be spent" or "I do not trust myself to have money, so I get rid of it."

2. You hoard and never feel like it's "enough."

The opposite pattern: You save obsessively. You track every expense. You feel anxious about spending on anything "unnecessary."

Even when you have quite significant savings, you do not feel secure. There is always a voice saying, "It could all disappear" or "Money comes and goes, you cannot trust it."

3. Your self-worth is directly tied to how much you earn

When you earn more, you feel valuable. When you earn less (or take time off), you feel worthless.

Your identity = your income. And that belief underneath: “My value is measured in money”.

4. You believe having money makes you good or bad

Money carries moral weight for you.

Having "too much" makes you greedy, selfish, or out of touch. Not having enough makes you virtuous, humble, or good.

You might downplay your success, hide how much you earn, or feel ashamed of wanting more.

5. You avoid looking at your finances

You do not check your bank balance. You put off opening bills. You have a vague sense of what you earn and spend, but avoid the details.

6. You forget to include yourself in the financial equation

When I started my company in Brazil, I built a detailed financial plan. Revenue projections, costs, expenses, everything - except my own salary.

I did not forget it by accident, though. I simply did not even think to include it. The company had costs. But me? I would just rely on my savings to finance my personal life.

It did not occur to me that I, the founder and the person actually running this business, should be paid properly. What I would have earned working for someone else was not part of the equation.

This specific one shows up when you are building something of your own - whether a company, a side project, or a portfolio career. You invest in everything except yourself. You pay everyone except yourself. You treat your own time and expertise as if it has no value.

Over the years, I have observed other founders do this more often than expected - and unfortunately, without wanting to generalize, even more when it comes to female founders.

Why examining money beliefs is essential to career redesign

I have seen it time and time again: people staying in jobs where they are unhappy because they "have to." There is seemingly no other choice. No other industry will pay that much. No other city will pay that much.

This is particularly true in London, where most of my clients are based - I hear this argument constantly. And interestingly, people only look at the top line, when what actually matters is what is left after all the costs are paid (and if you live in London and have a family there, you happen to know how high those costs are!)

Staying, then, is a choice - one justified with a long list of reasons.

Any significant career transition requires looking at different aspects of your life, including your beliefs about work, success, and money. You cannot make free choices about your career if invisible beliefs are running the show, and this is especially true when you're considering self-employment or building a portfolio career (I'll explore this more in the next article)

The career you have is not just a result of your choices; it is also a direct result of your beliefs about what is possible, what is safe, and what you deserve.

And until you examine these beliefs, you are not the only one designing your career. Your childhood is.

Suggestion

I will not try to provide any specific answers, as everyone, anyway, has their own. Nor provide a formula to "fix" your money beliefs overnight (for expectation-setting purposes: this money work takes months, sometimes years)

But if any of this resonated, ask yourself:

• What did I learn about money before I was 7?

• How did my parents feel about it?

• What beliefs might I still be carrying?

• Which of my life and career decisions might have been based on those beliefs - and not on what I actually wanted?

• How is this showing up in my life today?

The answers might surprise you!

Portfolio careers: an identity story, not just an income strategy

When the job ends - whether through layoff, burnout, or your own decision - something unexpected happens.

Not just the loss of income or routine, but the fracture of identity.

After years of compressing yourself into one role, one title, one version of who you're supposed to be, you're left asking: Who am I without this?

I’ve seen this pattern over and over in my work with clients. There is letting go. There is mourning, grief - many emotions we do not expect to associate with “just a job.”

But it is never just a job when that job has become your identity- friends, routine, conversation starter, purpose...

The more the decision was ours, the easier it tends to be—and it is still far from easy. The more abrupt the end, the tougher. Sometimes it feels like being left by something you were loyal to, just when you thought it was going long-term.

This is the identity trap. And it exists because of how traditional careers are structured.

The compression problem

A single role compresses our identity into what we do. The longer we stay, the tighter that compression gets, until we identify so completely with the job title that we are no longer sure who we are without it.

We have more than one identity, of course—daughter, friend, wife, mother, athlete, finance director, lawyer, and so on. The issue is when one identity takes a disproportionate amount of space. Which is exactly what happens when we spend most of our waking hours at work.

So what happens when that job ends? The fracture.

And it tends to be far tougher than anyone expects. “It’s just a job; there are others out there.” That is not what I have seen in my work with clients.

What portfolio careers actually are

A portfolio career is a deliberately designed mix of roles, projects, and income streams.

It is often explained as a way to diversify income, following the logic of building an investment portfolio and not putting all eggs in one basket. Interestingly, most people never have a problem doing exactly the opposite and placing all eggs in one basket when it comes to their careers!

That definition is true. But it misses the deeper reason portfolio careers work.

Portfolio careers solve an identity problem that traditional jobs create.

Traditional jobs create one self, the one doing the job. Portfolio careers let us integrate many different selves.

It is not reinvention. It is integration.

Early in my work with clients, I use what I call the potential selves exercise: write a list of your potential selves. The longer the better. Anything you have ever thought you could be or do.

What happens next is telling. They walk me through the list and, one by one, explain why each version of themselves is not really possible. The less obvious the option, the more defensive they often become.

The goal is not to integrate every potential self into a portfolio career. It is to open the aperture—because we can almost always integrate far more of ourselves than one job ever allows.

The integration advantage

Portfolio careers are not for everyone.

But for multilayered people who have never quite fit into one box, they are not just a career model. They are an identity solution.

If you never felt you truly belonged in just one thing—and found yourself pursuing side projects, parallel interests, or different paths simultaneously—you will recognise yourself here.

And for those of us with non-linear careers, there is something else: portfolio careers allow us to integrate our old selves in new ways. All those roles, positions, skills, and experiences that were hard to explain—and sometimes even felt like something to apologise for—can finally be brought under one umbrella and told as a coherent story.

