'I put on a beautiful white suit, blasted Elton John ... and pretended my heart was not completely breaking'

At 28 years old in 2001, I was making nearly $150,000 a year at the global shipping technology company Pitney Bowes. I was ambitious, independent and thriving professionally long before women openly talked about balancing career success and motherhood. But days after the Sept. 11 attacks, something inside me shifted forever.

Like every New Yorker, I was emotionally shaken. The world suddenly felt fragile and unpredictable. My daughter was just 3 months old, and I remember driving over the Throgs Neck Bridge realizing I could no longer see myself leaving her to chase a paycheck, no matter how successful I was.

So while driving, I called my husband and told him I had just quit my job. I truly thought he was going to panic. Instead, without even flinching, he calmly said, “Do whatever you need to do, baby. I got you.”

I stayed home to raise my daughter and never regretted walking away from the money or the title. Those years became some of the happiest and most meaningful of my life, even if I went from eating filet mignon to peanut butter and jelly.

Years later though, something started pulling me back toward work again.

I saw the brand-new Allegria Hotel being built directly on the ocean in my hometown, and I became obsessed with the idea of working there — the energy of it, the beauty of it, and the excitement of building something from the ground up.

The funny part was I had absolutely no hotel industry experience whatsoever. But I knew one thing with certainty: Nobody would outwork me. My drive, creativity, determination and ability to connect with people would outweigh anything missing from my resume.

Then life blindsided me.

The day before my interview, my husband was diagnosed with cancer.

I can still remember gripping the steering wheel trying to process how life could feel so hopeful and devastating at the exact same time. One moment I was unstoppable, and the next I was terrified for our future.

That night, I said something to him that still hurts me to this day. “You cannot tell anyone except our family that you have cancer. No one will hire a woman with two little kids and a husband with cancer.”

I can hardly believe those words came out of my mouth. But at 38 years old, I understood the harsh reality many working mothers quietly face. Employers often do not want to hear about personal problems. They want confidence, positivity and reliability. Right or wrong, I was terrified people would see my liability before they ever saw my potential.

I remember calling my mother crying, “Why is this happening to me? I’m only 38 years old.” And I will never forget what she said to me.

“Why not you? What makes you better than anyone else? Who promised you a rose garden?”

At first, her words shocked me. But they also snapped me out of fear, self-pity and taught me one of the greatest lessons of my life: Hardship is part of being human. No one gets through life untouched. Strength is built during the weakest moments.

So the next morning, I put on a beautiful white suit, blasted Elton John’s “The Bitch Is Back” to drown out my fear, walked into that interview, and pretended my heart was not completely breaking. I got the job.

I worked at the hotel for six years, and today my husband has been cancer-free for 15 years. That experience taught me more about resilience than any professional achievement ever could.

My advice to other mothers is simple. The hardest moments in life often lead us to something greater than we ever imagined. Women are built to rise — and some of our greatest strength is born in the moments that try to break us.

Ingrid Dodd is a media, marketing and communications strategist and host/producer of the “Rebranding Menopause” podcast.