The world might respond in ways that surprise you.

This past week, I was sitting on a work call with my boss, getting my midyear review. It was, I’m proud to say, nothing short of glowing.

“I can see how much more focused you are,” he said. He looked happy, proud even. “It feels like you’re really leaning into the work. We’ve all noticed. Keep it up.”

I’ll be honest with you: his praise was well-placed. I’ve absolutely crushed it this year. I’ve delivered on ambitious projects, informed major product shot calls, built better relationships — all with staggering resource constraints. I’ve always been a good employee, but this year? Something was different, for sure.

What was different, you might ask?

To explain, let me zoom back about 8 months:

Last year, my partner and I took a two week trip to Japan. After 10 days galivanting around Tokyo, we ended our trip in the quieter city of Kyoto. Our hotel was the kind of place where the staff greeted you by name when you walked inside. Our bathroom had a massive spa-style tub and heated floors. It was divine.

Our second night there, I sat in that bathtub, cooking myself in the hot water. The room smelled of essential oils. The lights were dim. And I was sobbing.

Not crying. Not gently sniffling. Sobbing.

I didn’t want to go home. In just a few short days, I’d be leaving this place, and the thought of it filled me with genuine dread.

It wasn’t just that I liked Japan. There were endless reasons to love it — the food, the sights, the ability to practice Japanese every day. But there was something about being there that just felt right. I liked who I was there. I loved who I was there. I felt like Japan-Lea was a better version of Lea — one with clearer thoughts, more positive emotions, and behaviors better aligned with their values. Japan-Lea had their priorities straight.

Sitting in that bathtub, I knew that going home meant going back to a version of myself that I liked less. And that thought terrified me. It felt like I was scuba diving, and someone was trying to yank out my regulator. I was scared.

What followed were several weeks of deep work, of reassessing my priorities and reflecting on my life. That in itself was a veritable saga. I talk more about this in the book I’m writing, but in short: I realized I cared way, way too much about work. I cared so much, it hurt. I cared so much, I wasn’t allowing myself to be truly nourished by the thousand other joys in my life.

And so, a couple months later — this past January — I committed to caring less. To spending less time at work. To focusing less on career ascension and “proving myself”. And with all that time and energy I saved, I’d sit in coffeeshops, like this one. I’d write my book. I’d launch my website. I’d invest in everything I was beyond my job.

And the result? It sounds unintuitive, but caring less about work actually helped me to be a better employee. Being more fulfilled, more well-rounded, and less anxious made me better at work, not worse. I lost my manic productivity, but gained my focus. I stopped showing up like a problem to solve, and instead became a source of grounded reliability for our team.

Turns out, doing all that extra work to “prove my capabilities” wasn’t actually what anyone wanted from me. And more importantly, it wasn’t what I really wanted from myself, either.

We’re all on our own journeys. I’m not here to tell you how to live your life. But if you’re looking for permission, here it is:

Stop trying to prove your worth. Care less. Better yet: care differently. The world might respond in ways that surprise you.