Original Poetry • Leslie Berg • 2026
A reflection on ambition, workplace inequality, the invisible responsibilities women carry, and the moment when choosing to stop becomes an act of reclaiming one's life.
The taillights stretch out like a glowing, red ledger,
counting the hours traded away for a promise.
My thumb taps a frantic, nervous rhythm on the steering wheel,
mimicking the pulse of an inbox
I don't actually need to open until tomorrow.
There is no late meeting tonight, no urgent deadline hanging like a blade,
yet my chest tightens at this standstill—
furious at the bottleneck,
furious at the minutes leaking out of the day.
We are all trapped in this collective crawl,
conditioned to treat every pause like a failure.
I look at the men in the lanes beside me,
gripping their wheels, staring straight through their windshields.
They are racing to get home, or perhaps away from it,
but their absence is rarely tallied as a personal failure of devotion.
They are allowed to just be tired.
They are allowed to step away from the desk and remain "leaders."
But for me, this idling engine is a countdown timer,
the heavy, exhausting gravity of the mid-career climb.
At the office, my composure must be absolute;
if a man slams his hand on the desk, he is "passionate,"
but if my voice sharpens with the same bone-deep fatigue, I am "emotional."
I am "difficult."
So I learned to keep my head down, to out-work every room,
cleaning up the messy margins of projects others abandoned,
wearing my loyalty like a heavy, invisible badge.
Ten years of being the reliable one,
only to watch the effortless promotions cruise into the fast lane
while my dedication is cataloged as a baseline—expected, but never rewarded.
And while I was busy keeping their corporate gears turning,
terrified that taking a breath would look like a lack of ambition,
the second shift was already waiting in the passenger seat.
The domestic mental load didn't pause because I was stuck on the interstate.
Between the blinks of the hazard lights, my mind is a frantic checklist:
the grocery delivery text, the soccer carpool schedule,
the missing permission slips, the pharmacy hours.
A man can leave his work at the office; I am forced to carry both worlds in a
single car.
Because of it, the real world shifted on its axis.
Dinners went cold on the stove.
I missed the casual, quiet magic of a Tuesday evening,
trading those irreplaceable fragments for the vague promise of a future
that always stays two exits away.
They have learned to move on without me, to fill the spaces I vacated,
leaving me a ghost who arrives just in time to feel the sting of guilt.
There is no actual rush to get to a kitchen where my absence is already normal,
to a place where I am already failing a life I am completely missing.
The exhaust fumes rise around me, a suffocating fog,
and suddenly, the absurdity of the race breaks through the glare.
Why am I breaking my knuckles against this steering wheel?
Why am I letting my chest hollow out for a boardroom that views my sacrifice as
data?
I look at the red wall of brake lights ahead—
the rigid, unmoving lanes telling me exactly where I am supposed to line up.
I loosen my grip on the leather.
I let my shoulders drop.
I am done sprinting on a treadmill built to keep me in place.
Let the emails pile up like the cars on the asphalt.
Let them call me what they want when I refuse to carry the extra weight.
The traffic will move when it moves, and so will I—
but no longer on their clock,
and no longer for their prize.
I put the car in park, breathe in the stillness, and finally decide to just sit still.
— Leslie Berg
The Gridlock of Devotion is an original poem by Leslie Berg, published on the Create Joy Studios website as part of her poetry and writing collection.
Using a traffic jam as both its setting and central metaphor, the poem examines the pressures of professional ambition, unequal expectations, and the emotional cost of continually placing productivity ahead of personal well-being.
About the Poem
The Gridlock of Devotion explores the competing expectations placed upon women navigating professional careers and family life. Through the image of a stalled commute, the poem connects the frustration of physical gridlock with the feeling of being unable to move forward despite years of dedication and sacrifice.
The poem considers the double standards that can shape workplace experiences, where the same behavior may be interpreted differently depending on gender. It also examines the invisible labor of managing a household and family, responsibilities that continue even after the professional workday ends.
As the speaker reflects on the ordinary moments lost to an endless pursuit of achievement, the poem shifts from frustration toward a recognition of personal agency. The decision to stop striving for someone else's approval becomes a quiet but meaningful act of resistance.
Its closing image transforms stillness from a source of anxiety into a deliberate choice, suggesting that stepping away from relentless expectations can be its own form of progress.