If no one will applaud me, I will.

And surprisingly, it feels better.

The release I feel writing this — this entire ridiculous, dramatic, overanalyzed identity crisis — is unlike anything I have felt before.

Not the applause.

Not the promotions.

Not the farewell lunch with the cake and the speeches.

This.

Because for the first time, I am not performing.

I am not pretending to be fulfilled.

Not pretending to be “so happy and grateful.”

Not pretending that leisure equals purpose.

I am admitting something radical:

I am human.

And apparently still very capable of committing to something, completing it, achieving it.

And yes.

Feeling happy.

Happy not because someone congratulated me.

Happy not because a title validated me.

Happy not because my calendar was full.

But because I chose something.

And followed through.

Yes — being recognized at work was elevating.

Yes — applause feels good.

Let’s not pretend it doesn’t.

But what is even more elevating?

Realizing you have all the tools already inside you.

You survived stress.

You survived identity collapse.

You survived 6 rewatches of fictional romance “for research.”

You can survive reinvention.

And here’s the plot twist:

I am going somewhere new.

Not my old job. Duh.

I am not crawling back to the corporate battlefield half-salary in hand.

I am going somewhere that aligns with who I am becoming. Somewhere rooted in

humanity. Connection. Listening. Growth.

Somewhere I can excel — not to be over-approved, over-applauded, over-validated.

But to be aligned.

To use what I’ve learned.

To show up whole.

And maybe the real lesson wasn’t “don’t tie your identity to work.”

Maybe it was:

Don’t tie your worth to applause.

Because if you can stand in your own kitchen, or car, or shower-with-no-revelation, and say:

“I see you. You did this. I’m proud.”

That’s power.

And this time?

It’s mine.

Thank you, February 20th.

But this was only the beginning.

Because underneath all the performance, all the applause, all the identity I had

carefully constructed over thirty years — there was a little girl I hadn’t yet introduced you to.

She’s been waiting.