As some of you already know, if you’ve been reading my columns from the beginning, my journey has taken me through different waters.

While I was raised here, after college, I ventured off — first to Cleveland before taking a big leap a few months later to chase opportunities in Washington, D.C., a place that still feels like home to me.

And I firmly believe that you can feel at home in more than one place. That’s the brilliance of us as human beings — our ability to adapt, to be resilient, to see the good and hopefully, to be smart enough to stay away from the bad.

With that said, I knew it was time to come back to the place where I originally started, not just geographically, but personally. The version of me that left was not the same person who returned.

So, eight years ago, I picked up my family — who had no roots here — and we moved back. No regrets. That doesn’t mean there haven’t been challenges. But that’s life, right?

Back in D.C., I was a top residential real estate agent, excelling beyond what I even needed. I won’t say it was easy, because it wasn’t.

I built my brand from the ground up, worked my tail off, and — ironically — often put my family second. Which, if you knew my original reason for leaving the corporate commercial real estate world, is a little wild because I left to put them first.

So, when I decided to move back to bring more balance, part of me thought it would be simple. I had the experience, the reputation, the work ethic. Shouldn’t it be easier in a smaller town? Less intense, more community-oriented?

Nope.

I’ll never forget sitting in my brokerage back in D.C., in tears, trying to understand why I was struggling so much in my hometown. I had built a thriving business in one of the most competitive markets in the country. Why couldn’t I do it here? Why was every effort falling flat on all fronts? Shouldn’t a smaller pond be easier to navigate?

That’s when my brokers gave me a reality check. They told me to suck it up, reminded me that I’d be fine and then hit me with a truth I wasn’t expecting:

“Small ponds are the hardest to succeed in.”

In a small pond, every fish is fighting for the same limited resources. The food, or the opportunities, becomes more defensive.

The other fish? More aggressive. In a big pond, there’s more to go around, which means less desperation, less cutthroat competition over the same tiny piece of bait. No fish trusts any fish.

And that’s when it hit me.

I don’t want to be a fish.

Big pond, small pond — it all felt too contained. Constantly swimming, competing, proving your size and strength just to get your share, or worse, taking more than you need out of fear that someone else might grow, too.

I’d rather be the turtle.

The one who enjoys the pond but can also walk the land. Who moves at her own pace, finds opportunities beyond the water, and isn’t bound by the same survival game.

So, what about you? Do you see those people in your world who strive to be the biggest fish at all costs? The ones who, even when full, gorge themselves because they’re afraid someone else might rise up? Do you see what they take away from the medium-sized fish who are just trying to survive?

Or maybe, just maybe, you’re realizing you don’t have to be a fish at all.

Maybe it’s time to be the turtle.

Mother, author, entrepreneur and founder of Dandelion-Inc, Lisa Resnick wants to hear your story. Share memories with her by emailing lisa@dandelion-inc.com.