I was scrolling Instagram when a reel stopped me cold: ‘You overworked yourself to the point it became the baseline, so they never promoted you because you could already do the work.’ Jesus wept. That was me. For ten years.
How it started:
I was asked to stage manage for a friend and it went well. I even met a former President and his wife. As is the way of the theater, they asked me to stay. So I did. For 10 years.
I wore all the hats. Worked all the hours.
Helped where I could. Made choices and learned a lot.
But not too much. Not what I needed to be considered what I thought was “Enough”.
I’d flit away here and there. Do a show elsewhere. Get my feet wet and see how the other half lived as they say. That place kept calling me back. And I couldn’t leave. I still can’t. I love it there. The people. The work. The chaos that brings purpose and a deep sense of fulfillment.
I made a lot of money. I paid off my student loans which quite frankly was the biggest flex of my early career.
All I wanted was to be accepted at the cool kid’s club. To get the jacket with my name on it. That said: I belonged here.
The Rejection that stuck:
I was asked to apply for a job. They gave it to an external client with zero institutional knowledge and I was gutted. But it wasn’t the end.
I had colleagues that took care of me. Gave me work when I was figuring out life post partum, because they knew I could make magic. I in turn took care of them. At the same time being afraid that if I didn’t perform to my reputation, maybe they wouldn’t call me anymore and that would be it. I was always afraid someone else would be better and then I would fall on the call list.
It’s silly, but true. Free-lance work is scary and freeing in equal measure.
What if I say no and they stop calling? That was me for 10 years.
The turning point:
Then my friend said, come help me. So I did. Then my other friend said, can you help me too? So I went back and forth between two colleagues/friends who made sure I had what I needed and I in return, showed up as my full self. Some days were hard and messy. Some days were victorious. Rarely was it average. I was adequately thriving.
One day, I got a call from one of my colleagues. She had mentioned that there was a job opening up and had dropped my name for it. I applied and interviewed and after a long process, I got it.
I now work at another arts organization in my dream job. I am proud and joyful and keep pinching myself because sometimes it doesn’t feel real.
I still freelance at the place I didn’t get hired. We are still friends and they are happy for me. My voice carries weight where my title does not. I belong to them and they belong to me in a way that isn’t understood by the newbies who haven’t figured out how things work yet.
The realization:
But here’s the thing: I’ve been carrying that rejection like a wound.
Even with the better job. Even with desired salary. Even with the proof that I was “enough” all along.
That Instagram reel made me see it: I’d been operating like I still had something to prove. To people who already valued me. To a job I’d outgrown before I even applied for it.
I overworked until it became the baseline. And then I kept measuring myself against that impossible standard, even after I’d moved on.
Where I am now:
I’m healing and moving on and I have receipts to prove it. But the feeling of rejection still creeps up sometimes.
Not because I wanted that job (I didn’t, really). But because I wanted to be chosen. I wanted external validation that I was worth committing to.
And the truth is: I already had that. From colleagues who fought for me. From the organization that hired me. From myself, when I finally let go of needing their approval.
I’m still figuring this out. I have the better job. I have the autonomy. I have the income. And I’m still untangling the “not good enough” story I told myself for years.
But at least now I see it for what it is: a story I’m ready to let go of.
I’m adequately thriving. And that’s more than enough.