Reefing the Sails

On Burnout, Alignment, and Choosing Joy

Thirteen months ago, I chose to quit my full-time job.

I’d been with the company for three years. We’d gone through a contentious acquisition, followed by a frustrating season of trying very hard to do good work despite constant pressure from our new parent company to chase revenue at the expense of quality. I watched my direct reports get laid off without warning. I saw leaders I deeply respected reduced to shells of themselves. And I experienced a kind of professional depression I hadn’t felt even during my most frustrating days in big tech.

I was out on corporate work. Out on private equity. Out on big companies with big footprints. Out on being a salaried employee. I just knew something else, something better, was out there.

At first, I coasted.

I spent glorious months unplugged from LinkedIn, from job searching, and from even thinking too hard about what I’d done by walking away from a steady paycheck in this market. Instead, we traveled. We sailed our catamaran from the U.S. to the Bahamas and down into the azure waters of the Caribbean. I swam with sea turtles. I ran on perfect sandy beaches. I wrote and wrote and wrote; something I hadn’t done in decades.

That sabbatical will always be on a short list of the best gifts I’ve ever been given. I needed to empty my mind of expectations so I could see what might come next without 20+ years of career baggage clouding the view.

But clearing space doesn’t automatically produce answers.

Eventually, I came up for air. My brain needed work to do (and income is never a bad thing). So I talked to mentors and former managers. I built business plans. I signed up for courses to learn “business things.” I went down every path imaginable: career coach, life change coach, independent consultant, retained advisor, contractor. Should I pick up four concurrent jobs? Sure, why not.

Mostly, it looked like confusion. And a strange burnout that comes from splitting yourself into too many pieces.

By December, I was on retainer for a consultancy, enrolled in a 12-week sales program, posting here and on LinkedIn, coaching clients, and contracting for an ed-tech company. And that was just the paid work.

Way too many focuses.

Maybe this wasn’t surprising. I’d opened Pandora’s Box and given myself permission to explore everything I’d ever been curious about. And I’ve never been great at ruthless prioritization when I’m excited. Which I was.

But I could see the damage. None of my work felt like my best work. I was spread too thin. What was supposed to reduce stress was multiplying it.

I needed to reef.

Something interesting happens when you sail in high winds. It looks like more wind should mean more speed. But there’s a point of diminishing return. Too much wind creates imbalance. Imbalance creates inefficiency. And inefficiency can turn into damage.

So you reef.

When you reef, you reduce the surface area of the sail when the wind is high. You still move fast, but at angles and speeds that are optimal for your boat rather than dangerous.

I realized I needed to do this with my focus.

Too many priorities were pulling at me at once. Individually, they all had merit. Together, they created drag. It was time to pare down.

But what was worth protecting?

The answer surprised me.

It wasn’t glory. It wasn’t ease. It wasn’t control.

It was joy.

I wanted my work to feel joyful. And I quickly saw that many things on my docket did the opposite, even if I liked them in theory.

Working for myself created anxiety. I am not a salesperson. I don’t love “the hunt” or want to “eat what I kill” (gross). Lower-profile work left me unmotivated, which made me procrastinate, which made me more stressed. Coaching brought joy…but the LinkedIn volume required to sustain it made me feel smarmy. Even writing here started to feel performative instead of expressive.

The work that actually brought joy?

My contract role with a corporate nonprofit.

Ironically, it was the category of work I had sworn off. By December, I was supporting it almost like a full-time employee. But I loved it. I love solving hard problems in high-stakes environments. I love contributing to strategic programs that organizations believe in. I love collaborating with smart people instead of operating in isolation.

So I reduced my surface area.

I ended engagements. I stopped chasing new ones. I backed off LinkedIn. I backed off Substack. I may have lost speed, but I gained stability.

Now, months later, I can feel the wind shifting again. I’m steadier. Saner. Ready to bring back threads that bring joy, like this writing, but on terms that protect it.

I thought I needed freedom. I thought I needed distance from corporate structures.

What I actually needed was alignment.

Joy isn’t soft. It’s directional. It tells me when the boat is balanced and when I’m fighting the wind.

Joy is the trim.

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Hi, I’m Ashley. I write Beyond the Break. This is a space for honest storytelling, identity-in-motion, and the messy middle of personal and professional growth. Through storytelling and reflection, I explore what it really means to build an intentional, sustainable, and meaningful relationship with work and life.

I’d love to hear from you. Drop a comment or send me a message. Let’s connect.