After 13 years in tech and 2 established design careers, I'm taking a mindful break to recalibrate my focus. This stepping away comes with no hard feelings attached, no hesitation and regret. It’s a happy place, spiced with a healthy dose of fear. The kind of fear that shows up when you know you're looking in the right direction.

If asked to sum up “What happened?” in one phrase, it's simple: I fell out of love. This wasn't a sudden breakup or a reaction to industry tremors like layoffs or return-to-office mandates. I wasn’t laid off. This falling out of love began 8 years ago, progressing even as I switched from UI design to Illustration. It continued through my move to San Francisco and accelerated amidst the AI Revolution.

When I think of what could have prevented it, I draw a blank. Perhaps it's the accumulated fatigue from screens, pixels, and all things online. Social media. Tech culture. The constant pressure to keep up with new apps, new tools, the next big thing. Updating portfolios. Use cases. Presentations. Self-promotion. The entirety of it, and the anxiety that comes with it.

I’m not just tired, I’m exhausted. And it’s this exhaustion that makes this pause feel so natural, so timely. The same way my transition into tech felt years ago — natural and timely. It's as if I've come full circle, closing one chapter to open another.

The Honeymoon Phase

Imagine this: a nerdy 9-year-old kid clicking away on a loud keyboard connected to a bulky monitor. The screen glows in Chet Baker's shade of blue — cool and full of possibility, a Pascal window open. This kid is drawing and animating an edgy pixelated hedgehog that will later win a school coding competition. This kid is cute. This kid is hooked. This kid is me.

The woman I am now might not share that same wide-eyed excitement, but it doesn’t mean it never existed. Fascinated by Pascal, intrigued by Visual Basic, enamored with HTML/CSS, and head over heels for Photoshop. This passion snowballed into a degree in information technology and design, startup adventures, and beyond. In Russia, in Belgium, in Spain, the US. Well-tested. Well-traveled. All over.

I stayed with it for a while, driven by my insatiable curiosity. When something catches my eye, I dive in headfirst. I need to know how it works, what it is for, how to create with it, what surrounds it — the whole scope please. In tech, the scope is endless, and so this curiosity of mine was an ever-spinning wheel, propelling me forward further and further... Until it stopped.

On April 22, 2020, that wheel shifted its focus and found a new axis to revolve around. That day, I became a mother. And suddenly, the world of tech felt very, very small.

Tech Burnout

When my little guy came into the world, it was like someone hit the fast-forward button on changes that had been simmering in me for a while. I'd already been asking some uncomfortable questions. Is a linear career really the only path to success? Does the stress of climbing corporate ladder outweigh the joy and fulfillment it's supposed to bring? I felt like the odd one out in my social circle, questioning the whole hustle culture, the crazy-long hours, and the never-ending string of “urgent” deadlines.

I started to doubt whether constant exhaustion was really the badge of honor everyone made it out to be. My inbox stayed closed in the evenings. Being “always on” lost its appeal. The word “pivot” started to make me cringe, especially when it popped up on a weekly basis. I was becoming unfit for the work culture that dominated many tech companies. And tech itself? It just wasn't triggering my curiosity the way it used to.

Then my son arrived, and it was like putting on a new pair of glasses. Suddenly, everything looked different, but also very clear. I stopped feeling like something was wrong with me for asking those questions. My doubts transformed into new beliefs. And most importantly, my child became my north star, my number one person, interest, and reason for everything.

Motherhood

Since his first breath, every decision I've made has gone through the same filter: “Will this make a positive impact on our family life?” Parenthood is incredibly challenging, sure, but it also simplifies things. It's like someone dimmed the lights on everything else, leaving only what truly matters in sharp focus. And that, naturally, triggered that overachieving curiosity of mine in a whole new direction.

Instead of watching Figma tutorials, I dove into courses on Early Childhood Development. "Today in Design" was replaced by research on healthy lunches and how children think. As my son grew, so did my questions: Which schools are the best fit? What makes for a good education? Why are so many schools in San Francisco struggling? Will my son receive the education he deserves? And most importantly, what can I do to help?

The more I learned, the more I felt out of place at work. Problems that once seemed important started to feel small and insignificant. I couldn’t keep doing things just because — like performing those corporate dances that I didn’t believe in or feeding my illustrations to AI to keep up with an ever-growing speed. The impact of my work stopped bringing fulfillment. My body was at the office, but my mind was drifting away.

Then came the moment that really hit home. When my son turned four, he became aware of my constant exhaustion to the point of telling me: “Mama, you’re always tired. Please, come play with me”. Hearing that broke my heart and took me back to my own childhood, where I missed having my mom around. I knew she worked hard to support us and improve our lives financially, which made me independent and self-sufficient. But deep down, I always wished she could come to my room and not be too exhausted to engage.

The thought of my son reliving that really hurt. I didn’t want him to feel the loneliness I felt, and feel like he only deserves the leftovers after the work takes my best. In my mind, he’s always been my priority, and so I decided to get myself to a better place.

Illustrating a New Future

I started my 2025 with a two-week notice and a credential evaluation of my bachelor's degree. Last year, I spent many months contemplating my next move, and what always comes to mind is working with children. Helping develop their creativity while also nurturing my own. Crafting an experience that is fun and engaging, that reduces anxiety and closes the developmental needs. Making a real impact. Doing something that the hands can touch.

There are many paths I could take along these lines, and to find my authentic way, I need the space and I need the time. I need the quiet. I need to step away from the environment that’s full of noise, stress, and digital despair. I want to be more present, more human. I need the offline — where connection happens in real time, where learning breathes and creativity flows. 

Taking this pause feels good. Feels healthy. And I'm finally, beautifully ready.