Break Glass....No, Break Everything

The “break glass” option is supposed to be the last resort—the thing you do when there are no other choices left. It’s the emergency lever. The final move.

Over the past year, I kept hearing that phrase at work. Not in the literal sense, but as a metaphor—an “in case of emergency” pivot toward something new, something innovative. It came up often enough that it started to stick with me.

Eventually, it started to feel personal.

Because I was quietly reaching my own breaking point.

At 50, I had hit a wall—mentally and emotionally. The constant pull between career, commute, and family had left me feeling split in every direction. Half present everywhere. Fully present nowhere.

The hour-long commute each way in Northern Virginia wasn’t just exhausting—it was draining something deeper. And the loss of meaning I felt in my work made it harder and harder to even get out of the car when I arrived. The motivation loss wasn't sudden, it was gradual but the intensity was increasing and the thought of waiting 7 more years to retire to start over became a prison sentence.

The shift didn’t happen overnight. It was gradual. But over time, the weight of it all became impossible to ignore.

I had never been someone who “phoned it in.” But that’s exactly how I started to feel—at work, and even at home. The only moments I felt fully alive were when I was coaching. Whether it was on the field with my field hockey players or working with clients, something lit up in me.

It was purpose. It was connection. It was impact.

And it made everything else feel out of alignment.

So, a month ago, I broke the glass.

I took a leave of absence. For a year.

This was it—the bold move. The reset. The thing that was supposed to change everything.

I had a plan. I was going to work out every day, finally organize the house, bake sourdough bread, and launch my coaching business “in the real world.” I would start fresh that Monday.

Monday came. I went to yoga. Great start.

Tuesday, I started therapy. Time to get my mind right.

By the end of the week, I’d gone to multiple yoga classes and even bought a new laptop. I was doing all the things.

On paper, I was crushing it.

But in between those moments?

I was crying. A lot.

At first, I told myself it was just stress release. That made sense, right? I had just made a huge life change.

But something didn’t add up.

Where was the relief?

I had done the thing. I had pulled the lever. I had broken the glass.

So why did I feel worse instead of better?

It hit me in unexpected moments—like in yoga class, when I looked around and realized many of the people there had been working from home for years. This was their normal. Their midday reset. They flowed effortlessly into poses I struggled with....specifically handstands (yep, that really hit me for some reason).

And suddenly, I didn’t feel empowered.

I felt behind.

Out of shape. Disconnected. Like I had stepped out of my life only to realize I didn’t know how to step into this new one.

My house wasn’t magically organized. My routines weren’t solid. My confidence felt shaky. And underneath it all was a quiet, uncomfortable thought:

Did I just quit?

I kept moving. Walking. Listening to audiobooks. Building a website. Ordering business cards. Doing all the “right” things.

But something still felt off.

Then, a few days ago, in the middle of a mindless scroll, I heard two words that stopped me cold:

“Break everything.”

It was from a clip of Brené Brown quoting another author. I don’t even remember who. It didn’t matter.

Those two words stayed with me.

Because suddenly, everything made sense.

Breaking the glass wasn’t the transformation.

It was just the beginning.

Leaving my job—that was one break. A big one. It shattered my routine, my identity, my sense of stability. It disrupted my role in my family and my perception of my own value.

But all I had really done was break one piece.

And I was standing there, surrounded by the shards, wondering why everything still felt so unsettled.

Because real change doesn’t come from breaking one thing.

It comes from breaking everything.

For me, that means letting go of old definitions—of success, of productivity, of what it means to contribute, to be “on track,” to be enough.

It means examining the habits I built just to get through the day—and asking whether they still serve me.

It means questioning the belief that I had to live a certain way to be a good employee, a good parent, a successful person.

It means dismantling the systems I operated within for 26 years—and intentionally choosing what gets rebuilt.

That’s not a single decision.

That’s a process.

And it’s messy.

But it’s also where the real opportunity lives.

Because when something breaks, it creates space.

Space to pause. To question. To rebuild with purpose instead of default.

I’m still in that space now. Still figuring it out. Still rebuilding—not just a career, but an identity.

What I do know is this:

The next steps don’t always look like progress. Sometimes they look like rest. Or doubt. Or starting over in ways that feel uncomfortable and unfamiliar.

But they are steps.

And they are happening.

Breaking the glass gave me the chance to stop.

Breaking everything is giving me the chance to rebuild—this time, in a way that actually fits the life I

want to live.  And maybe, just maybe.....I may even get that handstand.