In my late 20s, like many ambitious young professionals who grew up believing they could build anything they put their mind to, I started my own technology consulting company.`
Over five years, I poured everything I had into building it. We landed impressive clients, grew to 45 employees, and built a culture I was deeply proud of.
Then the 2008 financial crisis hit.
When I saw the economy starting to shift, I tried pivoting the business toward areas I believed would be more insulated from the downturn, including government contracting work designed to support small businesses. But eventually even those opportunities started disappearing. I remember realizing that one of the very strategies I’d relied on to help us survive was no longer viable.
That was the moment I knew we weren’t going to make it.
With no VC or private equity backing and no network of advisors helping me navigate a financial crisis, I found myself figuring out how to unwind the company while simultaneously having honest conversations with my employees whose livelihoods depended on it. It was incredibly humbling.
After it was over, I took the first real vacation I’d had in years. When I came home, I sat down with my dad, a Vietnam combat veteran who’s always been a grounding force in my life, and explained how devastated I felt losing something I’d poured my heart and soul into building.
He listened patiently, smiled, and said, “Honey, at least nobody’s shooting at you.”
We both laughed, but the perspective stayed with me.
As painful as that chapter was, I realized something important. I hadn’t lost my ability to work. I hadn’t lost my experience, my resilience, or the knowledge I’d gained building and then unwinding a company through crisis.
I started thinking about what skill sets I didn’t have that might’ve better prepared me for what I’d been through. Strategic foresight and anticipatory risk were at the top. I realized while I’d learned how to build a business, I hadn’t yet learned how large organizations architect resilience at scale or navigate uncertainty before it becomes a crisis.
So instead of immediately starting another company, I made a decision to start over inside corporate America and intentionally learn everything I’d missed the first time around.
I joined a Fortune 1000 critical internet infrastructure provider as a contract project manager and became a full-time employee a year later. I approached the role with the same ownership mentality I’d developed as an entrepreneur, raising my hand for problems nobody else wanted to solve.
Eventually, that work ethic and constant desire to learn led me into executive leadership, where among other responsibilities I became Chief of Staff to the CEO. For many professionals, reaching the top levels of a multibillion-dollar company is the finish line. Earlier in my career, I probably would’ve said the same thing.
But then something unexpected happened.
I realized I’d reached a point where there was nowhere left for me to grow.
The Career Ceiling Nobody Warns You About
We hear a lot about executives leaving senior leadership positions because of burnout or work-life balance. Those are real concerns, but there’s another reason people walk away from positions they’ve spent decades chasing that we don’t talk about enough. Sometimes the growth trajectory simply stops.
Research from McKinsey’s 2025 Women in the Workplace report found employees become significantly less likely to see opportunities for advancement at senior levels as leadership pathways narrow. The higher you climb, the fewer opportunities exist for meaningful upward movement.
After rebuilding my career, I found myself facing a reality I hadn’t anticipated. The challenge and steep learning curve that had fueled me for years started disappearing. I realized there was nowhere left for me to grow in the way that energized me most.
That realization forced me to confront a difficult truth. I could stay in a position I’d already proven I could do, or I could leave the comfort of what I’d built behind and step into the unknown in pursuit of new growth.
Having already lived through one major career reinvention and not just survived, but thrived because of it, I chose the latter.
The Jobs Nobody Wants Are Usually the Ones That Change Your Career
One of the most valuable lessons I learned rebuilding my career was this. The opportunities that accelerate your growth are rarely the ones everyone else is competing for.
I built my career by volunteering for the projects nobody wanted to touch. If there was a messy operational challenge or a cross-functional initiative with no clear ownership, I raised my hand to lead it.
Part of that came from my entrepreneurial urge to solve problems when they arose, and that mindset ended up becoming a significant differentiator. According to LinkedIn’s 2025 Workplace Learning Report, adaptability and problem solving remain two of the most in-demand leadership capabilities as organizations navigate technological disruption and economic uncertainty.
What surprised me most was that the less glamorous assignments often created the greatest visibility and growth. Those projects gave me exposure across operations, engineering, governance, risk, and strategy. They taught me how businesses actually function under pressure, not just how they’re supposed to function on paper.
Over time, those uncomfortable assignments became the very experiences that carried me into executive leadership.
Pressure Doesn’t Build Leaders. It Reveals Them.
When people talk about high-pressure environments, the conversation usually centers around stress and burnout, but pressure also reveals the quality of leadership already operating under the surface.
Leading inside critical internet infrastructure and information security meant operating in environments where trust and reliability were paramount and needed to be monitored constantly. Every cyber breach announcement or regulatory shift created pressure spikes that demanded immediate action and disciplined decision making.
Early in my career, I thought strong leadership meant matching the intensity of the moment. Over time, I learned the opposite was true. The best leaders aren’t the loudest people in the room during uncertainty. They’re the calmest.
PwC’s 2025 Global CEO Survey found that leaders increasingly view adaptability, resilience, and trust-building as critical leadership traits in environments defined by disruption and uncertainty.
Pressure taught me that leadership isn’t tested during stable periods. It’s tested when things become unclear, uncomfortable, or unpredictable. That’s when your values either hold steady or disappear entirely.
And ironically, the more pressure I experienced throughout my career, the less afraid I became of it. In fact, I learned to thrive under pressure by developing the skills needed to operate within it while maintaining clarity, integrity, and sound judgment when the stakes were high.
Earlier this year, I made the difficult decision to leave the executive role I’d spent most of my career working toward. Not because I was running from pressure, but because I still wanted to grow.
Looking back now, I realize the financial crisis taught me something long before I fully understood it. No title, company, or chapter of your life lasts forever. But your ability to adapt, learn, and rebuild travels with you wherever you go.
For most of my career, I thought success was about reaching the top. Now, I’ve come to realize that, at least for me, it’s about having the courage to keep evolving once you get there.
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