How to Stop Hustling
Looking back on my life as outsider, you might see my accomplishments and think, “Wow! She’s really a hardworking, successful person.” I earned a master’s degree from a top university, built a career as a teacher, and became a solo homeowner at the age of 26. I’m aware of how my life might appear on paper, so I understood when I told a customer I was serving that I used to be a teacher & they asked, “What happened??” As if working at a restaurant at 31 is some fall from grace. Far from it, actually.
Returning to my high school job after nearly a decade of experience in a professional career field has been interesting & profoundly revealing. It is helping me understand how I lost myself by seeking external validation through achievement. & in turn, I’m learning how to work from a place of passion & joy rather than shame, unworthiness, & an eagerness to please.
I’m redefining success as loving myself for the ways that I struggle, for the ways that I love, & for the light that has always & will always be central to who I am.
In the last year since leaving my career as a teacher, I’ve reflected a lot on how I got here. & I wonder, how do we convince ourselves that doing things we don’t love doing will lead us to a life we love? Like we just have to grin & bear it so that, at some point, in the distant future we can bask in the greatness of our accomplishments? I call bullshit. My life is now. I’m not waiting.
I spent 15 years swallowing boring, meaningless tasks, bullshitting essays, cramming for exams, writing the perfect professional e-mail, hoping that at some point all those small acts would fill me up and add up to worthiness, joy, & fulfillment. My insatiable need to succeed was rewarded with degrees and certificates and praise and a brand new house. But none of it was enough & I could never figure out why, until the pandemic allowed me to slow down and sit with myself.
I’ve since found what it truly means to be hardworking. The hardest work is working from a place of self love rather than self loathe. It’s a balanced kind of work that respects your basic humanity. It’s slower, but more intentional, less frantic, and more focused. That is the kind of hardworking I am striving towards now. And below, I outline how I got here - what happened… if you will.
At 16, I was a junior in high school & my daily schedule through Fall was as follows: Monday through Friday I went to school at 7 am to squeeze in an extra “zero” period before eight periods of AP and honors courses. Then I went straight to field hockey practice from 3 to 6, showered (maybe) and went to work as a hostess at Ninja Sushi, our local sushi restaurant, until 10 pm. Once the restaurant closed, I went home & did homework until I passed out in bed with a book in my lap. On the weekends, I had a second job selling passes & parking permits in a ticket booth at a tiny garden-themed amusement park on the outskirts of our suburban town.
That schedule ran me completely ragged, but in my mind I had one goal - to buy a car - & I had to reach it as quickly as possible. By April that year, I had saved enough money to buy a red ‘91 Honda Civic coupe I found on Craigslist for $2500. Having my own car to get myself to and from practices, work, and school made me feel like a grown up. Finally, I was in the driver’s seat of my life. I felt free to escape the chaos of my home & my childhood and steer myself towards stable adulthood. I knew what I wanted, I knew where I was going, & college was my next big goal.
My “hard work”, which in hindsight looks a lot more like self abandonment, was rewarded when I was recruited to play field hockey at a division one university, UC Davis. So the summer after I graduated high school, at the ripe age of 17, I packed up my childhood bedroom in my little sedan & left my hometown in my rearview. I hoped to have the classic college experience I’d seen in movies (the cute dorm room, the house parties, the cool friends, the whole deal). Looking back, I see how wholly unprepared I was to leave home - I was planning my entire life around ideals played out in ‘90’s rom coms, for one. But despite how “independent” I had become, out of necessity & sheer willpower, I had no idea how to take care of myself or meet my most basic needs.
I remember my first week in Davis, walking around Costco, watching my teammates casually pile frozen meals & granola bars into the cart while I privately calculated how I could stretch the $153 in my bank account to feed myself until my financial aid check came in (“&& just…When is that coming in?” I wondered). Eventually, the pressure to perform on a high level athletic team while learning how to budget basic living expenses all on my own led me to leave the team during preseason.
Quitting field hockey the August before my freshman year at UC Davis set the tone for one of the most challenging periods of my “adult” life. I turned 18 that October, but I did not feel like an adult; I felt like a massive stupid failure. My anxiety told me I didn’t deserve to be at a top university (I was only granted admission after being recruited to play field hockey, after all). & my depression told me I didn’t belong, as I struggled to carve out a new social niche without field hockey.
That winter, in my dorm bathroom I had my first panic attack while studying for a Chem 2a midterm. I could not stop crying, my breath became shallow, & I felt like I was sinking. I was convinced I had conned my way into people believing I was good and smart & if I failed this chemistry exam, the facade would all come crashing down. The fear of being ousted hit me all at once and overcame my entire body.
Even though I had a mom who loved me, I still felt completely alone. I heard how she lit up when I called, how confidently she responded to my every worry with, “It will all work out!” because she truly believed I could work it out. How could I let her down by letting her know the extent to which I was struggling? I was the good kid, the easy one, the one that had it all together. I needed to make it easy for her. “Be easy, figure it out,” I told myself.
