Whole again
How a month of nothing changed everything
When people say they're leaving a job "to spend more time with family," I usually don't believe them.
Sometimes it's a polite euphemism for getting pushed out. But more often, I suspect it's a socially acceptable way to say, "I'm burned out and I need a break." It's a clean line for a messy reality - the overwhelm, the disillusionment, the quiet unraveling behind the scenes.
So when I left my job at Pinterest last month, I made it a point not to say that.
Because the truth was, I didn't feel called to spend more time with my family. I needed to spend more time with myself.
For the last four years, motherhood had consumed me.
First, it was the exhausting quest to get pregnant, then the nausea and fatigue of pregnancy itself, the chaos of the fourth trimester. Then doing it all over again with my second daughter, navigating postpartum depression, and managing the nonstop mental load of parenting two small children. And through it all, I was holding down a demanding job in tech.
I gave everything I had to motherhood. I chose it wholeheartedly and wanted it more than anything. And yet, so often, I felt suffocated by it.
So when I finally stepped away from work, I carved out April as a sacred space. No work, no meetings, no pressure to start anything new. I was lucky to keep our kids in full-time childcare, and I deliberately ignored my mountain of life admin.
Instead, I committed to "do nothing." And it was glorious.
I read books (Transitions was especially helpful for navigating the neutral zone). I journaled, sat with my thoughts, went to a few yoga classes. I let myself exist without a schedule, luxuriating in the feeling of not having to be anywhere or answer to anyone (at least during the workday).
It took a couple of weeks to truly settle into that stillness. But once I did, it felt like exhaling for the first time in years.
Somewhere in that stillness, I felt a surprising pull to visit my extended family in New Jersey.
My maternal grandparents, aunt, uncle, and cousins all live there. Growing up in Ukraine, I spent many summers with my grandparents, often escaping to our dachya in the countryside. After we all eventually immigrated to the U.S., I still saw them often for holidays, birthdays, and family milestones. But since moving to the Bay Area, life got full, and visits became rare.
It had been a few years since I’d seen my grandparents, and they're in their late 80s now. I wasn’t sure how many more chances I'd have to sit beside them, to hear their stories, to introduce them to the next generation.
So I planned a short trip with just my older daughter, leaving my husband and younger one at home. It felt like the most logistically manageable option, but also a special opportunity for the two of us.
I'll admit, I was nervous. Traveling across the country alone with a three-year-old is no joke. But I packed light, skipped the screens, and framed it as an adventure. I told her the only rule was "listen to mama." And off we went.
What unfolded was quietly transformative. We didn’t do anything extraordinary, but the experience was deeply nourishing.
We stayed with my aunt and uncle, who welcomed us with open arms and home-cooked meals. We played board games, danced while my cousin played guitar, and took slow walks through the neighborhood. We looked through old photo albums with my grandparents, listening to stories from their life in the Soviet Union.
I was reminded of how much my Ukrainian roots mean to me - how heartbreaking it is to see my homeland torn apart by war, and how comforting it felt to be in the presence of family who carry those same memories and scars.
My daughter soaked up every minute. She basked in the attention, bonded with relatives she’d never met, and even worked up the courage to pet the family dog. We shared a bed each night, and I found joy in the simple intimacy of snuggling close, without distractions or deadlines.
I didn’t check my email once. And for the first time in a long time, I felt fully present - not just as a mother, but as a granddaughter, a niece, a human being reconnecting with her roots.
In the end, “spending time with family” did become the heart of my sabbatical, but only because I had filled my own cup first.
So often, we guilt ourselves into being more present with our kids. But presence takes work, and it isn’t something you can force when you’re running on empty. I had spent years pushing through, trying to do it all without falling apart. I didn’t realize how much I needed a break until I finally slowed down.
That month off, and especially that trip to visit family, helped me feel whole again. I finally had the time and energy I’d been missing for so long.
And once I felt like me again - not mom, not employee, not wife - I actually started to enjoy motherhood. I had room to show up, to be there with my kids and actually want to.
Now, as I ease back into work and step into a new chapter, I keep asking myself: how do I hold onto this version of me?
I don’t want to lose myself to the hustle again. And I can’t take a sabbatical every time life feels like too much.
But I can notice when I drift. I can create space for small moments of stillness, woven into the everyday chaos. And that’s the promise I’m making to myself.
Because feeling whole is the only way I can move forward without losing myself again.
Namaste,
Tamara
Thank you for putting into words the exact journey I’ve been on since last fall.
As someone who left Google to “focus on my family,” I feel all of this. I agree with your premise and wish I had been more honest about just feeling burnt out and not wanting to be on the self-imposed treadmill of work / motherhood / life. While I didn’t take a month off (and now I really want to), being able to not answer to a sales leader or hit a monthly revenue goal has been liberating. There are elements I miss (the people, the prestige and honestly, the comp) but I felt this pull inside to pivot toward something else, and with 3 young-ish kids, I’m still figuring it out. As a first generation American myself, I recognize this tremendous privilege I have to have the financial stability to do this. But it also makes me want to rebel against a culture that tells mothers that being a woman - and a mother, a wife, a daughter, a sister, a friend - isn’t enough.