So Many Hats, So Much Heart: Lunch with C

Yesterday’s lunch with C felt like more than just a catch-up — it felt like a quiet kind of homecoming. Not to a place, but to a person who gets it. The layers. The weariness. The strength stitched into every role we play without pause or applause.

We talked — really talked. About burn-out. About toxic workplaces that drain you not just professionally but emotionally, personally, existentially. We’ve both lived it — that feeling of being wrung out and still expected to smile. And we’ve both survived it, though I think we’re still figuring out what recovery looks like.

There were moments when the tears almost came, just beneath the surface. But they were met with laughter — big, unfiltered, knowing laughter. The kind that only comes when someone else has walked a similar path and still has the courage to laugh in the retelling.

What I loved most? There was no performance. No need to prove anything. We just were: two women, each wearing a dozen invisible hats — mother, partner, planner, nurse, therapist, peacekeeper, cleaner, cook — and still somehow managing to carve out space for work, ambition, and identity.

We talked about what’s next. The in-between stage — the not-knowing — is familiar territory. But this time, we’re not doing it alone. We’re going to be supporting each other, however we can. First step? A ‘Women in Tech’ event we’ll attend together. Not because we’ve suddenly become card-carrying feminists (though, maybe we always were without the badge), but because we’ve earned our place in that room — and in every room.

And no, we won’t be posting a #blessed selfie on LinkedIn with a caption about “incredible synergies and inspirational powerhouse energy.”
(We both nearly choked on our halloumi at the very thought.)

This is the power of reconnection. Of choosing to walk alongside someone instead of stumbling alone. Here’s to C — and to all the women who hold a hundred things together and still manage to show up for lunch with laughter, honesty, and hope.

Let me know if you want to tone down or turn up the humour. Also happy to suggest a short social media caption to go with it if you plan to promote it elsewhere!

Yesterday’s lunch with C felt like more than just a catch-up — it felt like a quiet kind of homecoming. Not to a place, but to a person who gets it. The layers. The weariness. The strength stitched into every role we play without pause or applause.

We talked — really talked. About burn-out. About toxic workplaces that drain you not just professionally but emotionally, personally, existentially. We’ve both lived it — that feeling of being wrung out and still expected to smile. And we’ve both survived it, though I think we’re still figuring out what recovery looks like.

There were moments when the tears almost came, just beneath the surface. But they were met with laughter — big, unfiltered, knowing laughter. The kind that only comes when someone else has walked a similar path and still has the courage to laugh in the retelling.

What I loved most? There was no performance. No need to prove anything. We just were: two women, each wearing a dozen invisible hats — mother, partner, planner, nurse, therapist, peacekeeper, cleaner, cook — and still somehow managing to carve out space for work, ambition, and identity.

We talked about what’s next. The in-between stage — the not-knowing — is familiar territory. But this time, we’re not doing it alone. We’re going to be supporting each other, however we can. First step? A ‘Women in Tech’ event we’ll attend together. Not because we’ve suddenly become card-carrying feminists (though, maybe we always were without the badge), but because we’ve earned our place in that room — and in every room.

And no, we won’t be posting a #blessed selfie on LinkedIn with a caption about “incredible synergies and inspirational powerhouse energy.”
(We both nearly choked on our gyozas at the very thought.)

This is the power of reconnection. Of choosing to walk alongside someone instead of stumbling alone. Here’s to C — and to all the women who hold a hundred things together and still manage to show up for lunch with laughter, hone