When "rise & grind" is running you into the ground

The cost of powering through without questioning the pace

"This is unsustainable."

That’s the confession I keep hearing from fellow parents with big jobs and little kids.

There's a sense that we're all hanging on by a thread, knowing something will snap if nothing changes.

The circumstances might vary: A partner whose job requires a lot of travel. A manager who expects immediate responses around the clock. A company that mandates working in an office with a long commute.

But beneath it all, the same themes keep surfacing: the unpredictability of young kids who are constantly getting sick, the lack of a real village for support, and the relentless pace of work that only intensifies as home demands grow.

There's an acknowledgment that something needs to change, that the current pace can't last much longer.

But they justify powering through with "just until this project wraps up" or "just until the next promotion." One final push until some real or imagined milestone when things (hopefully) settle down and they'll finally be able to exhale.

I know that story well. I've been living it for years.

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For the last 15 years, I've been gunning it at work. Always pushing for the next promotion, the next title, the next milestone.

My motto was basically “rise and grind”: get up, power through, repeat.

The unofficial sponsor of my last 15 years

I thought that’s what ambition meant: full throttle, all the time. And for the most part, it served me well. I made it to Director of Product at a major tech company, leading large teams, driving company strategy, making the big bucks.

But since becoming a mom, especially after my second baby, everything that used to work started to unravel. As my scope and family grew, I kept trying to cram more work and more chores into the same 24 hours.

Eventually, my physical and mental health began to suffer from poor sleep, terrible nutrition, and zero recovery time. I lost weight, got sick more often, and became a rushed, impatient, irritable version of myself that I didn't recognize.

It wasn't just unsustainable, it was unlivable. Like a robot slowly breaking down, one part at a time.

And still, my only response was to push harder. To set another invisible finish line and keep running toward it.

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Since leaving my job at Pinterest a few months ago, I started training for a half marathon. I haven't run consistently in over a decade, so I've been using Peloton's virtual training program to gradually build up my endurance.

During the runs, the coaches talk about a concept called RPE: Rate of Perceived Exertion. RPE ranges from 1 (very easy) to 10 (maximum effort), and the instructors call out the level to help guide the workout.

Most runs start at a 3 to warm up, build to a 5 for endurance, and peak at 7-8 during interval pushes. The idea is to tune your effort level to the moment, to move up and down the scale depending on what's needed.

For advanced runners, this strategy is probably second nature. But for someone like me, who still struggles to run a mile without walking, it's been eye-opening. I've only ever known two settings: slow walk or full sprint.

I've been living at an RPE of 10 for so long that I forgot there were other options.

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Turns out, there's an entire range between 1 and 10. And the key is paying attention to how hard something feels and consciously adjusting.

That's not easy for someone who's used to pushing through. When my legs ache or my body cramps, it feels weak to listen to the inner voice that wants to slow down. I'm still figuring out when to keep going and when to pull back and recover.

But the learning is spilling into the rest of my life too.

I'm in an early phase of entrepreneurship now, with full control over my schedule. So when my body says slow down, I listen. I put my phone down and sit in the sun, say no to a meeting that I’m dreading, and go to bed early without guilt.

Running is teaching me what 15 years of my career never did: that I have the power to choose my own RPE.

Instead of defaulting to max effort, I can be intentional about how long I'm willing to power through before the cost becomes too great.

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When life feels unsustainable, we can't just keep sprinting and hope it gets easier. We don't have to wait for an external force to shift our circumstances. And we definitely don't have to push until we break.

We need to reclaim the agency to adjust our effort to match the moment we're in.

This doesn't mean giving up on ambition. It means recognizing that even ambitious people can dial it down sometimes, especially in the early years of raising kids.

You can take a job that requires less travel or switch to a project that’s less visible. You can take a few months off between roles to figure out what you really want to do next.

Or maybe it means changing the settings without changing the role - enforcing firmer boundaries, delegating more, or getting extra help so you can eat better, move your body, and see your friends.

Living a sustainable life isn't just about surviving until the next milestone. It's about being intentional with your energy, staying attuned to how hard things feel, and finding a pace you can actually maintain for the long run.

Namaste,

Tamara

PS - If you’re nodding along because you’ve been living at RPE 10 too, this is your sign.

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