A friend sent me a voice note recently about a podcast she was listening to. She said the woman on it was talking about cleaning out your closet and getting rid of everything you don’t wear anymore.

Then she said something that really stuck with me.

“It’s all past lives of yourself.”

Like the jeans you keep saying you’ll fit into again one day. Or the shirt you never actually liked but keep because somebody gave it to you. Or the dress tied to a version of yourself you thought you were supposed to become.

“Let it go,” she said. “Stop trying to fit into those fucking jeans.”

And honestly? Since becoming unemployed, selling my old clothes online has weirdly become one of the most therapeutic things I’ve done.

I was telling her how fun selling on Depop and Poshmark has been lately, but not in a “rise and grind, six passive income streams” kind of way. It’s made me look at my closet and my stuff completely differently. Going through old clothes has started to feel less like cleaning and more like letting go of old versions of myself.

Things I bought for jobs I don’t even have anymore.
Things I wore during specific relationships or phases of my life.
Things I kept because I felt guilty getting rid of them.
Things I kept because maybe one day I’d become that version of myself again.

And maybe I won’t.

Honestly, it’s been liberating.

Also, let’s be real, a little extra coin while unemployed never hurt nobody.

But what’s surprised me most is how much this whole thing brought me back to one of my roots creatively.

Years ago, my sister and I used to run a little vintage online shop together called SedgwickMonroe. Named after two obvious icons, of course. We had promo shoots, little shopping parties at our place, styled outfits together, all of it. It was tiny and chaotic and very New York in your twenties.

Then life happened.

We both started climbing ladders in our careers, became “serious adults,” got burnt out, and somewhere along the way the shop quietly disappeared.

But selling online again has reminded me how alive and creative it made me feel back then.

And honestly, it’s brought my sister and I even closer again, which is saying a lot because we’re already twins, best friends, and ride-or-dies. She’ll donate clothes for me to sell, help me figure out what photos look best, tell me how to style listings so things sell faster. And for her, I think it’s also become a little relief from her world as a mental health therapist. A way to disconnect from clients and leadership meetings and everything heavy for a little while.

Now we’re back to styling clothes together again like we’re twenty-two.

And there’s something really healing about that.

Not just for who we used to be, but for who we are now.

And trust me, running an online shop from a NYC apartment is nowhere near as aesthetic as the listings make it look.

I’ve found little ways to make everything feel cohesive and prettier while working out of my room. I photograph a lot of my clothes on black velvet hangers and built this dreamy little apartment closet setup inspired by my actual space. It took forever to get it looking right.

For shoes, I usually photograph them on top of this green Sam Edelman shoe box from one of my favorite pairs of booties that I’ll absolutely never sell.

Some things remain sacred.

Meanwhile my actual room looks like a tiny shipping warehouse exploded inside it.

There’s shipping boxes stacked in corners. Bubble mailers spilling out of drawers. Long curled-up strips of labels hanging off my desk from my label printer.

It’s chaos.

But weirdly, it’s good chaos.

And honestly, this isn’t even my first time building a little online world for myself.

During the pandemic I started Dreamy Jane, where I sold resin stoner accessories and posted memes online. I still use the name now for my Depop and Poshmark shops, and I’m still posting on Dreamy Jane accounts too. I guess I never fully let it go.

Maybe that’s the thing I’m realizing lately.

Not every creative project dies.
Sometimes it just waits for you to come back to it in another version of your life.

And maybe that’s what all this really is.

Not decluttering.

Not reselling.

Just slowly learning how to leave certain past lives behind while still making peace with the person who lived them.

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This morning I made coffee and watched BTS comeback videos instead of updating a tracker no one was ever going to open again.

Two months ago, that sentence would’ve terrified me.

I’ve been working since I was seventeen years old. Always climbing toward something. Another title. Another salary jump. Another “opportunity.” Another stakeholder deck. Another version of success that somehow never felt like arrival.

Then I got fired from my six-figure job and, for the first time in my life, I stopped moving long enough to hear myself think.

After I got fired, I kept obsessively refreshing my LinkedIn and email.

The first month had me going through three K-Cups a day, and I’m already on ADHD meds. I wasn’t sleeping. I genuinely thought maybe my 20th revised resume or LinkedIn profile would finally be the one that got me noticed.

Spoiler alert: it wasn’t.

