One of the most difficult crossroads I’ve experienced was during my second pregnancy with my daughter, Ryann. At the time, I was working for EDS as a Director of Business Development. We sold business processes and IT outsourced services, which was an incredibly high-pressured and heavily male-dominated field. Eight months into my pregnancy, my doctor put me on bed rest, but I had recently landed a mammoth client that was about to make my company a lot of money. I was given a ludicrous ultimatum by my boss. We needed to fly from Michigan to Nova Scotia—an eight-hour international flight—to close a $500M deal. If successful, my commission on that deal alone would exceed six figures.

There I was, standing at another major crossroads in my life: go right or go left? One path meant staying home, taking care of myself and my baby, and foregoing a shit-load of cash. The other path meant sucking it up, boarding the corporate jet, hoping like hell I didn’t go into labor while 30,000 feet in the air, and, fingers crossed, coming home with a fat check to deposit into my bank account.

If I stayed home, not only would I miss out on a giant commission, but I also wondered what it would mean for my career. Not far from going on maternity leave, I wondered if I would be replaced by one of my co-workers. Would my value to the company be diminished in my boss’ eyes? If I boarded the jet, sure, I might return feeling like the she-ro I’d been working my tail off for four years to become, but what if I was putting the life of my unborn baby in jeopardy?

It seemed like an impossible decision to make, but I had a plan, and I thought it was a good one. I was leading a team of 25 people and plenty of them were capable of standing in for me. I chose the person I felt was the most prepared to pitch the offer to the client and prepped her with everything she needed to know. Now it was time to break the news to my boss. After laying out my well thought out plan to my boss, expressionless, he replied, “That’s fine, but she will also receive your commission.” I couldn’t believe my ears. A couple weeks passed, and when it came time to pitch the client, I reluctantly showed up to board the jet. I waddled up the stairs and focused my thoughts solely on closing the deal and getting back home.

I made it through the flight with no problems, but as we were pitching the client, I started experiencing some nausea and a tightness in my belly. I knew something was wrong but I kept it to myself, pushed through it, and closed the deal. With everyone feeling on cloud nine, we got back on the jet to head home.

About two hours into the flight home, my relief turned into sheer panic when I began cramping uncontrollably. I was petrified. On a plane full of men, scared to death that I was going to have my baby 30,000 feet in the air, I tried to convince myself it was just Braxton Hicks contractions, but in my heart, I knew I was in labor. I started breathing slowly to calm myself down and push out all the negative thoughts that were swirling around in my mind. Finally, one of the men looked at me and asked if I was okay. I admitted I wasn’t feeling well and told him I may have to get to a hospital as soon as we land. He motioned the flight attendant over, and I explained what was happening. She sat with me through the entire flight, talking with me about her three kids and breathing right along with me. I remember feeling so comforted as she was fully focused on calming me down and preparing me to get to the hospital. I told her how scared I was—not just about the possibility of giving birth on the plane, but also about the idea of having two children. Growing up as an only child, I knew what it felt like to feel isolated and desiring a sibling to share life with. Despite the amount of overwhelm I was already feeling from trying to balance family and business, I pushed to get pregnant with my daughter so Jack could experience the love of a sibling. That flight attendant was my angel. Had she not been there to support me as I poured out all my fears, I’m not sure Ryann and I would’ve made it safely to the hospital when we finally touched down.

The pilot arranged for the ambulance to meet us upon landing, and I called my husband as soon as I had cell service. When we landed, I was taken directly to the hospital, and thank heaven the medics were able to stop the labor. Miraculously, my daughter was just fine, but I was overtaken with guilt at the choices I had made. I risked the life of my child and possibly my own over my career and money. To keep my job and a large commission, I put myself and my unborn child in a dangerous and potentially life-threatening position. I was so ashamed of myself, and the feelings of failure as a mother came streaming right back in.

In the hospital, rather than feeling elation for my beautiful daughter, I was sent into a dark, downward spiral, questioning everything about my life. I had worked so incredibly hard to get to the place I was in my career. Part of me needed and felt I deserved the recognition for what I had achieved, and the other part of me didn’t even recognize the woman who boarded that plane. I reflected on many of the choices I’d made over the past ten years, and there weren’t many I was very proud of. Something had to change. I was unhappy, unfulfilled, and a far cry from being the role model I wanted to be for my two children. I was, however, a bright, shining example that it was acceptable to work so hard you have nothing left for yourself or your family.

“Success is most often achieved by those who don’t know that failure is inevitable.” —Coco Chanel

Like so many women, my climb up the corporate ladder was fast and furious, believing that if I outworked everyone else and burned the candle at both ends, I could eventually “have it all”—as if I even had an inkling as to what that really meant. After many years of working in “superwoman achieving-mode,” I’ve come to realize that 1.) I was wrong about what “having it all” should look like, and 2.) the ladder I was climbing on my way to success always had another rung waiting for me. With each step up, the feeling of satisfaction and fulfillment eluded me.

In retrospect, I’m awestruck at how much I sacrificed along the way, ignoring many of my core values and deepest desires at the expense of myself and my family. The higher I climbed, the more I lost the person I so desperately wanted to become deep down in my soul. I also lost my direction while on that precarious ladder because “up” isn’t really a destination; it simply moves you into a higher place of position or a higher level of intensity. I became pretty damn proud of working 60-80-hour weeks, chasing the proverbial dream life. I was determined to be the best at everything so I could have enough money, power, happiness, and financial security on my own without having to depend on anyone else.

But how much is enough? What does enough really mean? The answer is, to the degree or quantity that is required to be sufficiently satisfied. I can’t say that I ever felt satisfied with my success, and I achieved a lot of it. Of course, money accompanied those achievements, but I eventually came to realize the dollars were never the true driving force behind my ambition.

It wasn’t until I began retracing my steps, trying to figure out how I ended up at my “50’s crossroads” that I realized how much of my life I’d spent trying to prove that I was enough. In fact, I even discovered that “enoughism” is a philosophy related to consumerism that encourages us to stop the never-ending pursuit of external validation through the material possessions and achievements we feel compelled to gather. Enoughism is especially prevalent among women because there’s so much social pressure for us to show up perfectly in every way: as wives, mothers, business women, you name it. We read books, watch entertainment, scroll social media, and continually gather ideas about who we need to be so we can feel like we’re enough, and it’s leading us to feel like total crap about ourselves! The world is riddled with competition, and it’s impossible for anyone to really “win.” Is the house ever big enough? Is the car ever nice enough? Do the awards, gold stars, and pats on the back ever feel like they’re enough?