Certified in Lashes. Not in Emotional Containment

While all of this was unfolding — the identity crisis, the dopamine withdrawal, the treadmill therapy — I should tell you about the other thing I did.

Because of course there was another thing.

While climbing the corporate ladder for 30 years, diffusing metaphorical bombs and surviving performance reviews, I also got certified as a lash extension technician.

Yes. You read that correctly.

Need a flawless set of volume lashes? I was your girl.

And I was good.

Website? Built it.

Business cards? Printed.

Loyalty cards? Of course.

Studio in my basement? Fully equipped.

Scented candles for ambiance? Obviously. We are not animals.

Some people learn Excel between meetings.

I learned how to isolate a 0.07 lash.

Why lashes?

No idea.

At the time it made complete sense. Do not interrogate the logic of a dopamine-seeking overachiever.

I found a course two hours away from home. Of course I did. Enrolled for weekends.

Drove there like I was attending Harvard for eyelashes.

And then it happened.

The instructor said I was a natural.

Recognition.

Applause.

Validation in tweezers form.

I graduated top of my class. Obviously.

In my head this was it. My retirement plan. I had discovered my “balanced” second act.

Corporate by day, beauty mogul by night. Look at me diversifying my identity.

Clients started booking.

I was going to retire doing lashes.

It was going great.

Until it wasn’t.

Let me clarify — the lashes were flawless. My technique? Chef’s kiss.

The problem wasn’t the lashes.

The problem was… me.

Apparently when you put someone in a reclined chair for two hours in a quiet room with soft lighting and scented candles, they do not just come for lashes.

They come for therapy.

I became the unofficial psychologist of my basement.

They left with volume lashes and emotional catharsis.

I was left with… their trauma.

Text messages started:

“Can I ask your advice?”

“You’re such a good listener.”

“You really understand.”

Of course I did. I have a PhD in absorbing everyone else’s emotions while pretending I’m fine.

And then Christmas ended.

I don’t know what it is about taking down ornaments but every year when the tree goes, so does my tolerance.

This time my motivation for lashes packed its bags too.

Or maybe the real issue wasn’t motivation.

Maybe it was capacity.

I was mentally exhausted. Drained in a way caffeine could not fix. Empathetic to a fault and completely unequipped with emotional boundaries. So what did I do?

Within 48 hours — yes I am impulsive like that — I listed my entire studio on Marketplace.

Everything.

Tweezers. Bed. Lamp. Scented candles. The dream.

I texted all my clients that I was closing due to personal reasons and wished them well.

I did not tell them to find a psychologist.

I thought it.

Then I blocked them.

No way in hell was I opening my phone to more emotional downloads.

For a moment I felt relief.

Then I felt the financial loss.

Then I thought: what exactly did I just close?

A business?

A dream?

Or another identity built on being needed?

The truth?

I wasn’t tired of lashes.

I was tired of carrying people.

Empathy without boundaries is self-destruction in slow motion.

And I had once again confused being good at something with being obligated to sustain it.

What I closed wasn’t just a lash studio.

It was another version of me that thought being needed was the same thing as being fulfilled.

I loved the precision. I loved the artistry. I loved making someone feel beautiful.

What I didn’t know was how to love myself enough to say:

“I care, but I can’t carry this.”

Empathy is a gift.

But without boundaries it becomes a slow leak.

And I was tired of leaking.

Closing that studio wasn’t failure.

It wasn’t impulsive madness.

It was the first time I listened to my own energy instead of chasing applause.

Maybe I wasn’t meant to retire doing lashes.

Maybe I was meant to learn that I can be talented at something and still choose not to make it my identity.

There’s power in building.

But there’s also power in closing.

And this time I closed the door gently.