I spent more than a decade building a career that demanded everything from me—everything except permission. And when a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity exposed the deepest fracture in my marriage, I realized that the hardest diagnosis I would ever have to make wasn’t in a hospital—it was about the man I loved.
My name is Teresa. I’m 34 years old, and I’ve finally come to terms with a painful truth: my ambition frightened my husband far more than failure ever frightened me.