And honestly, it starts to make you wonder: what really is “the top”?

Money?

Okay, sure. Money matters. I’m not spiritually above rent. I would love $500,000 deposited into my account right now so I could breathe without calculating survival every morning.

But beyond survival, what are we actually chasing?

More Slack notifications?

More performance reviews?

More corporate praise from people who can’t even appreciate sunlight?

Workplaces have become giant emotional escape rooms.

Microaggressions disguised as “feedback.”

Gaslighting disguised as “culture fit.”

Bullying disguised as “high performance.”

And because we see this behavior rewarded everywhere now, especially in politics and big tech, it’s seeped into everyday work culture like mold behind apartment walls.

Women in particular were sold the idea that liberation meant becoming hyper-productive.

Be ambitious.

Be exceptional.

Be desirable.

Be independent.

Be employable.

Be healing.

Be optimized.

Be a Girl Boss.

We were told we could “have it all,” but nobody warned us that “having it all” mostly meant being exhausted all the time.

The day I got fired, I started applying to jobs immediately.

Not Monday.

Not after processing it.

That same Friday.

I was terrified.

Applying to jobs right now feels like swimming without limbs.

I realized how quickly unemployment makes people feel invisible.

The second you’re no longer “attached” to a company, people talk to you differently. Like your worth got unplugged from the wall.

Suddenly the room gets quiet.

Hello?

Is anybody there?

Over 400 applications.

Almost two months unemployed.

No interviews.

Every conversation somehow circles back to:

“But like… what are you doing next?”

I don’t know.

And maybe that’s okay.

At some point, the universe starts sounding less like rejection and more like an intervention.

When I tell people I’ve started selling clothes and luxury purses I no longer want online, I get that quirky little smile.

Like:

“okayyy, cute side hustle.”

Girl, the fuck do I know?

This might be my life now.

I still don’t know what happens next.

I’ve been lingering around the idea of stand-up comedy lately. Maybe comedy writing. Maybe acting.

Who knows?

But if not now, when?

If I spend my entire life waiting until things feel financially safe enough to become myself, I’ll probably die waiting.

I still have bills.

I still panic sometimes.

I still wake up at 3 a.m. wondering if I ruined my life.

But for the first time in years, my brain feels quiet enough to notice things again.

Coffee in the morning.

My son laughing at something stupid from the other room.

Texting my friends back without feeling rushed.

Movies and shows I never gave myself permission to slow down enough to watch.

Midday naps my psychiatrist practically prescribed like antibiotics.

Sometimes I feel guilty for enjoying this pause.

Like I should be panicking harder.

Like rest only counts if it’s earned through suffering first.

But maybe this version of living isn’t failure.

Maybe we were just trained to believe that resting meant disappearing.

Not in a dramatic way. Just noticing what I reach for when I want to feel a little more put together. A little more like myself.

I think part of it is having more time.

Being home more. Moving slower. Realizing how often I used to rush through things or skip them entirely because I was busy. Or tired. Or just trying to get through the day.

Now I notice the small things more. And how much I actually appreciate them.

These are a few things that have quietly made their way into my daily routine.

The kind of products you don’t think too much about at first, and then suddenly you’re using them every day.

—

I’ve been using the Beauty of Joseon ginseng essence water for about a month now. It’s technically a toner, but it feels like more than that. My skin just looks… healthier. More hydrated in a way that actually shows.

Naturium’s multi-peptide moisturizer has become my default. It’s simple, but consistent. The kind of product you don’t have to think about, which I’ve realized is exactly what I need most days. It’s helped a lot with my dark spots too, which I didn’t expect to notice as much as I have.

The Dr. Melaxin calcium volume multi balm is one of those products I didn’t expect to love this much. I use it under my eyes, on my lips, sometimes both without thinking. It’s one of the few things I’ve already repurchased. That usually says everything.

There’s also this Seapuri scalpy bubble tonic I’ve been using after I wash my hair. It comes out as a foam, which already feels so cool. I work it into my scalp after towel drying, and it has that menthol feeling that makes you stop for a second. It’s one of those small things that feels surprisingly grounding.

And sunscreen, which I’ve been trying to be better about. The TIRTIR hydro uv shield sunscreen with SPF50+ has been the easiest one to stick to. It’s light, no white cast, and doesn’t feel like something extra I have to force myself to use.

