The Day I Walked Out of a Meeting (and Why You Can Too)

Years ago, when my kids were little, I had a corporate job that required me to go into the office once a week. It was a Silicon Valley biotech company, which meant a sea of business-casual dudes—engineers, scientists, and the kind of people who would rather make eye contact with their coffee mug than with an actual human.

Every time I went in, I’d make it my mission to disrupt their antisocial tendencies. If I passed someone in the hallway, I’d say hi—just to see if they’d panic and say something back. (Most of the time, they didn’t.)

But back to the story.

My mornings back then were chaos. I was up at 5 a.m. after four or five hours of sleep, wrestling my two kids into clothes, making sure no one forgot a lunch, and then sitting in traffic on I-80 from Berkeley to Silicon Valley, which was basically a test of patience and bladder control after the 12 coffees I already slammed. By the time I got to the office, I had already lived an entire day.

Oh, and in addition to my tech job, I was running a fitness business. taught boot camp style classes, lifted heavy, and was studying for my personal training certification. My schedule was so packed that on my commute home, I’d have to pull into a mall parking lot just to nap in my car so I wouldn’t fall asleep at the wheel.

So, on this particular day, I’m sitting in a meeting about meetings. You know the kind—where people discuss how to discuss things more efficiently, except the meeting itself is the least efficient thing imaginable.

Ninety minutes in, I was starving. Not like, ooh, I could go for a snack hungry. I mean lightheaded, brain shutting down, body screaming at me for protein kind of hungry.

And yet, the unspoken rule in these settings is you don’t leave before the meeting is over. You stay. You endure. You pretend your body doesn’t have basic needs because that’s what’s expected.

But on this day? I was done playing that game.

So I stood up and said: “OK, I have to go get lunch now.”

And I walked out.

No dramatic exit, no mic drop. Just me choosing to take care of myself and get something (like a harvest bowl) instead of waiting for permission.

Later that day, my boss said to me, “Maybe when your kids are older, you’ll be able to put in more hours.”

…As if my lack of commitment was the problem, not the fact that I was running on fumes and still doing two jobs while raising two humans.

Looking back, that moment wasn’t just about food. It was about recognizing that corporate culture doesn’t prioritize health—and if you don’t do it yourself, no one’s going to do it for you.

If I’ve learned anything from decades in the fitness world, it’s this:

You either put in the time now, or you’ll be forced to put it in later.

Burnout, chronic pain, exhaustion—they all collect interest. Your body will always send the bill.

So if you’re feeling guilty about stepping away from your desk, taking a break, or prioritizing your well-being, let this be your permission slip: Do it anyway.

Because no one ever looks back and thinks, “I really regret taking care of myself.”