I was frustrated that day. It had been a hard week of meetings, tight deadlines, and a few layoffs. Firing colleagues was the most unpleasant part of my job as a senior-level manager.

No amount of flowery language like “downsizing” and “budget cuts” made it any easier. It nearly killed me to look into the pleading eyes and see the devastation on the faces of people being told they were getting their walking papers.

Only a year earlier, I was working hard to get a promotion. Now that I had settled into my new role, I was having major difficulty adjusting. All week, I had been venting to my husband about the stress of office politics and feeling really burnt out. So I decided to come home that afternoon and enjoy lunch with him. He was off for a week on vacation, so it would be perfect, I thought.

When I walked in, dropped my work bag, and headed to the kitchen, I immediately noticed it looked like a train wreck. Eggs were dropped on the floor. Orange juice was left on the counter top with the cap off. Every cupboard door was open.

Being the neat freak I am, this was majorly upsetting. It looked like a food bandit had come through and tried to rob our house! When I walked into the den, there he was sitting on the sofa asleep. Judge Judy was on. He had his feet kicked up on the coffee table with his dirty plate and half-drunk glass of orange juice sitting there.