My career is not waiting for a greenlight from a hiring team, a performance review, or some networking event full of people pretending they’re fine.

I don’t need permission. I need capacity. And I build that on my terms.

I own this thing outright.
Free and clear.
I am the only one who gets a key to this house.
And if anyone's uncomfortable with that, they can go sit in a folding chair outside while I light the fireplace.

I am no longer applying for access to tables that require me to shrink, soften, or sanitize.
If the room can’t handle my actual presence, it’s too damn small.
I don’t chase “seats.” I build structures.

I do not owe burnout another single ounce of my energy.
I do not call exhaustion ambition.
I do not romanticize struggle as some badge of honor.
I choose joy. Not as an afterthought, but as an operational principle.

The work serves me — or I don't serve it.
The energy exchanges are clean — or I don’t engage.
The money matches the value — or the answer is no.

I will slow down without disappearing.
I will speed up without sprinting toward collapse.
I will take up space — fully regulated, fully resourced, fully mine.

Success isn’t something I chase.
It’s something I decide to calibrate toward.
Again. And again. And again.
Not because I need to prove a damn thing — but because I get to.

This is not a rebellion.
It’s a reclamation.
And frankly, it’s overdue.

This is my Declaration of Daring.