This is the moment, often after years, when it all starts to make sense. When we become grateful—even proud—that we followed our gut when no one around us quite understood why.

The reality - and why it is worth it

Is this easier than a traditional job? It is not.

A portfolio career mostly means being self-employed—your own boss, with no company behind you, no logo next to your name, nowhere to hide.

You sell yourself, your services, your expertise. You put a price on your own worth. Again and again.

It requires growth, as a person and as a professional. The beliefs you have never questioned - about what you can do, about money, about selling, about success - will surface. And they will need to be confronted, because left unexamined, they will sabotage you.

You set your own goals, your own targets, your own definition of success. And when something goes well you will need to be your own cheerleader, because there is no boss to praise you, for better and for worse.

Building the income streams takes time, as building any business does. It requires strategy, trial and error, and knowing why you are doing it in the first place.

But here is what you gain: the ability to finally integrate all your selves. The multilayered person you have always been gets to show up—fully—in your work.

The safety question

Jobs are not as safe as they once were. Most of us know this. Restructuring, cost-cutting, AI-driven optimisation—the list goes on. And yet, many people still do not quite want to see it that way.

Meanwhile, people with non-linear careers have long been quietly judged as those who “cannot hold a job long enough,” or worse, as disloyal.

Which raises a question worth asking: who decided what the right way looks like? Who decided that a person is supposed to fit into one box for most of their waking hours—and to pursue everything else in the margins?

Who portfolio careers are for

Not every potential self on that list is worth pursuing. Not every idea is feasible or worth testing. But testing is an important part of the process.

Often, the selves that eventually enter the portfolio were not even on the original list. They emerge as the thinking evolves.

Our biggest talents are frequently invisible to us—they come so naturally that we take them for granted. Our less mainstream interests, the ones we rarely give serious consideration, often hold the key to some of the most valuable and generative parts of a portfolio career.

Portfolio careers are also not exclusive to white-collar professionals. Living in the Bavarian countryside, I have started noticing them everywhere—just without the label. The office worker who tends the family farm part-time and does handyman work on weekends. The combination of intellectual and hands-on work is often a choice rather than a necessity.

Substitute handyman with gardening, hairdressing, ceramics, or anything else—the principle is the same.

Portfolio careers show up wherever people refuse to compress themselves into a single identity.

The payoff

Portfolio careers are not a trend. They are not just a safety net. They are a way of working that honours the full complexity of who you are.

They let you integrate your old selves in new ways, tell your story differently, and build something that fits—not just your skills, but your identity.

For those of us with non-linear paths, this is often the moment the story finally reveals its "plot", the narrative thread that eluded us so long.

Why career redesign is not the same as career change

I recently wrote an article The messy middle of career transitions - the ambiguity, uncertainty, and confusion that often accompany them. That piece, however, only scratched the surface of a process that is frequently far more complex, surprisingly lengthy, and more unsettling than most people expect.

Today, I want to go one layer deeper: into why this phase exists, what makes it so difficult, and the patterns I keep seeing again and again.

No straight lines

When I look back at my own path and the four major transitions I’ve gone through, one thing stands out clearly: none of them happened in a straight line. Each was a process that took time, with detours, false starts, and quite a few moments that felt like failure.

Things rarely worked out the way I had envisioned them at the start. The “ideal” next step, the seemingly logical move, often didn’t materialise. And at times, it felt as if I had settled for something that was not the plan at all. Looking back, though, it all makes sense.

• Not getting my ideal role at my ideal bank took me to Brazil

• Banker turned entrepreneur - but not the company or product I had first imagined

• A future I pictured in Lisbon became a life in Munich (close enough, right?)

• An almost accidental venture capital entrepreneur-in-residence role turned into years in the industry

• The decision to "throw" everything I have done so far away and become “just a coach,” which then evolved into a portfolio career spanning advisory, coaching, and investing

• Trying to decide upfront on a narrow focus, only to have my clients lead me to the right niche

Planning meets reality

What does this show?

There is a limit to how much we can plan on paper. We can think, brainstorm, decide, and design - and that work matters too. But at some point, every plan meets reality. And for it to be viable and sustainable, it has to survive that test.

Circumstances change. Things do not work out, or turn out very differently. People leave. And perhaps most importantly, we change along the way. Sometimes, once we finally reach what we thought was the finish line, we realise we don’t want it as much as we once believed.

This is why career transitions are rarely simple.

What we really mean by transition

When I talk about career transitions here, I mean significant ones: moving into a different industry or sector, changing the nature of your work, shifting from corporate to entrepreneurship (and everything in between).

Usually, it starts quietly. We are doing something that looks right on the outside, but something feels off. Often for a long time. The real question is not whether we feel it, but when we allow ourselves to acknowledge it.

Between that recognition and actual change, there is often a long lag. Sometimes we do not yet know what else we could do. Sometimes we know exactly what we want, but not how to get there. Either way, the process is far more complex than it appears, because it is not just an external change.

Identity, not direction

The inner change is the hardest part.

At the deepest level, this is about identity. We build a strong sense of who we are around what we do, and letting go of that is deeply uncomfortable. The messy middle is, in essence, a transformation of identity: the old one no longer fits, and the new one (or ones) has not yet fully formed.

In my work with clients navigating significant career transitions and redesigns, I see this again and again. Beyond encouraging them to envision, try, and test different possible versions of themselves, something else inevitably surfaces in this identity (re-)work: deeper beliefs.

Beliefs about what work should look like. Beliefs about what success means to you. Deeply ingrained beliefs about money, security, and what seems possible.

These beliefs are often invisible at first, yet they quietly shape every decision, hesitation, and internal conflict during the transition.

The cost of letting go

This is where things get difficult.

We don’t like letting go. It feels like a loss, and we are naturally loss-averse. It’s not only about losing a title or role, but about what we have invested: years of effort, experience, and hard work.

