It Only Makes Sense Looking Back

The end of the year has a way of slowing everything down.

Work eases up. The noise quiets. You finally get enough space to think. And sometimes, that space brings clarity. Sometimes, it just brings feelings you’ve been too busy to notice.

Standing here, after the year we’ve had, I keep thinking about how easy it is to lose sight of the good when you’re deep in the hard parts.

This year was tough. My husband was deployed for seven months. We had three kids under four. And professionally, this was one of the most unforgiving markets I’ve ever worked in.

There were long stretches where everything felt relentlessly heavy.

A few weeks ago, while we were putting up our Christmas tree, I pulled out our personalized ornaments. The ones with the year stamped on them. The little snowman mom and dad. Then suddenly, more snowmen. And more. Until somehow, we’re a family of five.

It stopped me in a way I didn’t expect.

Looking at those ornaments, I could see how fast life had filled in. How much had changed. How much was actually good, even layered on top of a really hard season.

And it made me think about careers. And timing. And how rarely anything makes sense while you’re living it.

This time of year, I talk to a lot of people sitting in one of a few places:

Some are wondering if it’s finally time to leave their job. Some are debating whether they should stay and push through another year. Others are actively job searching and feeling completely discouraged because the market has slowed and nothing feels certain.

If that’s you, I want to zoom out for a minute. Because most careers don’t unfold in clean, confident steps, no matter how polished they look from the outside.

Mine definitely didn’t.

When I graduated college, I didn’t step into anything polished or impressive.

I went straight into 100 percent commission, door-to-door office supply sales.

On my fourth week, I was a top ten rep in the nation. I think I made about $300, working 10–11 hour days and paying for my own gas.

Which felt…not great.

At the time, it felt like a bad decision. But that job put my resume in front of someone. He passed it to his girlfriend, who happened to be a recruiter at a small management consulting firm that was hiring for a recent college grad.

That connection is how I landed at a great company in Plano that took a chance on me and introduced me to recruiting.

Looking back, it’s obvious how those dots connect. At the time, it felt random and uncomfortable.

I stayed there about a year and a half. Then I got restless.

I wanted something new. I wanted to move. I was open to almost anywhere. Tulsa made sense. Family was here. The plan was one to two years, MAX.

I moved to Tulsa to join a small, locally owned staffing company (covering my own relocation costs)...and six months later, I was laid off and unemployed.

New city. Tough market. Costs being cut. I hadn’t had enough time to prove my value. It was devastating and I was terrified.

But then….two weeks later, I started over at a major staffing company in an overstaffed team and a struggling market. Sink or swim.

The company that laid me off had just renovated their office. I had a photo of their new carpet saved on my desk. I looked at it every day.Not out of bitterness. Out of fuel. They thought replacing carpet mattered more than protecting my job.

I decided I would never forget that feeling.

I stayed at that company for two and a half years.

I learned how to recruit well. I learned how to build relationships. I learned how to hit numbers. And I learned exactly how I didn’t want to run a business. About a month in, I knew this role wasn’t going to be a long-term fit. But I also knew I had to be successful, no matter what.

Eventually, I was totally burned. That is what led to the motivation to start Rogue.

And here’s the part that blows my mind sometimes: If I had stayed at the company that laid me off, I think I would have been incredibly loyal and likely still been there.

But I wouldn’t have built this.

I needed that push, even though at the time it felt like a complete and utter failure.

Rogue launched in June 2018.

What none of us anticipated were the back-to-back pregnancies. Or how difficult they would be. Or how much flexibility I would need physically, mentally, and emotionally.

That flexibility is something I never could have had in a traditional corporate role.

Rogue hasn’t looked exactly like what we imagined when we started. There have been painful lessons. Hard years. Long stretches of uncertainty.

But because of it, I’ve been able to support our family. Navigate deployments. Be present for my kids. Build something that fits the life I’m actually living.

The expectations were different than reality.

Different doesn’t mean necessarily wrong.

Instead of asking, “Should I leave?” or “Should I stay?” try sitting with these questions instead:

You don’t need clean answers.

You just need honest ones.

Some years are about momentum. Some years are about survival. Some years are about planting seeds you won’t see pay off for a while.

This year, for me, was about perspective.

Not because it was easy. But because looking back, I can finally see how much of it mattered.

If you’re in a season that feels confusing, stalled, or heavy, that doesn’t mean you’re behind. It might just mean you’re in the middle of your story.

And the middle rarely makes sense until you get a little distance.

See you next Monday,
Robin

#GoRogue

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