I was stuck on the Bay Bridge and sobbing.

My body had been trying to tell me something for years. That night, it stopped asking.

Traffic wasn't moving. My phone was dead. My son was at daycare waiting for me. Again.

And somewhere back in a conference room in the city I had just spent three days smiling in, there was a version of me still playing along.

The conference had gone well.

I said the right things. I laughed at the right moments. I was good at this. The salary said so. The stock options said so.

I was living the dream.

Except I wasn't.

Mar 24 

Written By Anna Scott

I was stuck on the Bay Bridge, and I was weeping.

Not pretty crying. The kind that comes from somewhere you've been ignoring for a long time.

Traffic wasn't moving. My phone was dead. My son was at daycare waiting for me. Again.

And somewhere back in a conference room in the city I had just spent three days smiling in, there was a version of me still playing along.

The conference had gone well.

I said the right things. I laughed at the right moments. I was good at this. The salary said so. The stock options said so.

I was living the dream.

Except I wasn't.