EverSo Brief: The Mythical End Post
Pulling the plug on my ‘90s self-improvement cassettes to be ever-evolving.
Dear Readers,
Throughout my childhood, my dad played self-help tapes during truck rides. I remember the anxious feeling of needing to improve. I pictured it like a race𑁋self-improvement was an end post, and once I got to it, well, then I was finished, complete, whole. To me, we were all running to the same end post.
The cassettes washed my mind with feelings of inadequacy. I believed I was inherently flawed, and life's journey was to become less flawed. Accolades, education, and titles became mile markers in life. They served as tangible signs that I was in the race. Then, after years of running, I burned out. I wasn't improved; I was depleted.
Growth had become self-sacrificial.
How did I get there?
After years in corporate tech teetering on the edge, I jumped ship for my first startup.
It was hypnotic𑁋I was part of something bigger, a "family" that was, by most accounts, more accepting than my own. However, growing in a startup is rarely a feat of intentionality; it's a feat of survival. There's so much that can be better in the company, your team, and your role. I felt heavy with all the things that could be better. I got "meaning" and "purpose," all for the low, low price of my soul.
What did it mean to sell my soul?
It started innocuously𑁋filling a temporary gap or staying late for one project. Over time, I stretched across disciplines and locked the office every night. I built a high pain tolerance. I told myself that I was doing this work for the collective good, and I soaked up every ounce of validation to prove myself right.
Eventually, my identity wove so deeply in the company that I couldn't separate myself from it; I couldn't introduce myself without it.
When that startup was acquired, I needed to leave. But first, I had to delicately and painstakingly untangle myself from it, like a dainty necklace all in knots. With each unravel, I felt further and further from the “end post.” When it was all said and done, I felt unfinished, full of woulda, coulda, shoulda.
So, instead of jumping to the next thing, I took a micro-retirement. I said yes to small gigs, but mostly I stared into space, tinkered with ideas, sipped matcha with friends, and took stock.
I learned a couple of things about myself:
The self-improvement cassettes wormed their way deep into my psyche, and the world constantly validated that achievement was a path to worth. But, I could choose to stop treating myself and others as broken dolls to be fixed. Instead, I could see us all as inherently worthy regardless of what we can or can’t produce.
Without regular validation from a team, there was no more glory or romanticization for overwork. I could finally see that my high pain tolerance was still painful. Not only was I tired, but I’d lost all the joy in learning. Taking a pause allowed me to chase curiosities without a mythical end post—I’m ever-evolving.
I needed that breath to examine how and why I built a high pain tolerance in the first place, but I also needed to learn how to like myself when I’m not achieving.
I’ve since taken two more micro-retirements, which are an immense privilege and take years of planning. They are discovery periods for me, but they’re also reminders that I’m not finished. My career is no longer on a linear line; it’s more of an endless bucket list—all the problems I want to solve or industries I want to try.
So, there’s no end post, no place that I need to be—self-improvement tapes be damned.
XoXo,
Courtney
p.s. If you liked this piece, here are a few others you might enjoy.