Not Every Cage Has Bars
What a painting in a Swiss museum taught me about corporate conditioning
While I work on some exciting enhancements to the You Don’t Have to Stay newsletter, I thought I’d share an excerpt from the book that started it all.
I recently found myself thinking about a painting I saw in Lugano, Switzerland called Voluntary Prisoner. It depicted a line of businessmen quietly waiting their turn to step into the darkness. The image stopped me in my tracks because it woke me up to the reality I’d been living.
The excerpt below comes from chapter 1: “The Story We’re Told.”
I hope you enjoy this preview.
“It’s easier to fool people than to convince them that they have been fooled.”
—Mark Twain
When I made the choice to return to corporate after the pandemic, I didn’t realize that in choosing stability, I’d given up something far more valuable: my sense of purpose. I went from feeling proud of the business I built—helping families and couples create meaningful memories—to days filled with meetings, emails, and tasks that didn’t inspire me.
I began to dread going back to work every Sunday. I no longer felt excited about my work—I was just going through the motions. The sense of creativity I once had as a business owner was gone.
I tried to ignore the discomfort I felt. I told myself that work wasn’t meant to be fulfilling—that it was simply a means to an end. I even created a timeline to endure it: just a few more years, then I could walk away comfortably.
So, I pushed through. But deep down, I knew I was lying to myself. And soon enough, I would be forced to face that truth head-on.
The Lie We’re Sold
From the time we’re young, most of us are handed the same script: get good grades, find a stable job, work hard, stay loyal, climb the ladder. If you follow that formula, you’re told you’ll be safe, successful, and firmly on the “right” path. It’s a story passed down through families, reinforced in schools, praised by society, and rewarded with approving nods every time you announce a promotion.
We grow up believing that security comes from a steady paycheck, that respect comes from a job title, and that responsibility means staying in a role even when it’s draining the life out of us. No one ever mentions that this script was written during a completely different era—a time when the corporate world operated by an entirely different set of rules. Back then, a single salary could support a whole household. People bought homes, raised families, took vacations, and retired comfortably on one income. Companies offered pensions you could count on, raises tied to loyalty, and job stability that truly meant stability. In return, employees stayed for decades, knowing their employer would take care of them as long as they took care of the work.
That system no longer exists—not in any recognizable form. The pensions are gone. The idea of staying thirty years for a gold watch is a relic. Salaries haven’t kept up with the cost of living. Loyalty is rarely rewarded, and job security can disappear overnight, no matter how hard you work or how much you care. Yet somehow, the conditioning remains. We’re still handed the old script even though the world that created it has vanished.
But we absorb the message anyway: if you have a corporate job, you’re doing life “right.” If you walk away from it, you’re being reckless, ungrateful, or irresponsible. And because we’re human—wired for belonging and approval—we internalize these expectations more deeply than we realize. We learn to chase external validation. We convince ourselves that discomfort is normal and that burnout is simply what adulthood feels like.
Seeing the Truth
I didn’t fully understand how deep this conditioning ran until a moment on my European vacation stopped me cold. I was wandering through an art museum in Lugano, Switzerland, when I turned a corner and found myself staring at a painting that hit me like a slap in the face.
In it, a long line of identical businessmen stood shoulder to shoulder, each one waiting for his turn to receive a pair of handcuffs. Not forced, not resisting—just standing in line, polite and orderly, as if this were the most natural thing in the world. Their suits were crisp, their expressions neutral. They looked like the kind of men who checked all the boxes: steady job, respectable title, reliable paycheck.
And yet they were lining up for their own captivity.
I stood there staring at it, unable to move. The symbolism was painfully clear: not every cage has bars. Some come with health insurance and a 401(k). Some come with praise for being “stable” or “responsible.” Some come with the pride of being the reliable one, the hard worker, the one who pushes through even when it’s slowly breaking them.
What haunted me wasn’t the idea of being trapped — it was how willingly the men stood in line. No struggle. No questioning. Just quiet acceptance. But what truly horrified me was that I had stood in that line and gotten my pair of cuffs despite the fact that I’d once known better.
That’s how strong the conditioning is. It convinces you that giving up your freedom in exchange for security is normal. It trains you to mistake limitation for safety. And it teaches you that discomfort is simply the price of adulthood, not a sign that something is deeply misaligned.
Standing there in that museum, I saw myself. I saw every moment I’d stayed because I was supposed to. Every compromise I made in the name of being practical. Every time I ignored the voice inside me whispering, This isn’t who you are.
That painting didn’t show prisoners. It showed people who had forgotten they were free.
And in that instant, I knew: I didn’t want to wear my handcuffs anymore.
A few days later, when the vacation ended and I found myself crying on the plane at the prospect of returning to my self-imposed prison, I vowed to make a change, even if I didn’t know yet what that might be.
Here’s the truth no one teaches us: a job can look safe while quietly eroding your mental well-being. A paycheck can feel stable while keeping you trapped in a life that doesn’t fit. And the idea of responsibility can become a cage when it’s used to justify staying somewhere you’ve outgrown.
Corporate conditioning doesn’t ask who you are or what energizes you. It doesn’t care whether the work energizes your soul or drains it. It simply tells you to stay. Stay because everyone else stays. Stay because it’s what you’re supposed to do. Stay because leaving feels like breaking some unwritten rule. And that is what most people do. But if your soul is crying, yearning to break free as mine was, you do have other choices.
The corporate lie we are sold is not a moral truth, but an inherited belief system. And once you see it clearly, everything shifts. You begin to understand that you’re not failing, you’re not weak, and you’re certainly not alone. You’ve simply been living inside a story that was never written for your happiness. You’re working for someone else’s dream.
— End of excerpt —
If any part of this sounds familiar, you’re not alone—and you’re not broken. You’ve simply been living inside a story that was never written for you. The book, You Don’t Have to Stay, was written to help anyone ready to take off the handcuffs.
If this resonated with you…
I wrote You Don’t Have to Stay during the final month of my corporate job after learning I had thirty days left before being let go. It explores burnout, fear, identity, reinvention, and the courage it takes to walk away from a draining job to build a life that is more aligned.
Part personal story and part invitation to rethink what’s possible, the book was written for anyone who feels stuck between the life they have and the life they know they’re meant for.
“One of those books that makes you stop and reflect on your life, your choices, and what you’re holding onto that may no longer serve you.” — Leticia, 5-star Amazon review
“Best self help book I’ve read. Very powerful and well written. In addition to providing helpful information, it tells a story which made it enjoyable to read.” — Mary, 5-star Amazon review
“There is a way out and Amy gives you a good outline for it.” — Duane, 5-star Amazon review