on coming home to yourself

reflections on quitting my job, six months of sabbatical, and reclaiming childhood dreams

forever grateful I get to call this beautiful city my home

Six months ago, I quit my job. To be honest, I was really burned out, and had felt my physical and mental health take a turn for the worst. I am so grateful to have worked with some of the most brilliant minds and kindest souls in tech over the last four years, but I knew in my heart that it was time for a change. I was exhausted. It is exhausting to spend most of your waking hours on work that doesn't light you up from the inside, that doesn't tap into your true passions or purpose or callings, that doesn't make you feel alive -- no matter how high status that work might seem. From the outside, this decision seemed abrupt: one day I was working, and the next day I was submitting my three-week notice. But the truth is, these thoughts and ideas had been budding for years and were first planted a decade ago, with roots that run all the way back to where it all began: my childhood.  

Leaving home

As a kid, I always dreamed of being a gymnast. My parents never signed me up for gymnastics classes, so I settled for the next best thing: YouTube tutorials. I taught myself how to do a backbend, the splits, and handstands against the wall. I hoped that someday, I would learn how to do a front and back handspring. Growing up, I would sit in front of the TV and watch every Summer Olympics in awe -- I looked up to the likes of Shawn Johnson, Nastia Liukin, the Fierce Five in 2012, and of course, the GOAT herself, Simone Biles. In high school, I briefly entertained trying out for the gymnastics team, after the insistence of one of my friends who was a much more seasoned gymnast. My high school only had a Varsity gymnastics team, and I had never taken a real gymnastics class, so I decided to save myself the embarrassment and not try out. I decided that it was a silly dream, an impractical and unrealistic effort at best. Besides, I had much more important things to focus on, like getting good grades and getting into a good college. So, I set that dream aside. 

As a kid, I also dreamed of being a writer. I loved to read, and looked forward to weekly library trips growing up. I would fill up my library bag with books of all genres, and I loved that going to the library felt like shopping, except it was free.¹ I would then start crafting stories of my own, and would later submit my writing in a few contests in elementary school, with the encouragement of my parents. I don't remember the outcome of any of those writing contests, but I do remember how much I loved to write, and how proud I was of those stories, and how much I needed to write to express and understand myself. I would later tell my parents that perhaps when I grow up, I'll become a writer, maybe even write a novel someday! They would tell me that I had a way with words, a gift even, but also that being a writer wasn't exactly a stable career choice the way that being a lawyer or a doctor was. Although I knew there was a kernel of truth in their words, I also knew that it wasn’t the full picture, that there is a certain aliveness lost in taking the road well traveled. At the same time, their words planted the first seeds of doubt in my mind. I hadn’t considered what failure would look like, or how painful it might feel. I don’t blame my parents -- the world can be a harsh and cruel place, and they were simply protecting me, extending their love for me in all the ways they knew how. So, I set my dream of being a writer aside for a bit, too. What I didn't realize was that as life got busier, it would give me more and more excuses not to write, until I would stop writing for myself altogether. 

A home away from home 

I would spend the next decade of my life in pursuit of doing the right thing, whatever that was at the time for me. In high school, the “right” thing was getting into a good college, so I would spend every waking moment studying, or prepping my next debate competition case, or running to band or lacrosse practice, or starting clubs and initiatives. I would eventually get into my top choice college, Swarthmore, and could not have been happier that all of that hard work paid off. In college, I studied Computer Science and Philosophy, which I told myself was the perfect balance of embracing the spirit of liberal arts, without sacrificing job prospects or a stable career. I would spend long nights in the CS lab working on programming assignments, followed by even longer nights spent reading and writing philosophy papers, on topics ranging from the theory of art and aesthetics to Aristotelian virtue ethics. I convinced myself that after college, the “right” thing to do would be to get a good job, ideally a job that paid well and did good in the world², so I decided to break into tech, specifically product. I would go on to land Yahoo's Associate Product Manager (APM) program, and at the time, I was absolutely thrilled to be joining one of the oldest and most established APM programs right out of college. I proclaimed to myself that I had done it, I had achieved my dreams, and pushed aside any gnawing feelings that maybe, I had once harbored dreams even bigger and truer to myself. 

As a new grad working as a product manager, the “right” thing was to work hard, and be the best product manager that I could be. In many ways, I loved being a PM.³ I loved talking to users, and learning about and empathizing with their problems and pain points, and being able to turn around and make the product better for them. I loved working with incredible designers and engineers, who would lend their brilliance to me, and we would collaborate on and brainstorm ideas together. I loved building products from “zero to one”, and being able to turn sticky notes on a whiteboard into reality. There is something so invigorating about being deeply invested in a problem space, and doing whatever you can to make it better, because you care. However, the reality of being a PM and perhaps the larger landscape of working in tech or other “high status” jobs in general⁴, would eventually sink in. The politics of being a PM would later push me farther and farther away from the building aspect of the role that I loved, and I would watch it slowly but surely warp into a trophy job. I would also realize that, for the most part, even the organizations with the most virtuous of missions would still prioritize profit over people, and finding product market fit over solving real problems. I don’t blame them, though. I understand and empathize with the will and need to survive, to stay alive -- we all do. Rather, a lot of this is my own doing, by naively subscribing to the framework that I could have “a job that pays well and does good in the world”⁵ without unpacking what that truly meant for me. To continue to work while harboring these internal and external cognitive dissonances was a one-way ticket to burnout, which I would soon learn firsthand. 

