The Scariest Career Leap I Ever Made

The first time I thought about leaving my job—the one I landed straight out of university—it was just a whisper. Could I really walk away from this path? From the degree? From everything I worked for?

I didn’t tell anyone. Not my boss. Not my coworkers. Not even my family. Especially not my family.

I was already the first in my family to move over five hours away from home, which might as well have been another continent. I still remember the look on my parents’ faces when they realized I wasn’t going to pharmacy school. Actually, I don’t think I told them—I’m pretty sure my sister broke the news for me just to keep the peace (and keep me from getting disowned).

In our family, loyalty meant staying put. My dad worked the same job for decades until he retired. Stability was the dream. Consistency was the goal. If you were unhappy? You didn’t complain—you just reminded yourself to be grateful they gave you a job in the first place.

So when I enrolled in a yoga teacher training program in Madrid, Spain, I didn’t say I was leaving construction. I told them I was “doing some training in Europe.” That was ten years ago. To this day, my parents still don’t really know what I do. But since it’s not being a doctor, it probably doesn’t count anyway.

It wasn’t that I didn’t care about construction—I cared deeply. I loved the alchemy of it. How people came together to turn drawings into buildings, ideas into infrastructure. I used to drive through downtown Chicago, awestruck by the skyline. Every tower was a tribute to collective effort, to what could be built when everyone worked toward something bigger than themselves.

Over time, I started to feel smaller. I was tired. Disconnected. Diminished. Like I was surviving more than living.

The First Step Is Always the Hardest

Leaving the only industry I ever knew felt like career suicide. I wasn’t switching jobs—I was switching identities.

I had a construction management degree from one of the top universities. I had field hours, certifications, and safety gear in my trunk. My entire professional network lived in hard hats and fire-retardant clothing. So why was I trading all that for the unknown?

I questioned everything:

• Was I smart enough?
• Was I being irrational?
• Was this just a phase?
• What if I failed?
• What if I ran out of money?
• What if everyone else was right?

But the truth was—I had nothing left to lose. So I leapt.

I cried every day during yoga teacher training. I practiced public speaking by talking into a fan—just to get used to the sound of my own voice. The first class I taught was in Stuttgart, Germany… to a room full of Germans. I blacked out somewhere between the breathing exercise and Tree Pose. But when I came to, they were still listening. They were with me. And for the first time in a long time… I felt heard.

It was terrifying. It was freeing. It was mine.

Not a Return to Reality—An Evolution

When I came back to the States, some people said I was “coming back to reality.” But it wasn’t a return. It was an evolution.

Since that first leap, I’ve worn a lot of hats:

• Construction Manager for an event production company
• Project Controls Manager back in EPCM, working on steel and aluminum mills
• Consultant and a Manager at a software company, helping others connect the dots I once had to figure out alone

Each step felt risky. Each role stretched me. And yet, each one helped build the version of myself I am today.

• That EPCM job? It gave me the technical foundation I still rely on.
• Event production? It showed me how to be creative under pressure.
• The software world? It helped me scale my knowledge and share it with people everywhere.

Eventually, I found my way back into the construction space—but on my own terms. Today, I coach teams on financial systems and analytics. I still love this industry. I just love myself more now, too.

What I’ve Learned

Leaving wasn’t giving up. It was growing.

Changing careers isn’t about abandoning your past. It’s about being brave enough to imagine a future where you don’t have to leave parts of yourself behind just to belong.

So if you’re standing at the edge of something new—and it feels scary and messy and no one really gets it—

You’re not alone. And your future might just be more beautiful than you imagined.