Mid-January, 2026.

I quit the part-time job I had held for nearly three years — the job I had told myself would be my last.

I had given it everything I had. One hundred and twenty percent. And then my supervisor said this to me:

"What on earth have you been doing all day? You only ever do what you're already comfortable with."

My mind went blank. Thirty minutes later, I handed in my resignation.

Life after leaving

After leaving, I felt — unexpectedly — free. The relief of finally escaping the stress and pressure that had been building since my department transfer was enormous.

But as the days passed, those words settled into me like a weight. My confidence collapsed completely, and I found myself wondering: what do I do now?

Fortunately, my husband had recently been promoted, and our eldest son — now working — was contributing to household expenses. Both of them had been saying for a while: "You don't have to push yourself so hard anymore."

I was also eligible for unemployment benefits. So I decided to take some time — to slowly sort through our home, which had fallen into chaos over twenty-plus years of juggling childcare and part-time work — and look for my next job without rushing.

What I discovered at the doctor's

And I thought: while I have this time, I should finally go to the doctor.

For years, I simply hadn't been able to. Managing the daily needs of five adults, caring for my mother who lives with us, and working three full days a week — it was a lot for a body in its fifties. My days off were for recovering. Doctor visits didn't make the list. A strange growth on my foot had been there for over a year, and I'd been ignoring it.

The diagnosis: a viral wart caused by HPV. I had assumed it was just a callus. Instead, I was told treatment would take six months. Weekly visits. Eight to ten thousand yen a month. For six months.

That was more than two weeks' worth of wages from my near-minimum-wage job — gone.

I had traded my time, my energy, my sense of self. I had poured everything into work, let my health slip, been worn down by a difficult workplace — and then watched the small amount I'd saved quietly disappear into medical bills. I had always been grateful to the companies that employed me. But in that moment, a quiet, hollow sadness washed over me.

My decision

I don't want to work for someone else anymore.

I decided to stop blaming myself. To stop telling myself I was incompetent, that I couldn't do anything right. Even if that were true — I am the only me there is. And if I won't love myself, who will?

I made a decision: I would do everything I could to live a life that made me happy. This one life.

I don't know if someone like me — in her mid-fifties, with no impressive qualifications and no special skills — can really make it work.
But I've decided to try. To build a life where I work from home, on my own terms.