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If you've been keeping up with my "balancing a 9-5 with dreams of being a famous writer struggle," you know that my past four years in non-profits have been tumultuous.

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The last thing I expected last Tuesday was to be leaving my office in a stretcher begging paramedics to help me make it home to my daughter, but thankfully I walked away from the situation with my life and a loud and clear lesson that balance is the best defense against work burnout.

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I used to think in order for my writing career to go anywhere, I had to literally go somewhere and get out of Philly.

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A few months ago, I had a breakthrough. After a promotion led to me having a completely different supervisor, what was once a five-year plan to transition out of the organization I was working at, turned into five-month plan. It's a scary point in my life that I haven't found myself at before: I'm not leaving a job because I want better pay or a higher position, I want to leave simply because I'm unhappy.

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This past summer, a Jewish couple moved in next door. The first few weeks, my husband and I would see them in passing as we carried groceries or our napping three-year-old into the house. They'd be sitting on their front porch watching their three young boys rough house on the lawn, each with a yarmulke securely fastened to his head.

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