When I tried to “ditch everything” a few years ago and become a coach - a calling that is still ambiguous, poorly protected, and not always respected - I tried to let go of all my previous experience and expertise. Everything in me resisted. I sabotaged myself constantly.

I did give it a serious attempt. I spent a year doing everything I could to take it off the ground (next to having a newborn), until it became clear that something was not working. Completely discarding who I had been and everything I had done before simply did not work for me.

Only when I revised the plan, when I found ways to integrate my experience with my newly acquired skills, did things start to fall into place.

That lesson could only be learned by trying. By testing ideas in reality. By talking to people. By offering my work and hearing feedback, including many no’s.

Because when something does not resonate with us, it will not resonate with others either. Our uncertainty shows. Our insecurities leak through. And no amount of preparation can fully hide that.

Between selves

In searching for a framework that explains why this phase is so difficult, I found one of the clearest descriptions in Working Identity by Herminia Ibarra. She writes that “the period in-between is not a literal space between one job and the next but a psychological zone in which we are truly between selves, with one foot firmly planted in the old world and the other making tentative steps toward an as-yet undefined new world.”

What I appreciate most is how this normalises the turmoil. The confusion. The back-and-forth. And the fact that this phase can take months, sometimes years.

We oscillate. Some days, we want to hold on to the old. We look for reasons to stay, to make it work, even when we know it no longer fits. The longer we’ve been in a role, the more tightly our identity is tied to it, especially if we once imagined it as a long-term or even lifelong path.

Our future self-image is often still anchored in the past.

A similar dynamic exists in relationships we’ve outgrown. We may know, deep down, that something is not right, yet we stay because it feels safer. After all, leaving means letting go of who we thought we would become.

Letting go of an old professional identity is no different. And yet, this letting go is precisely what allows reinvention to begin. It creates the space for new options to emerge, and eventually, for a new identity to take shape.

Career redesign is not about choosing the next thing faster. Rather, it is about allowing that deeper shift to happen.

Rewriting our own career story

Until relatively recently, I was not particularly proud of my own story. I also did not see anything special in it. And despite others actually admiring parts or all of it, on some level, I was somewhat ashamed of the clearly non-linear path I have taken over my 15-year career. Of illogical choices. Of not following the prescribed and the obvious.

I also did not see myself as particularly employable. Employers tend to look for more linear careers, for paths that follow logical steps and progression. And mine didn’t.

Now, I have chosen a different path, and I do not plan to be employed in a traditional full-time role anytime soon - but had I tried to apply for a role where the fit wasn’t obvious, and struggled to get one, it would have been easy to assume what the “problem” was. Me not ticking specific boxes. Not having the “right” experience. Not enough leadership positions or people I directly managed. Or something along those lines.

It would have been easy to assume that the outcome had everything to do with facts, credentials, skills, and circumstances - and nothing to do with me. Nothing to do with the way I see myself, how I think about my career, or the story I tell myself and others about it.

And this is what I want to explore today: how the way we see, value, and tell our own story influences career outcomes, especially during transitions.

The “Lucky Ones”

In my experience, we tend to focus on the outside parts of the equation. It is easier that way. There is usually not much we can do about those factors, and so they do not feel like our responsibility.

But when it comes to job searches and career transitions, the truth is that there are people who consistently land great opportunities. Often unannounced ones. Opportunities others never even hear about. People who seem to “have it easy.” You know, “the lucky ones.”

So what is it about them? Are they smarter? More capable? More qualified? Or are they really born under a lucky star?

One of my favourite quotes is Henry Ford’s: “Whether you think you can or you can’t, you’re right.” I would like to build on that. Because it’s not only about believing we can do something. It’s about the belief we hold about ourselves, our abilities, and, crucially, about the career path we’ve taken so far.

Are we proud of it? Do we see it as coherent, valuable, and meaningful? Or do we see it as something we need to justify, explain away, or apologise for?

That belief defines what we consider achievement, what we label as success or failure, and how harsh or gentle our inner critic is allowed to be. This applies to most people, but it is particularly characteristic of high achievers, whose standards, for themselves and others, tend to be high.

When Belief Shrinks

How does this show up in practice?

We play small. We don’t recognise our strengths enough. We don’t celebrate our achievements long enough, if at all.

We start believing the story that was told to us, directly or indirectly, by others: their perception of us, our abilities, and what they consider achievement. Over time, we internalise it.

If we were lucky enough to start our careers surrounded by supportive people and encouraging managers, people who could see our potential and were willing to grow us, that belief can shape an entire career trajectory. At such an early and vulnerable stage, when we are fresh out of school and know little about the job market, that kind of belief is priceless.

But what if that wasn’t the case?

What if (for internal or external reasons) we repeatedly ran into managers who were not secure enough to let others thrive? Or who were driven by the wrong values? Or who themselves had been mistreated earlier in their careers and did not know differently?

We might collect a few scars along the way. We might retreat. We might give up on opportunities before we even pursue them.

And slowly, our belief in what we’re capable of doing shrinks - sometimes from a place where it wasn’t particularly strong to begin with. If we’re told often enough that something about us - the way we work, think, or are - is not good enough, we start believing it. Especially if it comes from superiors. Especially if it repeats.

Without much resistance - because we’re busy working, striving, building careers, chasing promotions - we internalise it all. It filters down to the identity level and becomes part of how we define ourselves professionally.

Most of the time, we’re not even aware that this story exists.

How It Shows Up in Transitions

This becomes very visible during job searches and career transitions.

We apply for a role we want, often having already identified all the boxes we do not tick. We prepare. We research the company. We rehearse answers. And yet, something still feels off.

The issue is rarely competence. More often, it’s that we are not at peace with our own story.

We may feel uncomfortable about a gap on our CV. Ashamed of a role we stayed in too long. Worried they might think we have changed jobs “too often.”

Even if we don’t speak about these things directly, and sometimes we actively avoid them, they still show up. In our energy. In our confidence. In hesitation. In how we frame our experience.

