ON ADULTHOOD, WORK, AND THE WEIGHT OF BEING “TOO MUCH”, News In Progress

At almost forty, I still find myself at odds with what adulthood is supposed to look like. Somewhere between job number five thousand and ten, I resigned — again. I don’t know if I should even be sharing this, but I’m a writer. Silence has never been an option. Expression is survival, and this is me, expressing loudly.

I keep asking: is it me, or is it them? If I’m honest, it’s probably not me. But why, then, am I always the one who has to leave? Out of all the people my age, I find myself alone. Or maybe I’m just alone out loud, unafraid to say what others whisper in private. That’s its own kind of isolation.

Since the age of 23, I’ve held a Master of Science degree. On paper, I’ve done everything right. I’ve worked, studied, contributed, learned, led. Yet the professional world has made it clear — painfully, consistently — that I am “too much.” Too smart. Too assertive. Too curious. Too revolutionary. Too honest. I’ve been told, with practiced corporate politeness: You’re overqualified. You’ll be bored here. Why would someone like you want to work here? You’re a flight risk. You’re too good.

I’ve heard it all.

And still, I’ve never applied to anything I didn’t believe I could succeed at. That’s not arrogance; that’s self-awareness. What I don’t have is the willingness to be a workhorse for managers driven by insecurity, inflated egos, and a desperate need for control. I’m not here to be talked down to. I’m not here to shrink myself for someone else’s comfort.

It’s not just a work issue. It’s cultural, generational, existential. I’m a Millennial. We came of age during a boom, entered adulthood in a bust, and have spent the decades since recalibrating expectations. We were told a good degree would secure a good job. We believed in meritocracy, only to meet a system that rewards docility over brilliance, compliance over creativity. We were taught to strive, and then blamed when the world couldn’t absorb us.

And still, I strive.  Cue Maya Angelou.  My forever teacher. 

I read my horoscope today — yes, I’m an Aquarian — and it said I would always face irrational, unexpected, and unfair circumstances. That it’s all happening in service of my deeper self. The artist. The innovator. The revolutionary. I want to believe that. Some days I do believe that. Other days, it just feels like a cruel cosmic joke.

Because while it’s nice to be told I’m exceptional, I’d much rather feel belonging. I’d rather not be pushed out of places simply because I don’t play small. I’d rather not be perpetually rebuilding my life from scratch just to make space for my own brilliance. Being too good for a place is not a badge of honor — it’s a weight. It means always starting over. Always proving. Always explaining. Always alone.

But maybe that’s the point. Maybe I was never meant to fit. Maybe all these exits are not failures, but nudges — out of someone else’s box, and into my own design. Maybe what I need now isn’t another job, but a platform. A creation. A space where my voice isn’t threatening, but foundational.

Maybe the world keeps pushing me out because I’m meant to build something no one can push me out of.

This isn’t a story of defeat. It’s a story of awakening. A story of someone who refuses to settle. Who refuses to be reshaped to fit smaller containers. Maybe that’s what adulthood really is: not fitting in, but standing firm.

I’m still here. Still writing. Still loud. And finally, beginning to understand that maybe being too much just means I was meant for more.