artificial insemination kit for humans
I started my first job just before my ninth birthday, picking berries at a nearby farm. Each morning, as the sun rose, I would ride my bike a mile down the road to work. I spent the entire day harvesting berries and returned home in the evening.
For every pint of raspberries I collected, I earned 25 cents, and by the end of that summer, I had made over $200—enough to buy a significant amount of school clothes. My boss and parents praised me for bringing along my peanut butter and jelly sandwich, finishing it in under two minutes, and immediately getting back to work. I thrived on that validation. It made me feel strong, valued, and somewhat extraordinary.
While other kids fled from work in the rain or heat, I stayed, earning a three-dollar bonus each time I did. This early experience shaped my identity; the adults around me admired my work ethic, so I felt compelled to maintain that image. Throughout elementary school, I continued working, picking berries in the summer and babysitting whenever possible.
In high school, while my friends enjoyed sports or leisure activities, I was busy after school. I would attend classes during the day and then work at a grocery store six days a week, followed by homework in the evenings. On Saturdays, while others took a break, I was pushing grocery carts and loading them into customers’ cars from 8 a.m. to 4 p.m. The accolades from others about my dedication didn’t faze me, even when exhaustion set in.
After having my appendix removed in 11th grade, I returned to work after just a week because it felt like my duty, as if it were expected of me. No one explicitly told me this, but I had internalized the belief that my identity was tied to being a diligent worker, regardless of whether I felt unwell or had an important assignment due. I feared that if I allowed myself to take a break, I would lose my sense of self.
When I graduated college and landed my first significant job in the early ’90s, I quickly realized I had been conditioned perfectly for the corporate world. In retail, I became the youngest store manager in my district for a popular clothing brand. My success stemmed from my willingness to work long hours, never calling in sick, and consistently going above and beyond, even if I wasn’t compensated for it—because that was how I earned recognition.
During one holiday season, I kept my team at the store until 1:00 a.m. to clean up from the day’s chaos, knowing I’d have to return by 7:00 a.m. for the extended hours. As my crew began to tire around 10:30 p.m., I grew frustrated. We were meant to set up the store after closing, and I would stand and eat the pizza we ordered, shoving down a slice or two in less than ten minutes to lead by example.
Soon, I started experiencing stomach issues and became reliant on Mountain Dew to stay awake. At just 23, I felt older than my years, but the praise for my hard work kept pouring in. Anyone who worked like I did was acknowledged, so I continued this unsustainable lifestyle.
The same pattern repeated itself when I worked for a recruiting firm, where the expectation was to clock over 40 hours a week with just one vacation week per year. We were encouraged to engage in unpaid activities with colleagues outside of work. My boss would frame it as optional, but it was anything but.
The workplace culture conveyed that your life should revolve around work—anything less made you seem lazy, uninterested, or a poor team player. When the events of 9/11 unfolded, I was one of the few who chose to leave the office early. My boss later commented on my decision, implying that it was weak.
When I expressed my desire to have children and stay home with them, I lost my job. Despite the company’s lack of paid maternity leave, I was told I could take six weeks off unpaid if I chose to, as that was the law. No one questioned this arrangement.
When I decided to start my own business after that experience, I faced skepticism. People wanted to know how I would finance it and reminded me that I needed a steady paycheck and health benefits. My father even labeled the idea irresponsible.
Gen-Xers were not raised to believe in taking time off for illness or mental health reasons. Doing so often led to being labeled as lazy. Coming to work after being sick was almost celebrated, while returning to work early after surgery garnered applause. Asking for more vacation time was frowned upon; the heroes of the workplace were those who sacrificed their well-being for the job.
After returning to work following a period at home with my children, I found myself still adhering to this outdated mindset. I worked every day, canceled family dinners for job opportunities, and didn’t take a real vacation for over three years. Eventually, I began to struggle. My work quality suffered, and I felt perpetually exhausted, berating myself for not pushing harder every day.
I came to realize that this relentless grind was unsustainable for producing quality work. It took time to shed the beliefs instilled in me about hard work equating to worth. Then one day, I noticed others were taking breaks and enjoying their time off, recognizing it as essential for a balanced life.
I felt anxious when I scheduled my first vacation. As a self-employed person, I wouldn’t earn anything during that time off, but my reluctance stemmed from feeling like a slacker for taking a week off during a busy holiday to spend time with my children. How absurd is that?
I want my children to understand that hard work doesn’t have to come at the cost of their well-being or personal time. Life encompasses far more than just the hustle and grind, and there’s no merit in showing up to work when you’re sick or neglecting well-deserved time off.
It’s crucial for future generations to abandon the notion that depletion and workaholism are prerequisites for success. We must normalize the importance of rest, time off, and prioritizing a healthy lifestyle over mere financial gain or hour-counting.
Though it took me years to reach this understanding, I am now in a position to model healthier work habits for my children, ensuring they don’t fall into the same trap of relentless work that I did.