When I got married, I pressed pause on my career. It wasn’t an easy decision. I’m Indonesian, my husband is Mexican, and with oceans and cultures between us, we knew that to build a life together, someone would have to move. After long talks it was decided I would start over in Mexico.

My husband worried about the choice. He’d seen how much I loved my work as a process engineer and didn’t want me to give that up for him. I told him, half jokingly, “I’m smart enough—I’ll figure it out.” And deep down, I believed that.

But knowing something and living it are two different things.

Starting Over Means Learning Everything Again—Including the Language

The first step was obvious: I had to learn Spanish. Not just for job interviews, but for life.

I remember my first trips to the mercado—a whirl of colors, smells, and sounds. I’d point at things and say “¿Cuánto cuesta?” with my best guess at pronunciation, then fumble to understand the answer. One time, I asked a vendor for some extra chicken bones to make broth, and he generously gave me enough to feed five families. So I returned the favor by bringing him a bowl of my homemade soup—a small taste of my country.

Every small interaction became an extra lesson: ordering tacos at the street stand, chatting with the señoras who sold fresh tortillas, asking for help at the supermarket. Bit by bit, I picked it up.

Still, even after getting comfortable with the language, job applications didn’t go anywhere. I sent resumes to companies I’d admired from afar. No responses. I started to wonder: was this pause going to be longer than I thought?

A Pandemic, a Baby, and a Breaking Point

Then, everything changed. I found out I was pregnant—and shortly after, the pandemic locked everything down.

Most of my pregnancy was spent inside, far from family, learning to be a mother in a country still new to me. I gave birth during a time when no one could visit, and help was limited. I was exhausted. Anxious. Alone.

One day, after yet another sleepless night, I told my husband something that startled even me: “I think I regret having a baby.” It wasn’t true—but it was how heavy everything felt. That’s when he stepped in.

He encouraged me to take time for myself, even if just for a massage. He called someone we trusted—a warm-hearted señora who felt like family—to help with the baby while I got a break. It was a small thing, but it cracked open a bit of light in a very dark room.

A Door Reopens

Almost like fate, a former colleague reached out not long after. There was a project in Mexico, and they needed help. My husband encouraged me gently: “You should say yes. You need that distraction.”

So, I went back to work when my daughter was just two months old. It wasn’t easy. But it reminded me of who I was beyond motherhood—and how good it felt to use my brain again.

Finding My Limits—And Listening to Them

For almost two years, I worked again in my field. I visited factories, ran processes, solved problems. But then I was asked to visit a site where a recent gunshot had occurred. No one seemed concerned. It was treated as just another job site.

I couldn’t ignore it. I kept thinking—how could I raise my daughter in a place where danger is treated as normal? I’ve always believed that we shouldn’t lower our safety standards just to blend in.

That moment, and other personal factors, made the decision clear: it was time to leave.

We moved to Indonesia, and I transferred my job there. From the outside, things seemed stable. But inside, we were burned out. My daughter got sick often—too often. Hospitals became routine, and I could see she wasn’t thriving.

I tried to fix it. I went to consultation, adjusted schedules, took small breaks. But the real solution was one I didn’t want to face: I had to stop again.

A New Beginning in Spain—and a Shift in Focus

Just as I stepped back, my husband got a job offer in Spain. Another country, another change—but this time, I did things differently.

I focused on our mental health first. I made space for slow mornings, family walks, laughter. I made myself the anchor, the steady ground my family could rely on.

And slowly, it worked.

Six months in, I felt a new kind of peace. The kind that doesn’t come from having it all together, but from knowing what really matters. Only then did I restart my career—this time, in a more flexible, balanced way.

What I’ve Learned Along the Way

This journey—across countries, careers, and seasons of motherhood—taught me a few things I wish I’d known earlier:

1. Learning a language means making mistakes—loudly and often.
It’s okay to sound silly. The goal isn’t perfection. It’s connection. Practice in the places where real life happens: markets, parks, neighbor chats.

2. Career breaks are not dead ends.
Use that time to learn something new, care for yourself, or just rest. It’s all part of your growth.

3. You’re allowed to change paths.
What made sense five years ago might not anymore. That’s not failure—it’s evolution.

4. Mental health matters more than momentum.
Sometimes, moving forward means stepping back to breathe.

5. Don’t carry it all. Share the load.
Let your partner support you. Ask for help. Accept help. You’re not supposed to do this alone.

From Pressure to Purpose

I used to picture myself five years into the future: still in safety boots, carrying a heavy laptop, working long hours at sites. And sure, maybe my daughter would be older and more independent by then—but I’d be older too. Would I still have the strength to stretch myself that far?

Probably not. And more importantly, I didn’t want to.

Instead, I chose a different path—one that lets me use what I know, while being present for the people I love. A path that honors both my ambition and my role as a mother.

No, it doesn’t look like the original plan. But it feels right. And it feels like success.

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If you’re in the middle of a big life transition—moving countries, shifting careers, becoming a parent—I hope this reminds you: You don’t have to have it all figured out at once. You’re allowed to pause. To pivot. To begin again.

Because sometimes, starting over is exactly how we find our way forward.