Twenty-nine years. That’s how long it took to build this career. Nearly three decades of navigating the corporate maze—sometimes climbing, sidestepping—but always leading. Multi-billion-dollar P&Ls, High-stakes turnarounds. The go-to for transformation. The one who could translate vision into operational reality. So, when the company pivoted and it was my time to move on, there was no panic. The track record spoke for itself. The next C-suite role would come. It always had.
Then the phone started ringing. At first, it was exhilarating. Executive recruiters. Headhunters. The dopamine hit of being seen.
“They know I’m out there,” I thought. “This won’t take long.”
But the calls followed a pattern. Flattery, enthusiasm. Then the pivot. “It’s a C-suite role but not quite reporting to the CEO.” Or “It’s a great opportunity to get your foot in the door.” My foot had been in the door. I wasn’t looking for a foot in the door; I was looking for a seat at the table.
“That’s not where I want to play,” I’d say, calm and professional, while internally seething. They were trying to sell me into roles I’d outgrown because it was easy. I was a quick win for them. But at a discount. My discount.
I started to feel like a commodity. A resume with a shelf like.
And as a person in their 50s, the coded language became louder: “overqualified,” “not enough runway,” “a stretch for the board”. My track record suddenly had an invisible asterisk.
Even the network I’d spent years cultivating felt shaky. Every coffee meeting turned into a therapy session with a different face. We were all in the same boat, brilliant, experienced, and suddenly… unmoored. The market had shifted. CEOs were churning through executive teams like quarterly reports. There were too many of us and not enough chairs.
And yet in the stillness, something unexpected emerged: Time to think. Time to breathe. Time to take care of myself. Time to rediscover what mattered. And I liked it. But the question lingered: Could I have both? The compensation I’d earned and the quality of life I was beginning to crave. Could I be valued not just for what I’d done, but for what I still had to offer?
This isn’t a story with a tidy ending. It’s a story in motion.
But it’s not a story of defeat. It’s a story of clarity. Of refusing the discount. Of standing at the edge of the glass cliff and choosing not to jump.
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