When Service Breaks You: Why I Left Public Service After Two Decades
For nearly 20 years, I served in local government. I loved it deeply, not for the title or the paycheck (there wasn’t one big enough for the weight I carried), but because it was the closest thing to helping people. Real people. The ones who live next door, sit beside you at church, teach your children. That’s what local government is: it’s personal. It’s purpose-driven. And for a long time, it filled me.
But eventually, it also broke me.
This isn’t a story about politics. It’s not about burnout in the trendy, buzzword way. This is about the quiet unraveling that happens when people who genuinely care are asked to carry more than what’s humanly possible. It's about how hard it’s become to serve the public without being publicly attacked, undermined, or weaponized.
After COVID, everything shifted. What was once a tough but fulfilling job became a battlefield. The national rhetoric trickled down into local meetings. The trust we once had with our communities gave way to constant suspicion. Tools designed to provide transparency, like public records laws, were increasingly used as weapons. Civil discourse disappeared. And those of us in public service became collateral damage.
I never did this job for power. I did it for impact. I did it because I believed in solving problems that made people’s lives better. But I reached a point where it felt like I was fighting on all sides. Fighting elected officials with agendas. Fighting residents misled by misinformation. Fighting for underinvested communities that were often ignored. Fighting to be seen as a professional in a world that thought a quick Google search could replace two decades of experience.
And then one day, I just… couldn’t. My body gave out before my mind did. I was 40 years old with shingles. I’d sit on the edge of my bed in the morning and cry. Then I’d pull it together. heels on, face made up and walk into the room like I was fine. Because that’s what we’re taught to do.
For women of color in leadership, the pressure is even greater. Be twice as good. Be unshakable. Be silent about the stress. But silence is what keeps us sick.
Leaving was hard. It felt like something sacred was breaking in me. But staying would’ve broken me even more.
I miss public service. I miss being close to the work that matters. But I don’t miss sacrificing my peace, my health, and my family. And I know I’m not the only one who’s had to make that choice.
My departure wasn’t a bitter goodbye. It was a respectful bow out. I believe I’ll serve again, just differently. I still contribute through volunteering, mentorship, and advocacy. But for now, I’ve chosen a life that lets me be whole.
To anyone reading this who’s still in it: I see you. I honor you. And if you ever decide to walk away, know that you’re not giving up. You’re choosing to protect the parts of you that matter most.
Public service should not come at the cost of your sanity. And if it does, it’s okay to rewrite what service looks like.
—Nicole
Former Public Executive | Strategist | Advocate for Women Who Want More Than Just Titles
After two decades in C-suite roles in local government, I now help high-achieving women pivot from burnout to building lives and businesses that actually serve them.
I write about purpose, peace, reinvention, and what's possible when we stop performing and start living.
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