And that influences outcomes. Not only whether we get the offer, but which offer. Not only whether we win the client, but which client.

Sometimes we do get the role, the deal, the opportunity - but it’s not the right environment, team, or partner. Because the story we told did not fully reflect who we are.

Reframing the Story

So what is the way forward?

It’s not rewriting facts. It is reframing meaning.

It is acknowledging the achievements we have minimised. Giving weight to experiences we have dismissed. Integrating both the good and the difficult, because all of it shaped us into the professionals we are today.

From my own work, research, and experience with clients, I’ve learned that we are so often not even aware of the story we keep telling ourselves - yet it quietly runs our careers. Only once we acknowledge it, work through it, and consciously reshape it can we move forward with clarity and confidence.

Because our story doesn’t just explain where we’ve been. It defines what we believe is possible next. And once that shift happens, the path forward opens, with more ease, self-trust, and alignment than before.

Redefining success on our own terms

Last week, I wrote about our definition of success and achievement and where it comes from. I shared how my own, strongly-held definition started changing, which in turn drastically changed the way I look at success and define my own achievements, career, and journey.

As we know, our life and priorities change, our identities evolve and expand. And that version of success, we chose at 20+ and chased for some years, no longer feels aligned with who we are today. But only once we start questioning our inherited definition of success we get to understand why things have been feeling off - something starts to shift.

Motherhood and quiet redefining

If leaving Brazil was my first lesson on a path to redefine my own definitions, motherhood was an entire master class.

I believe motherhood humbles even the most prepared among us. Holding a newborn as a first-time mother is unlike anything else. You know nothing. You learn as you go.

Motherhood certainly challenged my tendency for self-criticism and perfectionism. It taught me that I cannot control everything. In that life-season, success becomes small and immediate: your baby finally falling asleep, a feeding that works, a tiny milestone in their development that feels huge.

It puts the word success into a whole new context. It taught me that success is happening in the moment. It is not some distant goal post that keeps moving, as it has always been the case - it can also be here and now.

It was also the first time I understood that life has seasons and that each season has a different bandwidth. This may sound obvious, but for high achievers, it is not always. And the definition of success changes and evolves, too, as seasons change.

What I’ve Stopped Chasing

In the last few years, especially after becoming a mother of two, I have noticed that I have slowly stopped chasing something I always did, to a different extent: the approval and expectations of others.

This shift showed up in small ways first, and later in bigger ones - like the decision to begin writing and sharing my thoughts publicly. Writing exposes us. Sharing our opinion invites judgment. And whether we admit it or not, we all judge (and usually despise being judged!).

There is a darker side to living in a hyper-connected world. Platforms like LinkedIn amplify comparison. Twenty years ago, we mostly knew what the people close to us were doing. Today, we see what everyone is doing, or at least what they want us to see. Everyone can look at our profile, examine our choices, and silently evaluate whether it’s “good enough.” This is intimidating to me, but it must be daunting for someone starting a career or looking to change it.

I used to care about that. If someone from my “past life” checked my profile, my mind would immediately ask: What are they thinking? Is what I’ve done so far “enough”?

That “good enough” is an interesting concept: vague, undefined, yet strong enough to drive so much of our behaviour.

The truth is, there are as many definitions of “good enough” as there are people in the world. What it represents for you may not represent the same thing for me. And even within one´s own life, it can mean different things in different areas.

It is astonishing to what lengths we go in order to meet standards that other people have defined, often people we don’t even know.

We judge. We compare. And comparison becomes yet another external definition of success. I once read that comparison is also the biggest thief of joy. Because there will always be someone who seems more successful, more balanced, more accomplished.

(Seems is the key word here)

When those familiar names appear on my profile now, they often bring nice memories. They remind me of our shared chapters: schools, university, jobs, and old versions of myself. Often, I reach out, and we reconnect. And we rarely talk about careers. We talk about life.

That reconnection would not have happened if I were still consumed by my own mind and its fear of being judged and evaluated.

What I Refuse to Sacrifice

What I am no longer willing to sacrifice in the name of achievement is how I feel about myself:

– the constant sense of not being good enough

– the quiet pressure to do “just one more thing.”

– the knot in the stomach

– the fear of falling behind

These feelings used to be my baseline. Today, they are my signal that something is off (and that still happens often enough!).

If something feels tight, constricting, or anxiety-inducing, I try to pay extra attention. Ease is no longer, for me, a sign of laziness, derived from the belief that “things have to be hard”. Rather, ease has become a sign of alignment.

What Success Looks Like in This Season

Balancing a family with two toddlers and a portfolio career, success changes its definition daily.

Some days, everything flows: I consult, hear pitches, write, coach, spend quality time with my children, talk to friends, read, and exercise.

Other days, nothing seems to work, and everything feels overwhelming.

Success, in this season, is accepting both - and this acceptance doesn’t always come easily.

For me, success today is knowing (and sometimes “only” believing) I’m doing my best with the life I have right now and remembering that this specific season won’t last forever.

Success today looks like:

– a career designed to fit who I am today

– working on my terms

– quality time with my children

– staying connected to people I care about

– yoga or sport

– reading as much as possible

If most days include 3 or more of these points - well, that is success!

If Success Were a Feeling

If success were a feeling today, it would be peace of mind.

Not perfection. Not appearing perfect or in control. Not relentless striving.

Peace in knowing I’m where I need to be, doing what needs to be done, in a way that fits my life now.

What I Had to Unlearn

I had to unlearn that: – success must be linear – it must match society’s definition – it must impress someone – it must be immediately visible

And I learned that it must include what truly matters to me. And realign almost daily.

My body, and not my mind, which always used to “run the show”, now tells me when I’m on the right path: a sense of expansion, ease, lightness.

Tightness and anxiety are my signals that something is misaligned.

Redefining success

Redefining success isn’t a one-time decision. It’s an ongoing practice - of meeting yourself honestly, acknowledging the season you’re in, and building a definition that’s truly yours.

