THE SUBJECTIVITY OF SUCCESS

“How do you define success?”

I was asked this question during a job interview in 2018. I simply and confidently answered, “Accomplishing what I set out to do.” I was in my last year of university and was intent on getting a post-grad job lined up.

The interviewer looked at me, almost dumbfounded, waiting for me to elaborate. I stared back, naively believing that I finally nailed a question after struggling with the interview for the past hour.

I eventually received and accepted a job offer from an out-of-state, Fortune 50 company. I was on top of the world! At that point in my life, my plan for success seemed so easy and so clearly defined. I would move, start this new job, climb the corporate ladder, and quickly make a name for myself as a smart, hard-working, successful young woman.

As the years passed, I was so proud of myself. I was doing it, I was succeeding! I adapted to life in a new city, my work was being recognized by company leaders, I was learning to love myself, I was making new friends, and I was content. I never thought that I would be at such a great place in my life. My success sustained its trajectory for about three years before life took a few-too-many unexpected turns.

It was the beginning of 2022 when my path started to stray. I was two and a half years into my role, I was looking for something different & exciting, and I had just signed a remote contract with my employer. The goal was to begin my job search, save some money while I lived and worked at home, and then relocate to New York City as soon as I got a job offer. Considering my degree & experience, I was sure it would only take me a few months to find my next role.

I was sorely mistaken.

Shortly after I moved back home, I started to unveil some health issues. It began with a routine eye exam where the optometrist noticed I had swelling in my optic nerves and referred me to an ophthalmologist. Coincidentally, I saw my physician for a physical just a few days later where many dots were connected. I unknowingly had recurring issues in my lab results for many years that were overlooked by all of the physicians that I had seen before. I left that appointment with numerous referrals and an action plan to get to the bottom of what was going on with me.

After nearly a year of what seemed like infinite appointments, tests, scans, pokes, and prods, I was diagnosed with two chronic illnesses and a laundry list of subsequent diagnoses. This medical-mystery-rabbit-hole completely overhauled my life in ways that I never could have imagined. The entire diagnostic process alone felt like I was on the perpetual verge of receiving a death sentence. The reality of chronic illness is that there is no end. It isn't a streamlined process of test - diagnose - treat - cure. It's a lifetime of unanswered questions, pain, frustration, monitoring, tracking - it never ends. Coming to terms with this new part of my life is something I struggle with to this day.

At the start of it all, though, I pushed my worsening health aside, my stubbornness took lead, and I was still hell-bent on taking active steps towards achieving my career goals. I was at my lowest, physically and mentally, but I was still working myself to the bone trying to maintain appearances at work and continue my job search.

Looking back, I think I was in an absolute haze of denial. I didn't want to accept the fact that my life was being permanently altered. Everything that I had known and expected for my present and my future was crumbling right before my eyes, and I was doing everything in my power to pretend like it wasn't happening.

I was shocked to discover that pretending like I was okay didn't actually make me okay, and I was quickly faced with the reality of my circumstances. After a year of, quite literally, fighting for my life, relentless job searching, and enduring unmanageable conditions at my job, I made the decision at the start of 2023 to resign.

What once began as an enthusiastic, "I want something different and exciting in my career," slowly turned into an, "I can't do this anymore, I have to leave now." It got to a point where I could no longer do the "right" thing and wait for my next job to come along before I left. My health was in the gutter, I couldn't send an email without sobbing, and my soul was dead.

I had so many fears around quitting. Would people think I was stupid for leaving a steady income? Would my family think I was being irresponsible? Would my peers see me as a failure? I'd have to remove my job title from my LinkedIn...what would my network think?

The anxiety was all-consuming, but I did it. I quit. I didn't expect the response that I got; people were happy for me. They told me I was brave & courageous. I never expected my decision to be viewed as an act of bravery. It was incredibly validating.

I came to the realization that, if I was going to have to work for the rest of my life to survive, I needed to be doing something that I loved - something of value. I couldn't bear a single day more of so much hard work just to see my efforts pay off as inflated pockets for a CEO.

Despite my revelation, I was still fixated on finding a job. I told myself that I needed to make as much money as possible as quickly as possible so I could get back on track with my plan for success. The only way I knew how to make that happen was to secure a nine-to-five. I kept trying because, after the life that I had achieved seemed to be stripped from my hands overnight, I was clinging to the only idea of success that I knew.

I'll spare the details, but I never got a job. I barely got interviews. Three years of being a full-time job seeker - exhausting every single one of my options - led to nothing.

The hopeless job search combined with my chronic illnesses leading me to lose my independence, lose my sense of self, and lose confidence in my skills, I felt like a complete and utter failure. Nothing about my life was going as planned.

It felt like all I had done since leaving my corporate job was regress. Stuck in my childhood bedroom, broke, lonely, resorting to working retail jobs for whatever income I can get, and sick with no recovery in sight - I had hit rock bottom.

I was, and still am, grieving the life that I had seen for myself, the life that I had desired, the life that I had been busting my ass off for. It was all gone. All that I had hoped and dreamed for was no longer possible. My life wasn't just derailed, it got to a point where there wasn't even a track to get back on. I was plucked straight off of the train that I was on and tossed directly into the center of an endless field of wildflowers. Nothing in sight but flora and skies.

How do I rebuild from nothing? What the fuck was I supposed to do? I did everything right, everything that was expected of me. I worked hard and focused on what everyone told me would lead to success, but all it did was push me off of a cliff and get me back to square one.

Somewhere between my resignation and now, I had lost sight of what college-aged Angie saw as success. Success is whatever I wanted it to be. I was bitter and angry that the hard work that I was told would pay off, didn't. I was failing to recognize that I could start to pursue whatever I wanted and be successful at it. It may not be easy, I may be starting from scratch, I may run into a million roadblocks along the way, but I've already been through hell and back - I know I'm capable of anything.

It was now up to me to build a new path, to write a new story for myself. There's something so exciting, yet so terrifying about having the world at my fingertips. I have nothing to lose, the possibilities are endless, but there are so many what-ifs and fears of judgment. I'm afraid of being seen as someone who can't achieve anything, afraid of being stuck in this place of nothingness forever, afraid of being a disappointment to my parents, afraid of choosing the wrong direction to start building my path in.

I've come to learn, though, that any step forward is a step in the right direction.

As of today, I still don't really know what I'm doing, and I'm scared. I actually began writing this blog post on March 6th, 2024. It has been 11 months and 3 days since I wrote down the title at the top of this page. It took me almost a year to finish this, partially because of my unmedicated ADHD, but largely because I've been too scared.

Publishing this makes my decision to redefine my success real, which is why I've been avoiding it. At twenty-seven years old, where many of my peers are at peaks in their careers and are settling down, I'm starting from scratch.

I'm redefining what I want my future to look like and I'm working towards my passions, all with fear, anxiety, and insecurity in tow. I'm embarking on this journey with relentless optimism and the blind faith that putting my health & happiness first will get me exactly where I'm meant to be in this lifetime.