This as-told-to essay is based on a conversation with Jesse Tervooren, a 39-year-old former HR executive based in Vancouver, Washington. It has been edited for length and clarity.
Walking away from a $250,000 corporate HR job last year, I was convinced that landing something new would be straightforward. The reality of today’s job market had completely passed me by.
For more than a decade, opportunities had always come to me through recruiters — I never had to chase them. Now, nearly a year into unemployment, I look back and wonder how I could have been so naive.
That said, stepping away from the grind gave me something I hadn’t expected: the chance to actually show up for my daughter and take an honest look at how tangled my sense of self had become with money.
I knew it was time to leave when my values no longer aligned with the company’s
From early in my career, I understood I had a knack for getting things done — and somewhere along the way, I let that become the whole of who I was. Through a decade in HR, I kept telling myself I’d slow down, dial back the intensity, but looking back, I think I was genuinely hooked on the rush that stress produced.
After my daughter arrived, my husband stepped into the primary caregiver role while I became our family’s financial anchor. By 2023, I’d climbed to director of people experience at a dental company. The work was varied, the pay was strong, and my team was one I genuinely valued — enough to keep me there longer than I probably should have stayed.
What finally pushed me out the door was a sharp disagreement with my boss — one that made it clear I could no longer do the job with integrity. Right then, I made a promise to myself: I would never again hold a position that asked me to set aside what I believed in.
I hadn’t planned to resign that morning. But by the end of the day, staying felt impossible.
After I quit, I took a break that backfired — but I don’t have any regrets
Overconfidence was my first mistake. I put off job hunting until January, assuming doors would open quickly. They didn’t.
Having spent years recruiting in healthcare — a field that practically never stopped needing people — I assumed HR would be the same. It wasn’t. From January through April, I sent out applications, crafted tailored cover letters, reconnected with former colleagues, and flooded LinkedIn with outreach. Nearly all of it disappeared without a response. It was a genuinely humbling stretch.
Even so, I can’t say I regret the path I took. What I do wish is that I had taken a clear-eyed look at the HR landscape before assuming it would welcome me back with open arms.
Quitting made me realize I hadn’t been a truly present mother
I always believed I was doing right by my daughter. I’d close my laptop at five, put on a cheerful face, and sit down to play — but my head was still stuck in the workday. Physically there, mentally elsewhere.
Since leaving my job, something has shifted. My 6-year-old gets a version of me that’s actually in the room — down on the floor with her, silly and unhurried, not just going through the motions. Children pick up on these things. I’m certain she has.
I’ve learned to stop using money to manage stress
At a $250,000 salary, my go-to stress response was spending. A difficult meeting meant something arriving from Amazon by evening. A rough week justified a Target haul. I’d talk myself into it easily enough — a sweater isn’t a luxury item, after all.
What I couldn’t see at the time was that shopping was doing the emotional heavy lifting I wasn’t willing to do myself. Financial therapists actually recognize this as a common pattern among high earners, and looking back, it fits perfectly. With that option no longer available, I’ve had to get creative about how I unwind.
These days I color, paint, and experiment with nail art. None of it is technically impressive, but that’s beside the point — there’s something genuinely soothing about finishing something small and low-stakes just for yourself.
I’ve also invested more in the people around me. Morning walks with a neighbor whose kids go to the same school as mine have become a quiet anchor — good for the body, good for the mind, good for feeling less alone. This past year has slowly dismantled the idea that my worth is measured by output or professional contribution.
I’m ready to work again — but this time, on my own terms
Staying home and painting has its charms, but I genuinely miss the feeling of doing meaningful work — of contributing something real, of the natural rhythm that comes with a professional community.
The need to return is both emotional and practical. My family depends on my income. But I’m carrying a different set of expectations back into the workforce than the ones I left with.
A full return to office life, rigid nine-to-five hours, or sacrificing time with my daughter for day care drop-offs — none of that appeals to me anymore. I’m not chasing some perfect equilibrium between work and life. I just want work that doesn’t actively undermine the rest of it. That might sound like a tall order, but I’m done trading my wellbeing for a title.
If you’re working through career burnout or financial pressure, the National Foundation for Credit Counseling (nfcc.org) offers free support, and the 988 Suicide & Crisis Lifeline is available anytime by call or text.