Not inherited, not expected, and not assumed.

The moment success becomes personal and internal, everything starts to feel more aligned and move with more ease than before - at least until the next minor emergency ;)

Success, unlearned: what if the definition was never yours?

For a long time, I believed there was only one definition of success. And I so often did not feel that I was meeting it, at least not in the “prescribed” way.

Back during my time in London, I had a few friends who also worked in banking, but in corporate finance. It was tough to see them - they would come home after midnight, leave for work in the morning. And I often wondered, “Do they really consider this as normal?” But as it happens, there was always someone who worked more. Another M&A team member is staying one or two hours longer. Another group pulling all-nighters. “Ours is not that bad,” they’d say. As always, everything is relative.

You might think: “Ok, this is an extreme example”, and it is to some extent. But if we are honest, back then, and still today, the longer you worked, the more intense your job is (or seems to be), the busier you are = the more successful you appear. In our world, the hustling is worn as a badge of honour.

When you start your career inside such an environment, or more accurately, such a bubble, you often don’t question the underlying logic. You simply accept it as normal. Your entire peer group is doing the same thing, so how wrong can it be? And even if you feel something doesn’t fit, that something feels off, that such a way of working and living doesn’t sit right - you carry on anyway.

Evolving Definition

For me, something about that definition of success always felt wrong, but it took me years to understand why.

I felt out of place. I wanted some life, too. Why live in those incredible, cosmopolitan cities if you never get to enjoy what they offer? Back then, that wasn’t seen as particularly ambitious - certainly not by those opting for 70-80 hour weeks.

Any resemblance to “work-life balance” (confusing label!) was quietly looked down upon. To draw a parallel from the startup world I’ve been part of for some years now: it’s like pitching to a VC and having them dismiss your idea as a “lifestyle business.” Not ambitious enough. The market is too small. Not scalable. Not fund-returning potential. There’s an unspoken judgment in that label, as if to say, “You want to build something big and have a life?” In the VC game, the answer is often no, and that is fine, because the rules of that game are clear - and choosing to play it is optional.

When it comes to our careers, though, we should be in the driving seat. And any return on investment - emotional, financial, or otherwise - is ours to bear, for better or worse.

Lastly, we change. You’re not the same person at 40 that you were at 25. Your life, your environment, how you work, the world itself - everything shifts. So your definition of success should evolve, too. But for many high achievers, it doesn’t. Because what we think is “our definition” is often not ours at all.

Where Our Definition Comes From

Most definitions of success start long before we become aware of them. They start in childhood. They form in the small, unspoken moments: in how our parents or caregivers talk about work, money, colleagues, ambition, what they classify as success, failure, “good jobs,” “safe jobs.”

The foundation is set early, for example:

• If your parents had stable, government-backed jobs, you might have internalised safety as the highest value.

• If your parents were entrepreneurs, you might lean toward independence, or avoid it entirely after witnessing close up what a rollercoaster or even crash test owning a business can be.

• If you grew up surrounded by “traditional success”, you may have learned to see it as the only acceptable path.

These are not rules or by any means all the possibilities; they are simply reflections of our environments.

For me, academic success was expected. Best grades weren’t celebrated - they were assumed. When I went abroad for high school, the expectations intensified. “If you get into a good university, you’ll get a good job.” Eventually, those expectations became my own.  Summers without activities? Not an option. Courses, internships, extra work were the norm - I mean, something has got to fill that resume!

But here is the strange part: The actual goal was never clearly defined. What was the endpoint? What was “enough”? What exactly was I striving toward?

And the truth is: without a clear destination, you can never “arrive”.

The captain without a compass

We become captains of a boat without a destination or a compass. Or, as Seneca famously put it: “If a man knows not to which port he sails, no wind is favourable”. We flow and float, and we do things, but the key thing is missing: the vision and the clear intention. When expectations are high, but clarity is low, there is no way to feel satisfied. Regardless of how we toss and turn it, we cannot get “there” if we do not know what “there” is.

Peer pressure cements this. When I started my MSc in Finance in London, everyone was applying to banks, funds, or consulting firms. Even if you arrived not really knowing what you wanted to do? Well, you quickly “learned” what success should look like.

Promotions. Titles. Salaries. The “right” postcode. The “right” holidays. The “right” nursery and schools, once children arrive.

And slowly, you adopt it all as your definition. Success becomes external - measured by others, and validated by others.

A First Moment of Real Redefining

Interestingly, one of the proudest moments of my adult life had nothing to do with traditional career success. It was the moment I decided to leave Brazil after four years of living and working there.

I moved to that beautiful tropical country in my mid-twenties; not when the timing made sense, not when the economy was booming, not when the markets were strong. Actually, quite the opposite: the country was entering a recession, I did not have a job, did not speak the language, and on paper, that was a completely illogical decision. Except my intuition told me it was the right one.

Fast forward a few years, and the same quiet inner knowing told me it was time to return to Europe. People would often ask, “Do you miss it? Will you go back?” And the answer was a clear no. And, for the first time in my life, I felt something new: peace and fulfilment.

Peace because the decisions were only mine. Peace because I had finally followed my own compass, not someone else’s. And fulfilment because I realised success could be defined in ways far beyond what we traditionally celebrate. It was the first time success felt internal, not external.

We all have moments like this - moments of real achievement that don’t fit the typical “success story” narrative. The trouble is, we rarely value them enough. When I ask my clients to list their greatest achievements, they almost always give me the obvious, resume-worthy answers. Meanwhile, some of the most extraordinary things they have done, both in work or in life, they dismiss, overlook, or do not even register as success.

Redefining success

Redefining success does not start with a new job, a new company, or a new ambition. It starts with understanding where your old definition came from, the voices that shaped it, the expectations we absorbed, and the pressures we inherited without choosing them.

