- Kelly Benthall saw work culture improve over her 30-year career, but the damage had already been done.
- Last year, she decided to retire early in order to improve her mental, physical, and emotional health.
- At her first post-retirement checkup, her doctor noted improvement.
My plan had always been to retire at 65 — grind it out, climb the ladder, and finally enjoy the freedom. But plans change, especially when your body starts flashing warnings you can't ignore.
Last year, at 53, I retired early with my husband — not because we had meticulously planned every detail, but because the cost of staying in the rat race — mentally, physically, and emotionally — had become too high. Work had always been a source of pride, but it was also a source of stress and, at times, serious health consequences.
For more than 30 years, I helped companies ranging from startups to giants such as Shell and Chevron navigate strategic change. I had spent those decades taking on more responsibility than was reasonable, absorbing the pressure, and expecting little in return. Over time, I internalized stress as a normal part of success — until my body forced me to stop.
The corporate fast lane and its toll
The workplace has changed a lot since the '90s and early 2000s, particularly in male-dominated industries like oil and gas. Back then, I was a minority as a woman, and those who made it to the top endured relentless pressure. Some became champions for equality. Others expected fellow women to tough it out, believing suffering was a rite of passage.
Some female leaders respected my work, but others saw it as a threat.
During an orientation at one of my first jobs, I mentioned my experience in speechwriting to a CEO. He asked me to write his sales conference talks, but my female boss told him I wasn't interested and offered to do it herself. I later reached back out to the CEO to clarify, and we ended up partnering for years.
And then there were #MeToo moments I can't believe I tolerated. One boss thought it was appropriate to share his appreciation for Playboy centerfolds during meetings.
The culture shifted over time as companies implemented stronger policies and accountability measures. By the time I reached my final years in corporate life, the culture had improved. But the damage had already been done.
Years of working in high-alert mode left me conditioned to expect the worst, even in safer environments.
The moment my body fought back
Despite disappointments, I kept my foot on the gas. I worked harder than ever, sometimes logging 90-hour weeks, believing that if I just worked smart enough and fast enough, I could outpace the stress.
I was wrong.
One day, I collapsed at work. My blood pressure spiked to 220/180, and I ended up in an ambulance. The EMTs gave me nitroglycerin, but nothing happened. I heard one of them say, "Uh-oh," before telling the driver to move faster.
That should have been my wake-up call. Instead, I doubled down — cycling through medications in a desperate attempt to keep going.
It wasn't sustainable.
A change coach who couldn't change
I had spent my career coaching others to accept change.
The advice I'd given countless others seemed easy when it was someone else's problem. "Do as I say, not as I do," I thought. Yet, as I struggled with burnout and my health deteriorated, I realized I wasn't taking my own lessons to heart. I had built a career around helping people, but I had been afraid to make the same leap myself.
It wasn't until I spoke with a coach — a free consultation, something I almost canceled because I "didn't have time" — that I saw my life from a different perspective.
She asked me one simple question: "When was the last time you did something that scared you?"
The question caught me off guard. I had spent so many years operating in a world of controlled risks, where I calculated every move and mitigated every possible failure. But fear? The kind that comes from stepping into the unknown, from daring to disrupt the status quo? It had been a long time since I'd felt that.
That moment unlocked something in me. I remembered who I was — someone who took chances. I had once thrived on new challenges, stepping into high-stakes projects where failure wasn't an option and leading teams through uncertainty. Yet, I had spent years trapped in a cycle of stress and obligation, mistaking endurance for achievement.
"Sometimes you have to break down to break through," the voice in my head whispered. That was the moment I decided to retire.
Retirement cured me
When I finally stepped away from my career, I didn't fully grasp the toll it had taken on my body. But retirement didn't just heal me — it gave me a new way of living. My husband and I embraced slow travel, trading deadlines and commutes for long walks in new cities, quiet mornings with coffee, and the freedom to explore at our own pace.
It wasn't until my first post-retirement checkup that I saw the difference. My blood pressure had dropped, and my stress markers were lower.
My doctor looked at my stats, then back at me, and said: "Your job was trying to kill you."
Escaping the hustle trap
Retirement didn't just save my health. It felt like finally pulling off the highway, realizing I'd been speeding toward a crash. It rewired my brain. What I had once called "drive" was really just a never-ending sprint toward exhaustion.
While work environments have improved in some ways, the effects of years spent enduring stress don't just disappear overnight. People like me, who became accustomed to overwork and constant pressure, struggle to recognize what a healthy pace actually looks like.
If you feel trapped in a high-stress career, ask yourself: When was the last time you did something that scared you? What are you really working for? At what point will you have enough? How long can your body sustain this stress? And most importantly, what's stopping you from making a change?
I wish I had asked myself these questions sooner. But the good news is that not everyone has to wait until their body forces them to stop.
Do you have a story to share about retirement? Contact the editor at [email protected].