Ironically, the most energized I ever felt building a product was before I had even started my first job as a product manager. Back in June 2020, I started a project called APM Map, which was focused on sharing resources and mentorship opportunities to help students break into tech and product. I knew firsthand how brutal the new grad recruiting process could be, and wished I could have had access to a tool that curated resources across various recruiting stages and companies, and connected me with potential mentors. So, I set out to build a tool that did just that. When I was working on APM Map, I got so many messages from friends and strangers alike about how much they loved the platform, and how much it had given them strength in their recruiting process. Each and every one of those messages were life-giving to me, and fueled me to keep going, to keep building, to keep reaching and helping people. I had honestly never felt more alive. I would eventually outgrow my chapter as an APM, so my co-founder⁶ and I sold APM Map to a more established tech recruiting platform. Still, I remember all of those kind messages, and what it felt like to have a fire of passion and purpose burning within you. Perhaps someday, I’d like to reignite that spark again. 

Looking back on this decades-long pursuit of status and success, of wanting to be perceived as "smart and successful", I can see now that I had lost my sense of self and abandoned any dreams that I had once held dear. I had not only abandoned my dreams, but also denied myself the mere permission to dream, to even tune into any passions or purpose or callings I once had. I wrote off my dreams as silly or impractical or unstable, even if every fiber of my being craved them. It's a lonely place, to feel like you're away from home in your own body, in your own soul. Quitting my job was the first time in my life I chose to hit pause on this relentless pursuit of status and success, on this charade of wanting to be perceived as "smart and successful" by others, to try to attempt to find my way home. As I've been sitting with these thoughts and feelings, I've come to realize how much of this pursuit was just me overcompensating for abandoned dreams, and how much the charade was just my desire to love and be loved in disguise. In coming home to myself, I am allowing myself to leave those anxieties and insecurities at the door, to return to a place where I accept myself as I am, so that I may begin anew. 

Coming home to yourself 

These past six months have been some of the most challenging and liberating months of my life. I generally feel "lost in transition", but intentionally so, and on my own terms. There are days where this lostness turns into a deep-seated fear and anxiety -- what if I made the wrong decision, what if I can never find work again, what if this was all a big mistake? But on other days, it manifests into more of a wonder over worry. In this liminal space, I’m less trying to “find myself”, and more so trying to return to all the things that I once loved, as the self that I’ve been looking for has been here all along. I'm reminding myself that I’m not confined to the person I once was, or to labels that predetermine my self-worth. Instead, I get to wonder, what are the things that light me up from inside, that make me feel alive? What brings me joy, no matter how small? To have this time and space in my life to sit with this wonder is an incredible privilege, and there is not a day that goes by that I'm not deeply grateful for it. 

I started taking adult gymnastics classes back in July 2022. I remember being so nervous before my first class, and being too scared to even attempt a handstand without a coach standing next to me. But more importantly, I also remember having so much fun. Going to gymnastics quickly turned into a regular fixture in my routine, and something I now look forward to every week. I actually got my front handspring last year, and am now working on my back handspring. I know I'm not going to the Olympics any time soon (a girl can dream!), but it doesn't matter - learning gymnastics as an adult has been my first foray into reclaiming childhood dreams, and doing things for the joy of it, nothing more and nothing less.

I've also been writing again, and have been pairing my morning pages⁷ ritual with a cup of matcha almost every day. Writing this essay has been pivotal in getting back in touch with my inner writer, and is another step towards reclaiming childhood callings and passions. I’m remembering how much I need to write in order to better express and understand myself, and how much I love when the words I’ve been looking for tumble onto the page, in a glorious attempt to capture the human experience. I’m relearning how to write for myself first, and secondarily, to connect with others. Maybe someday I will become a writer, and I’ll write a novel just like I once dreamed of, but I’m in no rush. For now, I’m leaning into writing as an ongoing journey of self-exploration, to uncover truths that I have buried within, and just to do something that I love every day. In embracing this, I’ve started to uproot the seeds of fear and doubt I had planted in my mind about writing many years ago, and can now truly see it for what it is: art. 

When I try to piece together the puzzle of my past, the pattern that emerges is one of people, and our connection to ourselves and one another. My love for gymnastics as a kid and my return to it in adulthood was always about healing my inner child, and my connection to myself and my passions and dreams. My love of writing in my early teens and my return to it in adulthood is about understanding and expressing myself, and trying to shed light on our shared human experience. My love of building products in my twenties has been about realizing that on the other side of my pain and problems is purpose, and part of that purpose has always been about building ways to connect us to ourselves and each other. 