—

None of this is life changing.

But lately, I’ve realized that it’s not really about that.

It’s just about having a few things that make the day feel a little easier to move through.

Especially now.

—

what’s been making your days feel a little easier lately?

I remember sitting in meetings where people yelled across long white conference tables, and all I could think was how much it reminded me of high school. Not just the noise, but the behavior. The cliques. The power plays. The way certain people were protected no matter how they acted.

There is always a moment when it clicks. The moment you realize something is not just difficult, it is wrong.

You look around and think, this cannot be normal. No one should have that much power and be able to get away with this level of behavior.

But it happens. And it happened to me.

For years, I watched leadership operate with a kind of quiet cruelty. Not always loud enough to be called out directly, but constant. Microaggressions, dismissals, shifting expectations, subtle undermining. The kind of behavior that is easy to recognize in private but nearly impossible to prove in a room full of people who benefit from staying silent.

People complained. Concerns were raised. And still, the same leaders found ways to succeed.

Because the system allowed them to.

In corporate environments, the loudest person in the room often wins.
Not the most competent. Not the most thoughtful. Just the loudest.

And leadership allows it.

Because it benefits them.

Insecure leaders do not build strong teams. They build controllable ones. They keep people around who will not challenge them, who will not outshine them, who will not make them feel replaceable.

The people who actually do the work end up carrying everything.

They fix timelines, clean up messaging, absorb last-minute chaos, and still get told they are not moving fast enough.

I remember hovering over my keyboard, rewriting the same Slack message three times just to ask if we could review thumbnails that were due at 4PM.

Not because it was a big ask. But because I knew it might trigger the wrong reaction.

And that is the part people do not talk about enough.

Why does something so small create that kind of anxiety?

Because I had already been on the receiving end. Yelled at after hours, when most of the office was gone. Moments that felt intentional. Controlled. Quiet enough that no one else would see.

That is how this kind of behavior survives.

When those same employees ask reasonable questions, they are suddenly seen as too much.

Meanwhile, the same leaders who claim to be overwhelmed are allowed to raise their voices, shift expectations, and demand more without consequence.

Leadership benefits when a team is walking on eggshells. It creates the illusion of control and keeps them in good standing with the people above them.

When employees are scared, they do not build real relationships. They do not collaborate. They do not trust each other. Instead, they compete. Not because they want to, but because they feel like they have to.

That competition shifts the focus away from the leader and onto each other. People stop questioning bad leadership because they are too busy trying to survive it. Too busy trying to stay visible, stay useful, stay safe.

And over time, that kind of environment does exactly what it is designed to do. It wears people down. It creates burnout. It chips away at confidence until even the most capable employees start second-guessing themselves.

The higher you go, the more it starts to feel like the blind leading the blind.

VPs protect managers who make their lives easier, not better. They see the tension. They notice when a team is disengaged, when people stop speaking up, when energy shifts in a room.

But there is a quiet rule that often takes over. If it is not brought directly to them, then it is not real.

So they do not ask too many questions. And they do not look too closely.

Concerns get raised elsewhere. Through HR. Through side conversations. Through the people who are trying to make sense of what they are experiencing.

And then something else starts to happen.

The people who speak up begin to disappear. They are placed on performance plans. Their work is suddenly under a microscope. Their contributions are reframed. The narrative shifts, and what was once a leadership issue becomes a performance issue.

The manager stays.
The employee leaves.

And just like that, the system corrects itself.

Not by addressing the problem, but by removing the person who pointed to it.

That is how the cycle continues.

Until the people holding it together quietly burn out, shut down, or leave.

For a long time, I thought the problem was me. That I needed to be quieter. Easier. More agreeable. More accommodating.

It took time to realize the environment was designed that way.

Not for people who are thoughtful, competent, or collaborative. Not for people who want balance, or boundaries, or a life outside of work.

It rewards control. Silence. Compliance.

And by the time you see it clearly, you are already deep in it.

This is not a rare story. It is not new. It happens more often than people are willing to admit.

But like most things that reflect poorly on powerful systems, it gets minimized, reframed, or quietly pushed aside.

And the people who experience it are left wondering if it was ever real to begin with.

Until they leave.

And finally realize they were never the problem.

If this felt familiar, you’re not the only one.