I spent 10 years climbing the corporate ladder—here are 8 things I wish I'd known at 25

There's a particular kind of confidence that comes with a corner office and a six-figure salary. I had both by my early thirties, working as a financial analyst at an investment firm where 70-hour weeks were the norm and "work-life balance" was something people joked about in the breakroom.

Looking back now, five years after walking away from that world, I can see how much I didn't understand. Not about spreadsheets or market trends, those I had down cold. But about myself, about what actually matters, about the invisible costs of chasing a certain kind of success.

If I could sit down with my 25-year-old self, briefcase in hand and ready to conquer the world, here's what I'd want her to know.

1) Being good at your job and being valued for it are two different things

I outperformed my male colleagues. Twice. Both times, the promotion went to someone else.

The first time, I told myself it was a fluke. The second time, I couldn't ignore the pattern anymore. I'd been operating under this belief that excellence was enough, that if I just worked harder and produced better results, recognition would follow naturally.

But here's what nobody tells you at 25: competence is the baseline, not the differentiator. The people who advance aren't always the most skilled. They're the ones who understand that visibility, relationships, and advocacy matter just as much as performance.

I wish I'd spent less time perfecting my reports and more time learning to speak up about my contributions. Humility is overrated when you're trying to build a career in a system that doesn't automatically notice your work.

2) Your body will send you warning signals long before your mind admits something's wrong

At 28, I took up trail running to deal with work stress. It was supposed to be my outlet, my escape.

By 36, I was waking up with tension headaches three days a week. My jaw was perpetually clenched. I couldn't remember the last time I'd slept through the night without my mind racing through tomorrow's presentations.

Your body keeps score in ways your brain tries to rationalize away. That persistent knot in your shoulders? That's not just "part of the job." The anxiety that spikes every Sunday evening? That's information, not something to push through.

I spent years treating my body like a machine that just needed better maintenance. More exercise, better vitamins, stricter sleep schedules. What I actually needed was to listen to what all those symptoms were telling me: this isn't sustainable.

3) The identity you build around your career is more fragile than you think

When people asked what I did, I'd say "financial analyst" with a certain pride. It was more than a job title. It was proof that I was smart, successful, valuable.

Then I left. And suddenly, I didn't know how to answer that question anymore.

For months, I struggled with this disorienting sense of, who am I if I'm not that person? I'd wrapped so much of my self-worth in professional achievement that removing it felt like losing myself entirely.

If I could tell my younger self anything, it would be this: you are not your job title. Build an identity that exists outside your career, one that's rooted in your values, your relationships, your interests. Because the job won't always be there, or you won't always want it to be, and you'll need to know who you are when it's gone.

4) Money solves some problems but creates others you don't see coming

Making good money felt like winning. I could afford nice things, travel, financial security. My student loans were paid off by 35, which felt like a massive accomplishment.

But money became something else too. It became a cage I'd built myself, a reason to stay in a job that was making me miserable. Every time I thought about leaving, I'd look at my salary and think, "How could I walk away from this?"

Financial security isn't just about having enough. It's also about understanding what you're trading for it. I traded almost two decades of my life, countless evenings and weekends, relationships I didn't nurture, and a version of myself that might have emerged earlier.

I'm not saying money doesn't matter. It absolutely does. But I wish I'd understood sooner that golden handcuffs are still handcuffs.

5) The people who seem to have it all figured out are often just better at hiding their struggles

My boss was this intimidating woman who ran our department with precision. She never seemed stressed, never faltered, never showed weakness. I spent years trying to be like her.

Years later, I learned she was on medication and sleeping four hours a night. She was drowning, just doing it quietly.

Corporate culture rewards people who can perform strength and certainty, even when it's a performance. Everyone's struggling with something, they're just not allowed to show it.

Stop measuring yourself against people's carefully curated professional personas. You're comparing your messy reality to their polished exterior, and that's a game you'll never win.

6) Burnout doesn't announce itself, it accumulates

I thought burnout would be obvious. I imagined some dramatic breaking point where I'd just collapse.

Instead, it was gradual. First, I stopped enjoying things I used to love. Then I started feeling irritable all the time. My productivity dipped. Simple tasks felt overwhelming. I'd sit at my desk and feel this crushing exhaustion that had nothing to do with how much sleep I'd gotten.

By the time I recognized it for what it was, I was so deep in that full recovery took months.

Watch for the subtle signs. When you stop feeling things, when everything feels gray and effortful, when you can't remember the last time you felt genuinely excited about anything, those are red flags.

Don't wait for the dramatic collapse. By then, you've already lost so much.

7) Success looks different from the inside than it does from the outside

From the outside, I had it all. Great job, impressive title, solid income. People would tell me how lucky I was, how proud my parents must be.

From the inside, I was deeply unhappy. I'd wake up dreading the day. I couldn't remember why I'd wanted this in the first place.

The gap between external success and internal satisfaction is something nobody prepares you for. You can check all the boxes society says matter and still feel empty.

I wish I'd questioned earlier what success actually meant to me, rather than accepting the definition I'd inherited from family expectations and cultural messaging. Just because something looks good on paper doesn't mean it's right for you.

8) Leaving is always scarier than staying, even when staying is killing you

I thought about quitting for three years before I actually did it.

The fear was enormous. What if I couldn't make it as a writer? What if I was throwing away everything I'd built? What if I regretted it?

But here's what I learned: the fear of change is almost always bigger than the reality of it. Yes, the first two years after leaving were financially tight and professionally uncertain. Yes, I struggled with my new identity and doubted myself constantly.

But I never once wished I was back in that office.

The hardest part of change isn't the change itself. It's tolerating the uncertainty before you know how things will turn out. Your 25-year-old self can't see the future, so staying put feels safer even when it's slowly destroying you.

Final thoughts

Would my younger self have listened to any of this? Probably not. She was determined to prove herself, to succeed on the terms she'd been given, to make it all worth it.

And maybe that's okay. Maybe some lessons can only be learned by living them.

But if you're reading this and something resonates, if you're feeling that whisper of doubt about the path you're on, pay attention to it. That voice gets quieter the longer you ignore it, but it doesn't go away.

You don't have to spend a decade climbing a ladder only to realize it's leaning against the wrong wall. You're allowed to change direction. You're allowed to redefine success. You're allowed to build a life that feels good from the inside, not just one that looks good from the outside.

Your 25-year-old self is doing the best they can with what they know. But you don't have to wait until 37 to start asking the questions that matter.