Through the spring of freshman year, despite crippling fear of rejection, I tried to do the things I thought the cool college girl would do. I made a friend in one of my Sociology classes & quickly became part of her friend group. I went to a few frat parties and tried to recreate the romanticized college experience I had in my head. But drinking like they did in the movies made me feel woozy, unstable, and scared - not at all cool or fun. I couldn’t understand what everyone liked about it. I needed to feel more in control of my life, not less. So to avoid my imaginary house of cards from falling, I went to tutoring, found study groups, and managed to maintain a GPA decent enough to stay enrolled. I moved out of the dorms & went home for the summer, relieved and proud I made it through my first year of college - all on my own.
I returned to Davis for sophomore year with a fresh start. My finances got easier when I got a job at an after school program to pay for living expenses not covered by grants and loans. I joined the club field hockey team, found some sense of community, & changed my major to one more suited to my strengths & interests. I settled into life in Davis & school & life got a whole lot easier. The pressure valve got released a little bit, but college still wasn’t quite what I’d imagined. There were spotty moments of carefree joy, but the constant hum of anxiety was never far from the peripherals of my mind. In my mind, I could not fail at this, I had to be successful to find stability & this was the path to success. The rest of college played out pretty similarly to my high school experience. School, work, study, hockey, rinse & repeat. I met a boy at a party who was attractive & I knew would never leave me. I checked the “Relationship” box on the list of “Things Successful People Do,” stayed busy, & kept the house of cards from crumbling.
After graduation, I went straight back to school to earn my teaching credential and Master’s in Education. Through my teacher credentialing program at UC Davis, it felt like I was in the Good Girl Professionals Club. I’d chosen a career where I could be kind and caring and totally selfless. Selfless! Yes, that was the goal of the ideal woman. The day I got my first job offer, I was elated. I was 22 & I had a career! Good girl. You did it! I had arrived at the long fought goal of stability and goodness. But after a few years of continuing to hustle and grind to prove myself as a teacher, I still felt unsatisfied. Good teachers made cute art projects & analyzed assessments to inform their teaching & worked weekends to improve their pedagogy - I didn’t want to do any of that. I didn’t really know what I wanted anymore.
I’d spent so many years staying busy & achieving to find stability and keep my fear of unworthiness at bay, that I’d completely lost sight of my own wants and needs. Moments of carefree joy, outside of the classroom, became fewer and further between as my anxiety became louder and spurts of depression became longer.
The evening of my 25th birthday, I took off my engagement ring, got in the bath, & cried to the Taylor Swift song, “22”. I’d achieved so much, but still felt so empty. None of it mattered. I was miserable, in a relationship that drained me, in a career field with no upward mobility. I’d peaked. & if this was the height of my life, I did not want to live anymore. In my mind I was all alone, I had no one, and there was no way out of the misery I was in. I’d cry in the shower and whisper, “I love you,” to all the people I cared about & fall asleep dreaming of my ideal partner & a life where I was free.
During that time, my students were my strongest source of community. One day, after a particularly hard e-mail exchange with a parent of one of my students, I sat at my computer & realized, “If I’m strong enough to do this job with the constant stress of a toxic relationship, I could certainly do it without.” I broke off our engagement after school that very Thursday & went back to school to teach on Friday. As I grieved the life I thought I wanted with my ex, the students of Room 18 kept me grounded & brought me back to me. They loved me wholeheartedly & through them I learned how to love myself. If I made a mistake, lost my temper, or was unkind - I’d apologize, and their forgiveness allowed me to accept parts of myself I’d long rejected.
My self confidence flourished as I led my classroom community towards trusting, respectful, loving relationships. The challenges were limitless as I taught them how to say sorry (& mean it) & make amends. How to struggle and process difficult emotions like disappointment and sadness and frustration. How to express themselves honestly and take responsibility for their emotions. I realize now that in teaching them, I was also teaching myself. It was hard and complex work that was super fulfilling. When I did a good job & the classroom community was at peace, they brought out my carefree, my silly, my fun, my sense of adventure & curiosity & wonder. It felt so good to be held in the warmth of their collective love. That’s what kept me coming back year after year, despite how difficult and exhausting I found the work to be.
Then, in the summer of 2018 I found true romantic love with Jered. We met at the Garlic Festival & spent our first date napping by a creek one week later. I found the person my soul could rest alongside. With him, I didn’t have to hustle or prove myself - I could just be. This was the person I had gone to bed thinking about to escape the darkest days of my depression.
I envisioned a future full of fun adventures with him. My life was becoming truer, but I didn’t dare make any move towards the adventurous life full of freedom I imagined. For the first time in my life I had stability, comfort, and true love. How could I risk all that for the daydream of something better? My day-to-day felt a little boring & repetitive, but I had the summertime to explore - “That’s more than most people get,” I told myself. So I filled my summer with travel and adventures, exploring myself and my limits & I’d return to start a new school year with a whole new set of challenges with a whole new group of kids. My life was so rhythmic, so structured, so predictable, & stable. Although there were still things I wanted, I was the happiest I had ever been.
& then the pandemic hit.