Once we see that our definition of success was not “ours” to begin with, we finally create the space to ask what comes next.

In the next article, I will explore exactly that: how our definition of success evolves when our life changes, when we change, and once we begin listening inward rather than outward.

The myth of having it all

A humbling beginning

Five years ago, I recall telling my then-new boyfriend (now my husband) about two close friends who had just had their first baby and brought their mothers in for a few months to help. I genuinely could not understand why. It is two adults and one baby, how hard can it be?

He laughed and said he would remind me of those words one day. Then he asked me if I truly believed one could “have it all.” Absolutely, I said. Why would it not be possible? After all, it just comes down to being well-organised.

And then came the reality check. A difficult pregnancy, a premature birth, and a narrowly avoided postpartum depression stripped away every illusion of control I had. It was deeply humbling, to say the least. Then came the second child, and life with two under two just confirmed what I was already starting to realize: we can have it all, just not all at once.

The weight of expectations

I know women whose ambition only grew after having children, whose vision became even bigger and bolder than before. I admire them.

And then, some women become mothers and realize they love it so much that being a mum is enough. They devote themselves fully to the toughest and most underappreciated job in the world, where constant work often leaves little to no visible trace. I probably admire them even more.

I believe it is beneficial for every woman to work, but to the extent that family logistics and finances allow, the form that work takes should be her own choice. To do that, though, we must peel back the layers of expectation that have built up over the years: what society, family, and friends tell us we should want.

On one end, there are places where women are expected to marry earlier, have children, and stop working. On the other end, there is the unspoken assumption that if you have gone to top schools and built an impressive résumé, you must “use it” or risk failure. Different worlds, same fear: the fear of disappointing others, of not fulfilling our potential, of somehow failing.

And that is the irony: “failure” itself is a construct. It can mean opposite things depending on who you ask. Working or not working. Being “too ambitious” or “not ambitious enough.” Which only shows it does not truly exist.

Seasons, not a superwoman

My husband was right in questioning my belief. The key is “not all at once.” I truly believe that over our lives, we can be, do, and have all we want. But not at the same time.

Life moves in seasons. Priorities shift. The years of newborns and toddlers, filled with short nights, navigation of early years challenges, and total exhaustion, cannot be compared to the years when our children become independent. (If you haven’t yet read The Book You Wish Your Parents Had Read by Philippa Perry, I cannot recommend it enough)

Also, children need us differently as time passes. In those early years, they need us to make sense of their world, themselves, and their emotions. Other people can, of course, help, but there is something that cannot be outsourced, and that is our presence.

The rush that never ends

In my work with exceptional, driven women, I often hear the same things: They are working twelve hours a day, feeling exhausted, guilty everywhere: at work for not doing enough, at home for not being present enough, frustrated for not having time for themselves.

They feel constantly behind, chasing a train that never stops.

When I tell them that, if they’re in their late thirties or early forties and in good health, they’ll likely work another thirty years, there’s usually a long pause. We live longer, retirement may come later (if at all). So why the rush? What are we afraid of missing?

The seasons that matter

The truth is, the years when children truly need us most are just one season of life. After that, we have decades to achieve everything else.

A woman I very much admire had four children close together, stayed home for a decade, and then went on to create one of the leading global conferences in her field. By postponing her ambition, she was able to dedicate one season to her children and then catch up in the next one.

However, it does not have to be one way or the other. It does not have to be a full return to 'business as usual' or a complete withdrawal to 'stay at home.' We are lucky to live in a time when so much more is possible: new career designs and options have opened up possibilities to combine our life and work in ways that better fit our priorities and the season of our lives.

Normalizing every choice

The unpleasant truth is: we all have only 24 hours in each day. Time is the most valuable thing we have. If we look at key areas of life - family, career, friends, social life, and our own well-being, we realize an even more uncomfortable truth: something has got to give.

And whatever the choice, it is fine, as long as it is ours.

Ideally, we took a conscious decision, thought it through, identified our priorities in that specific season of life, and acted accordingly.

That choice can be building or running a unicorn, being a partner at a prestigious financial institution, or raising children and doing some work aside when time allows - and everything in between.

Every woman who seems to “have it all” knows the invisible cost: precious moments missed, friendships neglected, interests abandoned, and the guilt. And those who made different choices sometimes miss their “old selves,” the version who existed before nappies and toddler tantrums.

So yes, you can have it all - just not at once. And maybe that is not a loss after all.

Writing on career redesign, portfolio careers, and navigating professional transitions. Most articles first appear on LinkedIn and are archived here.

Why we stay when it no longer fits

When the noise of everyday life quiets - during a late-night feed, a walk to the office, or a rare moment alone - the question might start to circle: Is this still me?

We do not plan for identity shifts. They creep in slowly, until one day the version of ourselves that once fit perfectly feels too tight, like a dress we have outgrown but still try to squeeze into.

For many high-achieving women, this moment does not come with a dramatic event but with a quiet realization: the career that once defined us no longer feels like home. And yet, despite knowing this, we stay.

The Identity Shock

In many countries, maternity leave lasts only a few months (if at all). Some genuinely want to return to work as soon as possible. But many go back not out of choice, but fear: fear of losing clients, opportunities, or relevance. It’s often fear disguised as obligation or necessity.

Motherhood (and fatherhood!) transforms us in ways we can’t predict. The new identity born with a child reshapes everything - our worldview, priorities, emotions, and sense of self.

Many who planned to return after a few months change their minds once they hold their baby, and then feel guilty for not doing what their “old self” would have done. So they push on, following what’s expected -  the nurse, the school, the clubs - until they’re quietly driven by expectations, lifestyle costs, and "fear".

And so, they stay.

The Identity Trap

At first, it is subtle. A couple of small compromises, an unspoken comparison here and there. And before we know it, we are trapped - by lifestyle, by expectations, by the weight of what we’ve built.

In my work, I’ve heard the following sentences over and over again:

“I’d love to move out of London, but where else would I earn this much?”

