The Great Resignation is a Beautiful Thing

It’s a beautiful Sunday morning, and I’m trying on wigs. Yes — wigs, and I love them. They represent the freedom I now feel at this stage of my life.

There was a time when I would never admit to wearing a wig. I felt ashamed that I had to, thanks to that dreaded menopause. And in moments of anger, my ex-husband would taunt me about wearing them. Thank God that part of my life is over. I am now rediscovering and exploring the many facets of my life that I thought I had lost. Creativity. Happiness. Bliss. And most importantly, freedom.

I come from a family where women worked out of necessity. My grandmother’s grandmother worked in fields and delivered babies in dim-lit, cramped shacks inhabited by enslaved people. Her daughters worked in restaurants as cooks and bore children of their employers, which was not part of their job description. My beloved mother sustained burns on her arms, pressing clothes in hot, sweltering cleaners because my Jamaican dad was an unsuccessful serial entrepreneur.

Following my ancestors’ work ethic, I often worked two and three jobs after leaving an abusive “safe job” and ventured out on my own.

Working for myself was fulfilling but also brutal. During certain times of the year, I juggled working for three clients simultaneously with fierce deadlines. They would often…