The Rest of the Story: How I Unlearned Hustle Culture and Found Real Joy

I've had around 33 jobs since I started working at age 13. Yes, thirty-three. And I can say without hesitation: there are not many people out there with a stronger work ethic than I have. I’ve worked alongside hundreds of people over the years - so believe me when I say, I’ve seen the lazy that’s out there. If you’ve had coworkers, you probably know too... unless you were the one we were all thinking about...

I can’t trace my work ethic to a single source, but it definitely formed early. I was homeschooled and mostly self-taught from 5th grade up, so I learned to work quickly and efficiently to get through school and move on to the things I enjoyed. I also realized young that I was highly money-motivated and a chronic people-pleaser. I wanted the people I worked for to be proud of me, and I genuinely felt like I had to earn every penny I was paid.

My first job was with a woman who cleaned houses for a living. She worked herself to the bone and took pride in the fact that she never napped, never sat down. That became my blueprint. I picked up multiple jobs, stacked college classes, worked maxed-out student hours, and lived in a cycle of overwork. Even on crutches with a fractured ankle, I showed up. Even through illness, grief, and surgery - I kept going. Because rest, I believed, was weakness.

What I Learned the Hard Way:

1. Bosses Don’t Care. Most don’t, anyway. I’ve had bosses yell at me for being five minutes late during an ice storm, show zero sympathy when I hit a deer on the way to work, or when I lost a loved one. And while employees are expected to give notice, show loyalty, and work overtime, employers can (and will) replace you without a second thought.

2. I Missed What Mattered. I missed so many birthdays, reunions, and family events. And now, looking at those photos without me in them, the weight of that loss is real. You don’t get a do-over for a child’s first birthday.

3. My Health Was a Mess. Constant fatigue. Chronic illness. Diagnosed with fibromyalgia and chronic fatigue syndrome while holding down a full-time job. I cried in my car on breaks and slept wherever I could because I had nothing left to give.

4. Effort ≠ Compensation. For all my skill, loyalty, and hard work, I was consistently underpaid. I've lived the reality of gender pay gaps and exploitative workplaces. Raises were rare, inadequate, or framed like favors I should be grateful for.

5. Then I Met My Husband. Taylor works hard when he’s at work, then comes home, does his chores, and rests. He actually enjoys his free time. That concept was foreign to me. No emails? No content planning? No anxiety spiral? It blew my mind.

   
   

The Shift: Learning to Rest

Little by little, things changed. I walked out of toxic jobs without guilt. I started setting boundaries and honoring my capacity. I learned that God Himself modeled rest for us in Genesis, and that Jesus intentionally withdrew from the crowds to rest. If our Savior rested, who are we to grind ourselves to dust?

So I tried something radical: I booked a solo Airbnb, packed my favorite snacks and books, and unplugged. It felt illegal. Like I was going to get arrested for relaxing. But then, something miraculous happened.

My joy came back.

Like a childhood friend I thought I lost, it peeked around the corner and reminded me that life was meant to be lived, not survived. I cried. I laughed. I soaked in the quiet presence of God without a to-do list.

The Formula: BOUNDARIES + REST = JOY

I stopped doing things out of guilt. I stopped saying "yes" when I meant "please no." I started playing video games with my husband, dancing in the kitchen, and marveling at how much better life felt when I wasn’t constantly trying to prove my worth.

I even stopped getting sick so often. Shocking, right?

So if you want my best advice—for business, marriage, or life? Learn how to rest. Really rest.

Take God at His word. Trust that you’re allowed to be still. And maybe, just maybe, you’ll find that joy was never gone. It was just waiting for you to slow down long enough to notice it again.

(Also—my skin looks better. Just saying.)