The Friday schools shut down we were told we’d be closed for two weeks. Opening that e-mail sent shockwaves through my system and launched me into emergency mode. After lunch, I sat down at circle with my class and talked to them about how it wasn’t safe for us to be in class together, but we’d be back really in Room 18 soon. I honestly barely remember the details of that class meeting, but I remember my students’ devastation at the news that they would not be coming back to school the following week. I told them how much I loved them, how much I would miss them, and we cried together. When it was time for dismissal, I called each student by name, handed them their blue take-home folders, and said goodbye one at a time, as usual.
That would be our last day of in-person school together. A two-week shutdown turned to three and, before I knew it, I had been teaching online for an entire year.
Teaching online through the pandemic was traumatic for me, mainly because I no longer felt held by the love of my classroom community, but also because I felt like I had no choice but to be a part of something I wholeheartedly disliked and disagreed with.
One day I had a career that I loved that challenged me, filled me with joy, and helped me learn to love myself. Instantaneously, my entire job was boiled down to this artificial, soulless obligation - teaching “content” through a screen. I was a teacher because I wanted to teach people how to be a friend, to give them a safe space to make mistakes, learn, and become their truest selves.
Teaching online lacked an intimacy, a closeness, that is required to mold community and create that kind of impact. It felt impersonal, forced, and totally against my values. Zoom doom arrived every morning as I logged in to start the school day & would not lift until long after school ended.
By the end of a soul-sucking school year, I had reached a breaking point. I was angry that the stable life I’d worked so hard for had become completely inhospitable. I felt stuck, lost, and alone. I wanted to scream, “Fuck this!!!!!!” so loudly, light a match, and let my whole life burn to the ground… & I sort of did… By kindly telling my principal I would not be returning the following school year and slowly dismantling the house of cards I’d built since my days as a teen working at Ninja Sushi.
I sold my house, moved into a camper, and left California for a much more unstable life of travel and seasonal work. & here I am, writing from the living room of a house we are housesitting in Oregon.
Looking back at the hard work of the last 15 years of my life, I’m reminded of what is possible when I dream. When I have a dream, I am unrelenting in realizing it. & for the first time since I started teaching, a new dream is coming into view. I want to be a writer and photographer. I want my photos to capture the brevity, breathlessness, and beauty of life & my writing to set people free. I want to lead a community of women & girls & create waves of change that dismantle oppression & build a more loving world.
& when I get caught in rushing to achieve accolades like, #1 New York Times Best-Selling Author, I will remind myself that no matter how successful I become, I am still going to be me. Accolades won’t save me from my pain, approval from others won’t set me free, & no amount of success will prove that I am worthy of love.
I can choose to honor my pain, my process, & my growth by loving myself from the inside. I can choose to slow down, rest, play, and connect. I can choose to show myself what I already know is true - the dream is now, this is it. I get to witness the miracle of a sun setting, a moon rising, my heart beating, a smile forming, or a tear falling. If I can muster enough presence to recognize the beauty & opportunity that’s right here in this moment - that is success to me.
So many of us live our lives in fear of failure. But in nature, there is no failure, only fertile ground for regeneration. A tree dies & falls to the forest floor, making a home for animals, giving life to fungi who, over time, break down essential nutrients, replenish the soil, and allow new growth to flourish. I’m starting to see my life the same way. No failures, only constant death & rebirth. Shedding old ideas & ways of being, allowing them to breakdown, and alchemize a rebuild. The problem is that we are scared of death & the pain that comes with it. We have to learn how to allow the pain of the grief to move us towards deeper presence, more clarity, and stronger sense of what is true for us. Every breakdown - quitting field hockey, ending my engagement, leaving teaching - has allowed unfolding of old belief system that’s given way to a new way of being that is even more joyful than the last.
Now, I’m unlearning all the old ways of hustling to prove my worthiness & creating a work ethic built on self love. It takes acceptance that all your failures & fumbles & fuck-ups and are part of the journey too & it’s ok, because there is actually no such thing as failure - only fertile ground for regrowth. When faced with challenging emotions, I slow down & listen to my intuitive sense of knowing to guide me towards next steps.
As women, we’re taught to be scared of our passion, our emotion, our drive. So when we feel deeply, we push away our anger, we quiet our excitement, we tamper down our sadness, & we show up & do what we think is expected of us. But emotions are meant to be felt. Emotions are meant to guide us. When I’m sad, there’s a reason. When I’m angry, there’s a reason. When I’m excited, there’s a reason. These feelings are not meant to be ignored, these feelings are meant to ignite. I’m certain that slowing down, listening to my joy, and doing more of what excites me will continue leading me to a life of contentment and peace.
Through this blog and all my writing endeavors I hope to help others through the hard work of reawakening their intuitive sense of knowing & realize their dreams while I realize mine. I hope that by sharing how I am tuning in to my knowing, I help others realize they are never alone in their struggles. No one’s life is perfect. No one has it figured out. It will never be figured out. The only way out is through. & the best we can do is hold each other’s hands as we navigate the messy truth of being human. I’ll hold your hand, dear reader. Will you hold mine?
Love,
Marissa