“I’d love to work in something more creative, but those jobs do not pay enough.”

“I’ve worked so hard to get here. How can I just walk away?”

“If I leave, I’ll have to start from zero.”

“What would I tell people?”

These sentences all share common fears: the fear of losing status, safety, and ultimately belonging (remember the sabre-toothed tiger from my previous article?). And underneath that fear lies the question we rarely voice:

“Who am I without this job title and outward success?”

Why we stay

Our careers take the center stage the moment we start working, especially in demanding industries where twelve-hour days are the expected norm. And when everything changes, when family enters the picture, when our priorities shift, we suddenly realize how deeply our worth has become tied to what we do.

There are four main reasons we stay trapped:

1. Financial safety

Even when we earn well, we may not feel financially safe. That feeling rarely correlates with income; it is primarily tied to what we learned about money growing up and the beliefs we developed about money. Some of us were raised around financial anxiety or instability, others in environments where success meant security. Throw in some generational trauma (war, hyperinflation, bankruptcy, etc.) and you have a perfect storm.

The belief that “I’ll feel safe once I earn a bit more” often keeps us running in circles - for example, waiting for one more (deferred) bonus before even considering a change.

2. Fear of the unknown

If you’ve spent years, maybe even decades, in the same industry and/or similar type of role, it is very understandable to wonder: What else could I even do?

Somewhere along the way, we started to define ourselves by our job descriptions. We tend to underestimate how much experience, skill, and perspective we’ve built over time. And we forget that our abilities are transferable and that reinvention doesn’t mean starting from scratch - it means starting from experience.

3. Your identity

This is often the hardest one. For high-achievers, our value has been measured for years by external success: job title, company name, career achievements. When that’s gone (or merely questioned), it can feel like a loss of self.

In truth, it is not failure; it is evolution. It is the moment when you begin to separate who you are from what you do.

4. Community

Some of us are fortunate to work in a supportive, friendly work environment surrounded by great colleagues. At the end of the day, we are social animals and like to be a part of the tribe where we feel we belong. This is not easy to give up, especially taking into account that many other career paths, while offering other “perks” and advantages, might, by default, be lonelier ones.

Redefining success

This is a key turning point, the space between who we were and who we’re becoming. It can feel disorienting, but it is eventually deeply liberating. Staying trapped isn’t failure; it’s feedback, a sign we’ve outgrown what once fit. A quiet nudge to pause and ask: Who do I want to be? What does success mean for me now?

The real work begins with an identity shift, as we revisit the parts of ourselves we’ve set aside: our values, passions, and life beyond work. And before the change actually materialises.

For many, this is the moment to imagine a different kind of career: one that allows us to use our skills fully, explore new paths, and design work around our present life situation, not the other way around. Then, success is no longer what society, colleagues, or peers say it should be. It’s what and how we define it for ourselves.

Writing on career redesign, portfolio careers, and navigating professional transitions. Most articles first appear on LinkedIn and are archived here.

When careers chose us

The early path

More often than not, our careers choose us rather than the other way around. Very few women I know knew from a young age that they wanted to enter the world of finance, consulting, or law. Unless there was a parent, family member, or role model in a specific field, we likely didn’t even know such careers existed.

For those of us who followed a more traditional path - good grades, good university, perhaps a top master’s program - the guidance we received pointed us toward certain “successful” industries. For those of us who started our careers in the 2000s and are now in our mid-30s to mid-40s, it almost felt like an unspoken rule: if you’ve worked this hard, you should aim for a prestigious, well-paid job.

Add to that the cost of living in cities like London, New York, or Paris, and the lower pay in more “meaningful” industries, and the decision often made itself. Many of us began our careers in investment banks, consulting firms, or large corporations, climbing the ladder, switching firms (or not), and chasing promotions and higher compensation packages. Some shifted later into hedge funds, PE, VC, or tech startups. A few struck out on their own. But the pattern was the same: one opportunity led to the next, and before you knew it, a decade or two had passed.

The family crossroads

And somewhere along the way, the wish to start a family appeared. For some, this happened in a long-term relationship; for others, after a few not-so-great ones. Ideally, we figured out what we wanted, we met the right person, and sometimes, within just a few years, one or more children arrived.

Sometimes it happens during maternity leave, sometimes after returning to work, sometimes after the second child is born. But sooner or later, for many of us, the realization comes: combining it all was tougher than expected. We want to remain ambitious, high-achieving, driven women, but almost suddenly, the moving parts have multiplied.

And that’s when the confusion begins. “But I’m the same,” we think - even though nothing truly is. Over the years, our work and success have become a key part of who we are, often the core of our identity. Who are we without them? What do we say when we introduce ourselves at a dinner table, if not our title and company name?

The quiet return to the rat race

This is all particularly emphasized in cosmopolitan hubs, where the pace is relentless and expectations are high. And where life can be extraordinary - if you can afford it. And, bigger families meant bigger apartments, higher rents or mortgages, higher childcare costs, and higher peer pressure: from private nurseries to “the right” schools and neighborhoods. The result? A quiet return to the rat race.

Questions begin to surface, one after another:

How do we step away from a career that has become such an integral part of who we are?

Who are we without the title, the salary, the lifestyle?

How do we maintain what we have built for ourselves, our families, and our sense of identity?

How do we give our children the best, as we and our peers define it?

And, how do we stay in a game that no longer fits who we have become, yet feels almost impossible to leave?

The quiet beginning of transformation

Somewhere between all those questions lies the truth we have been avoiding and the quiet realization that change is already well underway.

The life we built, our ambitions, our career identity, and that sum of compensations - suddenly feels at odds with the life we now have. And somewhere between who we were and who we are becoming, something shifts. Every transformation begins this way, with questions that grow too persistent to ignore.

Writing on career redesign, portfolio careers, and navigating professional transitions. Most articles first appear on LinkedIn and are archived here.

