On work, purpose, and remembering why you started in the first place
“Work like there is someone working 24 hours a day to take it all away from you.” – Mark Cuban
The first time I heard that quote, I felt it hit somewhere deep. The part of me that always wanted to stay sharp, stay ahead, stay prepared.
But here’s what I didn’t know then: how it lands depends entirely on the season you’re in.
Sometimes it feels like motivation. Sometimes it feels like fear. And sometimes, if you’re not careful, it feels like your entire identity.
Because you can work that hard out of purpose. Or you can work that hard out of panic.
I lived out of panic. For fourteen years.
The Delivery Room I’ll Never Forget
I was in active labor. About to be wheeled into the delivery room to have my twins.
And I was worried about an email.
Yes. You read that right.
I was seconds away from major surgery, my body about to change forever, about to meet my children, and my mind was on work. On an email. On something I don’t even remember now. That’s how little it mattered.
But at the time? It felt like everything.
I had totally lost myself in the identity of my work. I was never present in my real life because I was chasing promotion and influence, not strengthening my marriage or focusing on being a better mother. I had connected my performance and desire to provide as the measure that determined my worth, not just at work but at home.
The scale I used to weigh my value? It had only one thing on it: achievement.
I told myself, “I just need to finish this real quick.”
But the truth was louder: I was terrified to slow down. Because if I slowed down, who was I? If I wasn’t achieving, wasn’t providing, wasn’t proving something, what was the point?
The Breaking Point God Had Planned
I tried to keep that drive after the twins were born.
I thought I could keep doing it all. Keep working like someone was always one step behind me, ready to take it away. Keep performing. Keep proving.
God had other plans.
Two months after giving birth to my twins, my heart started failing.
I was hospitalized. I almost lost my life.
And suddenly, the email didn’t matter anymore. The promotion didn’t matter. The influence didn’t matter.
All that mattered was: Would I be here for my babies? Would I see my husband again? Would I get another chance?
That’s when everything changed.
When Burnout Became My Teacher
The heart failure was the wake-up call. But burnout was what actually changed me.
Because lying in that hospital bed, I realized something: I had been doing this to myself. Not my boss. Not my industry. Not the people around me.
Me.
I was the one working 24 hours a day. Not to protect my life. To run myself empty.
I had lost myself so completely in the identity of my work that I forgot I had a self to lose.
So while I recovered physically, I started to recover mentally.
I asked myself questions I hadn’t asked in fourteen years:
Who was I before I was a wife? Before I was a mother? Before I was defined by my career?
What did my younger self dream about? What made her happy?
And the hardest question: What am I holding onto because I think I have to, not because I actually want to?
My priorities shifted. My younger self dreamed of serving others, of being in community, of making a difference. She loved to volunteer. She had a social worker’s heart.
Somewhere along the way, I’d traded that for a salary and benefits that felt safe. A career that felt stable. A role that felt important.
But it had become a hamster wheel. And I was exhausted.
The Real Question Isn’t “Am I Working Hard Enough?”
It’s “Am I working toward the right place?”
Because here’s what I learned: I had been so focused on success in my career that I forgot I was in control of what the finish line looked like. What success meant. What it should be for me.
I thought providing for my family meant doing it all alone. I forgot it was supposed to be a partnership with my husband. I made it my sole responsibility to achieve, to prove, to earn.
But when I was hospitalized, when my career was at risk, when I thought I might lose everything, I realized something:
I wasn’t running toward anything anymore. I was running from something. Running from the fear that if I stopped, I’d disappear.
That wasn’t success. That was survival mode.
It wasn’t a race when I realized my priorities had fundamentally changed. When I realized that my three kids needed a mother more than they needed my paycheck. When I realized my marriage needed my presence more than it needed my productivity. When I realized I needed myself back.
What Realignment Actually Looks Like
This is where faith came in.
I started to trust that I didn’t have to control everything. That my career would end where it was meant to end. That God’s plan for me was bigger than any promotion or title.
My faith put me at ease. It allowed me to let go.
So I started adding things back into my life that filled my cup. I volunteered again. I found time to do something for myself each week. I stopped trying to be all things to everyone.
I started my original podcast that turned into this blog. I began writing about what I was learning: how to be present. How to set boundaries. How to remember who I am outside of what I do.
I changed how I work.
I do my job with excellence now, but not at the cost of my life. My faith drives me to operate with integrity and excellence, but I leave enough of myself for those I love to get my best too.
I learned through burning out that I couldn’t be on the back burner. I couldn’t put myself last and expect to show up fully for anyone else. That self-care isn’t a luxury. It’s a necessity.
It’s consistent prioritization of my mental, physical, social, and spiritual health. It’s knowing when to say no. It’s building a life that doesn’t depend on one job, one title, one achievement to have meaning.
The Life After
Here’s what changed: My focus is now on my family’s success. Not just me as an individual.
When I retire from my work, I still have a life to live after it. I have a marriage to nurture. I have children to watch grow. I have a faith to deepen. I have a purpose that exists outside of a paycheck.
That email in the delivery room? I don’t even remember what it was about. That tells you how important it really was.
Looking back, I don’t regret it. Not because it didn’t matter, but because it shows me how far I’ve come. I use it as a way to measure my growth. And I’m proud of how far I’ve come.
I’m not the same woman who thought she had to choose between being a good mother and being a good employee. I’m not the woman who believed her worth was tied to her productivity.
I’m the woman who learned that success doesn’t mean having it all. It means having what matters.
And what matters? My family. My faith. My health. My purpose beyond the job.
The race I was running wasn’t even mine. But this life? This one is.
Mirror Moments
Ask yourself gently:
Where am I running on autopilot?
Which goals belong to an older version of me?
What am I afraid will fall apart if I slow down?
And what would actually happen if I paused long enough to breathe?
A Gentle Action for This Week
Take five quiet minutes. With your morning coffee, during a walk, or before bed.
Ask yourself: “Am I still running toward a destination I truly want? Or am I running from something?”
Then sit with these:
Does my current version of success fit the life I actually want to live?
What matters to me in this season, not the one I planned years ago?
What’s one small adjustment I can make this week to take care of myself? Not because it’s selfish. But because you’re the only version of you your family has.
What’s one thing I’m holding onto because I think I have to, not because I actually want to?
You don’t have to overhaul your life. Sometimes the shift isn’t about doing more. It’s about seeing more clearly.
Because the point isn’t to outwork everyone else. The point is to outgrow the version of you who forgot why you started in the first place.
Your best today is already building your best tomorrow.
A Gentle Note from Keisha
Keisha’s House is a space for reflection, rest, and gentle recovery. While I hold a BSW and MSW, this content is not therapy or clinical treatment.
If what you’re carrying feels heavier than reflection can hold, you might find support in guided tools like Headspace meditation, breathwork, and mindfulness designed to help with stress, sleep, and emotional regulation. Explore it here.
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You’re always welcome here. Take your time, explore what resonates, and come back whenever you need to breathe.
