“Candace, that’s what you do, but what are you into outside of work?” a colleague pressed. I didn’t have a great answer. I was all in on my career, working at my dream job. My hobbies were food and writing; I was cooking, eating and writing professionally.

I had a rich life outside of work hours; it’s just that the work hours often bled into the home hours. I’d be shopping and come across a new M&M flavor at Target, so of course I’d need to buy it and write about it right that second, because the world needed to know. (It didn’t.)

I’d miss a friend’s baby shower because I had to travel to the middle of West Virginia for a Road Kill Cook-Off. Who else would tell that story, if I didn’t? (I wasn’t a one-woman-band. I just didn’t want to miss the chance to experience it…and live to tell the tale.)

I was nearly late to a close friend’s baby shower because our website’s traffic was down and one of the Property Brothers had a New Girl-friend. (It didn’t save that month’s traffic; it only chipped away at a relationship that mattered, as I revealed an unhealthy obsession with proving myself at work that superseded all else.)

Another time, a friend flew in from out of state on my birthday, and we wound up at my office until late in the evening, as I wrapped the edits on a video that was going live the next morning. I could’ve pushed back and told my boss I couldn’t stay late. It wasn’t even my video. The actual producer was my direct report and she’d left for the day, but I felt this duty to see it through, no matter what, ensuring the deadline wasn’t missed. Birthday plans be damned.

I might be an extreme example; one that makes you cringe just reading what I’m revealing. But, truth be told, I was singularly focused from the moment I hit high school: I was going to work in magazines—er, digital media, as magazines were quickly going the way of the eight-track. I was focused on getting into college, then snagging as many internships and clips as I could, then climbing up the corporate ladder while taking night classes at the International Culinary Center, all to bring that goal into focus. As I started to work in magazines, I realized I loved food reporting, so I started positioning myself until I got there.

And once there, I was so worried about losing it all that I let the rest of my identity slip away, until I was The Girl Who Was Work. My self-worth was ensnarled in my achievements. If my last video went viral, I was on a high; if it bombed—or people trashed it in the comments—my mood soured.

Turns out, even in your dream job you can have the Sunday Scaries…along with a low-simmering anxiety just fizzing in the background throughout every hour of your day.

My only way out of my own head was to blow up my own life.

I couldn’t answer what I liked to do outside of work that wasn’t work, but when I started to burn out—because no matter how much I invested in my work, it always craved more (#contentvelocity)—I started to resent work…which meant I resented the very thing I devoted all my mental energy toward. Oof.

That’s when I convinced myself that a shiny new title, the power to oversee an entire website, and a hearty raise would be the salve. Deep down, I knew it wouldn’t, but I was stuck in a rut, so I took the better pay and title. And continued my unhealthy habits until I was too bitter to keep going.

I considered leaving journalism altogether. Then I found a new role at a totally different company. I’d still be writing, but they had strong boundaries against going too far above and beyond. (“How about you focus on this project, instead of offering to take that on too?” my manager told me early on.)

I also started this role days after saying goodbye to my grandmother, one of the closest people in my life.

I didn’t want to be The Girl Who Was Work anymore. I couldn’t be.

Months later, COVID happened. Those events, all within months of each other, put time into clear focus. What we do with the time we have here is the most important thing. This moment, right now, is what matters. So, how would I spend it?

Hobbies always seemed trivial, but during those long months at home, I started exploring all kinds: baking, hiking, sound bathing, forest bathing (it got weird, okay?), candle-making, yoga, virtual Pound classes, creating an internal database of coffee shops and rating cold brew. My husband and I even launched an Airbnb.

I made 2024 my year of “showing up,” where I accepted every invitation, extended more than my introverted heart ever felt comfortable with and just saw where it led me.

Slowly, slowly, slowly, I started to build connections in a town where I had none. Slowly, slowly, slowly, I unearthed skills (and rhythm!) I didn’t know I had. Slowly, slowly, slowly, that hungry need to prove myself felt satiated; I was satisfied with where I was.

And the Sunday Scaries and constant feeling of tenseness? They disappeared, and two years later, they’re still gone.

As digital media continues to fracture, condense and reform, I’m pivoting with it, but no longer defined by it.

And in this rocky economic landscape overall, it’s the best advice I have: Don’t let your title or achievements become who you are and your fuel to keep going. They’ll only weigh you down.

Honestly, when it comes to businesses in ANY industry these days, I’m reminded of a terrible, yet apt, Chris Brown lyric: “these hoes ain’t loyal.” When layoffs happen, a company will do what it needs to do to stay afloat, and no position—or person—is safe.

Making candles and baking and attending my weekly Pound class refuel me, inspire me with new ideas and make my downtime more meaningful (because otherwise, it gets sucked up by scrolling Instagram way too quickly). It makes me a better parent—I’m still working on being a better, more available friend—and better at my job.

So now, if that colleague were to ask again, her eyes might glaze over by the time I finish babbling about fragrance oils and warrior poses and sourdough rise levels. But I think she’d also see someone who’s far more content with her life. That’s what matters to me.