Where one career ends and many begin

For many of us who started our careers 15 or 20 years ago, the image of success was clear. Get a good degree, join a reputable company, climb the ladder, stay long enough to reach the top — or at least somewhere close. We knew times were changing, but we still expected a sense of continuity. A linear path, or sort of it. A ladder to climb.

That world doesn’t exist anymore — and that truth is both liberating and unsettling. Job security has become an illusion. Economic crises, pandemics, AI, and the constant cycle of “restructuring” have reshaped the workplace.  

Even great employees get let go. I’ve been there too. And while I didn’t yet have a family back then, I can only imagine the added weight when others depend on you. The reality is: relying on one source of income has become the riskier choice.

The world of work has changed — hybrid setups, remote teams, freelancers, consultants, creators. But more importantly, we have changed. Our values, our priorities, our definitions of success — and none of them are the same as when we started.

For many high achievers, careers once defined us. They shaped our identity and self-worth. Now, that identity is shifting. We are no longer who we used to be, yet not quite someone new. The old no longer fits — but the new still feels far away.

I like to call it the “messy middle.” The in-between where we sense change coming but don’t yet know what it looks like.  It’s where the old identity fades before the new one fully form, and where much of the real transformation happens.

One of the biggest emotional shifts I saw in myself, and my clients, happens when we move from belonging to a company, brand, or job title, to belonging to ourselves.

For many high-achieving, ambitious women, this feels like uncharted territory. They’ve defined themselves through achievement recognition for so long that even considering leaving can feel like failure.

But the real work of transition isn’t logistical, it’s emotional. It’s about identity, belonging, and letting go.

It starts with asking:

• Who am I today?
  
  

• What does a career that fits this version of me look like?
  
  

• What could I create if I designed work around my life, not the other way around?
  
  

That’s where the idea of a portfolio career comes into a career made up of several complementary roles or projects, built around who we are and what matters to us.

In a portfolio career, we:

• Disassociate our identity from a single job or title
  
  

• Leverage different parts of our experience and expertise
  
  

• Enjoy variety, flexibility, and creative freedom
  
  

• Adjust our work to different seasons of life
  
  

• Design careers that reflect the lives we want — not ones we have to fit into
  
  

Portfolio careers can bring choice, balance, and ownership. They let us double down on our strengths rather than patch up our weaknesses. They make change and non-linear path - normal.

Because at the heart of it, a portfolio career isn’t just a professional model. It’s a mindset. One that acknowledges that we evolve — and that our careers should be evolving with us.

We do not always choose when one chapter ends, but we can choose how the next one begins.

Writing on career redesign, portfolio careers, and navigating professional transitions. Most articles first appear on LinkedIn and are archived here.

Career transition & its messy middle

We humans like certainty; we always have.

For most of our history, our survival depended on it. This is where our herd instinct comes from: wanting to fit in, to belong, to avoid being disliked, rejected, or worst of all - abandoned.

Abandonment once meant death. We couldn’t survive long without the tribe.

So it’s no surprise that we prefer our comfort zones. We might not love them, but they feel safe, so we stay.
Until something shifts.

Sometimes we reach a breaking point where we know the old path no longer works. Other times, life decides for us.

Either way, change rarely feels easy. And it’s always a process.

The first wave: relief & excitement

At first, there’s relief.

Even if the decision was made for us, somewhere deep down, we know the old situation wasn’t right anymore.

Then comes excitement - all the opportunities we could finally explore!

But soon, that excitement turns to overwhelm. Too many options can paralyze us.

We go from dreaming about freedom... to fearing uncertainty.

Even when we longed to leave that unfulfilling job, we still miss the safety of belonging to a company, a team, a title.

That sense of being “part of something” fades, and suddenly we’re in the messy middle:
no clear role, no new identity yet — just a lot of space, possibilities, and confusion.

The messy middle itself

This phase often catches people off guard — especially if we’ve never been through a real transition before.

By that I mean the space in between jobs: When there’s no next role lined up, when the path ahead is unclear, and when every option has its pros and cons — leaving us unsure what’s right.

It’s a time of confusion, self-doubt, ups, and downs.

Even with financial security, we can feel deeply unsettled because we’re no longer part of something bigger.

Our minds start spinning:

“There’s too much competition.”
“There are no good jobs left.”
“AI will replace us anyway.”

And from that mindset, it’s hard to move forward or create anything new.

What’s really going on

Our sense of safety has been shaken, not just mentally, but physically.

Our nervous system goes into fight-or-flight, even when no real threat exists.
It’s as if a bear is chasing us… Except that the “bear” is uncertain.

And that’s completely natural.

We’re wired for safety, not for the unknown. Yet every reinvention asks us to walk right into that unknown.

How to move through it

Here are a few ways to make that “messy middle” a little easier:

Accept the mess: Change is rarely linear. It’s a confusing, emotional, and rollercoaster ride of ups and downs. Let go of how you think it should look — life often has better plans than we do.

Acknowledge the identity shift: Career change isn’t just external; it’s deeply personal. You’re not just leaving a job — you’re letting go of an identity. Feel everything: doubt, excitement, impatience, confusion — it’s all part of the process.

Stay open to new possibilities: The unknown feels scary, but it’s also expansive. After years in one field, we can develop tunnel vision.

Try this:

• Talk to people outside your industry.
• Connect with those who’ve built unconventional careers.
• Reach out to people you admire and learn from them.
• Engage in reflection — alone, with a coach, or even through writing.

Be patient with yourself: Transitions take time. Transformation is a process, not a project. Everything you’re feeling is valid — and temporary.

Closing reflection

The messy middle isn’t a mistake — it’s where your next chapter is forming, quietly, beneath the surface.

If you’re there right now, remember: You’re not behind. You’re becoming.

Writing on career redesign, portfolio careers, and navigating professional transitions. Most articles first appear on LinkedIn and are archived here.