I am forever grateful that a couple of years ago, one of my friends, J, trusted me to co-create a retreat where we gathered some of the most brilliant thinkers, writers, engineers, artists, and founders for two weeks in a little red house outside of Montreal. I loved being able to create a moment in time and space for people to really, truly connect with each other; it too made me feel alive. But then, in a moment of self-doubt, I started to question if I even belonged, if I was even “good enough” to be there. I confided in my friend, D, that I didn’t quite know what my thing was, when everyone else on the retreat had seemingly already figured it out. She looked me in the eye and said, “Michelle, your thing is people.”⁸ At the time, I was disappointed -- I wanted her to tell me that my thing was something more “useful”, like AI, or crypto, or literally anything else. Now, almost three years later and six months into my sabbatical, I’m finally starting to see the full picture, and it’s beginning to illuminate a path forward -- a path that activates my natural modes of being (with myself, in community) and doing (writing, building) towards a purpose (people, connection). However, as a practice of not prematurely prescribing a path for myself, as I have done many times before, I am learning to sit with the discomfort of not knowing what’s next, and to embrace this period of ambiguity with open arms. I’m giving myself permission to slow down, to rest, and to make space for joy, and to tune into whatever might be calling my name. 

Some days, I lament how long it's taken for me to come to all of these realizations, and how much time I've wasted trying to be someone that I'm not, pursuing paths not meant for me. But that also isn't entirely true -- I am a mosaic of all of the people and experiences that have shaped me into the woman that I am today. In many ways, this was the journey all along. This was and will always be me coming home to myself, to who I've always been. To reclaim the dreams, passions, and callings that I had once abandoned, while also celebrating and accepting the self that I have arrived at today. I am constantly becoming, and also coming home to myself, every day.

meta-musings by mima

• First, thank you for taking time to read my essay. It means a lot. I appreciate you, deeply. This is my first time sharing a personal essay online, and to be honest, I’m quite nervous! If you’re getting this essay via email, you may have been subscribed to my previous newsletters, Tech Care or APM Map. I know this content is a bit different, so if it no longer resonates with you, please feel free to unsubscribe! I'm all for tending to our own digital gardens and ecosystems.

• This is both a "I quit my job" reflection and something more and something less. If you're looking for more in-depth sabbatical reflections and practical guides to quitting your job, you should check out these incredible writers and their essays here, which were all immensely helpful in my sabbatical journey:

  • I Quit My Job by Matt Yao, and his practical How To Quit Your Job guide

  • Jumping into the void by Kasra

  • On Sabbatical by Vinamrata Singal

  • Status Limbo by Anu Atluru

  • Work & Self Expression by Cissy Hu, a five-part series that explores our relationship with work, creativity, and the in between

    • I also love this “on sabbaticaling” Spotify playlist that Cissy curated — I’ve listened to almost every podcast episode!

  • Pathless Path by Paul Millerd

  • The Artist’s Way by Julia Cameron (currently reading this and loving it)

• While editing this essay, my friend Charmaine reminded me that I actually hosted a rooftop party two summers ago on this very topic of “coming home to yourself”. It’s an idea that I’ve been sitting with for almost three years now, and it feels so good to finally share it with the world.

This is the original Partiful invite from August 2022, starring everyone’s messy fave, Carrie Bradshaw.

---

A heartfelt thank you to everyone who either read or gave feedback on earlier drafts of this essay, or have been pillars of support throughout my sabbatical journey, and have believed in me since the very beginning: Susie, Hannah, Shivani, Sherry, Amy, Cindy, Mirayda, Charmaine, David, Ahmed, Johnathan, Frank, Max, Jessica, Helen, Jamie, Divya, Lindsey, Matt, my peers and mentors in Writer’s Block, my boyfriend Jeff, and my wonderful parents.

1. Public goods are good. They always have been, and always will be. Support your local public libraries!

2. I would come to realize that there was a fundamental tension in the belief that one could work “a job that paid well and did good in the world", a tension that deserves to be unraveled in its own essay.

3. For my Agatha All Along fans, this should be read in the voice and tone of Patti LuPone’s Lilia Calderu, saying “I loved being a witch.”

4. There is a larger theme here a la David Graber’s Bullshit Jobs theory, in the context of the modern meaning crisis, to delve deeper in to as well. Also something that deserves its own essay!

5. See footnote 2

6. My co-founder is an incredibly talented thinker and engineer, and also my wonderful boyfriend, who I couldn’t have built APM Map without.

7. Morning pages is a practice taken from Julia Cameron’s The Artist’s Way, which I’m currently reading and loving so far.

8. It is so rare to have people in your life who trust you to do something before you’ve “proven” yourself, and who see you in your element and for who you are, before you’ve even realized it yourself. Once you find these people in your life, hold them close and let them know just how special they are to you.