Those Golden Handcuffs? Turns Out We Have the Key to Take Them Off.
By Hetal Joshi Gordon | Dream Big, Think Big
Last May I was in a conference room in New York City, telling my team I was leaving corporate life to focus on life for a while.
One of my closest friends gave me a card and a beaded bracelet with the word “grateful” on it.
I didn’t fully understand the symbolism in that moment. But I do now. She wasn’t just giving me a bracelet. She was watching me remove twenty years of golden handcuffs — and replace them with something shimmering, meaningful, and entirely mine.
Grateful. My favorite word. On my wrist. Finally.
Here’s what those twenty years looked like from the inside.
I joined Google in 2006, six weeks pregnant with my eldest. For the next ten years I pushed hard at work and hard at home — three children, three promotions. Doing both, all the time, at full speed.
Then in 2015, we faced the reality of what our life actually looked like. Two parents high-fiving at airports, tag-teaming three kids and two demanding careers. Nobody was winning. The kids were suffering. We needed a change.
My husband stepped back from his career to be home for them — the consistency, the presence, the school pickups. This was critical. I stepped up as the breadwinner. It made sense. It felt right. This was also critical.
What I didn’t see until much later was what I did next.
I started chasing a number. Not the number we needed. The number that matched what we used to make combined. I told myself I needed to make up for his salary. To keep exceeding. To keep climbing. I was at Google. Then The Trade Desk. The bar kept rising and I kept reaching for it. More, keep pushing for more.
But here’s the thing nobody told me — and that I eventually had to tell myself. I made that number up.
Nobody handed me a spreadsheet that said this is what your family requires. No one sat me down and said you need to hit this target or your kids won’t be okay. I invented the pressure. I built the ceiling and then I strained against it like it was real.
We need money. I want to be clear about that — this isn’t a post about minimalism or giving it all up. We need money to live, to eat, to feel safe. That part is real.
But how much? That’s the question I never stopped to ask.
When I left corporate life last year, I finally did. And the answer surprised me. It was less than I thought. Less than I’d been grinding for. Less than the imaginary number I’d been chasing for a decade.
My kids don’t need the version of me who’s exhausted from proving something. They need the version who’s present and at peace. My husband didn’t ask me to replace his income. I decided that, alone, in my own head.
So let me ask you what I wish someone had asked me sooner:
Who told you how much you need? And what if they were wrong?
I don’t have it all figured out. Far from it. But I’ve stopped chasing a number I invented. And for the first time in a long time, that feels like enough.
The golden handcuffs are off. And on my wrist instead — a shimmering bracelet that says grateful.
Comments