Closure.

For the first time in my life, I don’t have a plan – a to do list of goals to accomplish and to strive toward.  I’m just here.  In the present.  And it is the most uncomfortable I have felt in my entire life.  

When I was younger, I often heard about people going through a mid-life crisis.  I don’t think that is at all what I’m experiencing.  It’s more about a mid-life career crisis.  Not so much a crisis – that’s a bit dramatic.  It’s more like a mid-life I feel accomplished in what I’ve achieved in my career for the last 20 years, but I’m ready to close that chapter of growth within my known profession, but not yet ready to figure out what’s next – feeling.   

I’m proud of what I’ve achieved.  I’m proud of my success.  I know that I’ve accomplished more in 20 years than many do in a professional lifetime.  I’m confident in that, and I’ve damn well earned the right to say it aloud.  I’ve worked too hard to shy away from owning my own success.   

Since graduating from college, I have risen within my chosen field of marketing.  I started by marketing my city to young college students in hopes of driving long term economic development for our region.  I pivoted to marketing the world’s top ranked hospital system to multimillion dollar philanthropic donors to raise capital for its expansion.  With five years of foundational experience to call on, I took a chance on myself, and opened myself up to more growth than I ever thought possible.  I applied for a job, that, by all standards, I had no business applying for, at a start-up marketing firm that appealed to me for one reason only.  The website said absolutely nothing about the clients it served or the services it offered, but it reeled me in by the sounds of calming Zen-like music and animated prairie grasses swaying in the wind.    It was intriguing.  And 15 years ago, I wanted to be part of it.  

I started during our founding year.  
I may not have carried the proverbial baby to term, but I raised it from the moment it was born.

I started during our founding year.  I may not have carried the proverbial baby to term, but I raised it from the moment it was born.  I started nine months into our existence, and I bought in to the culture the moment I stepped through the doors.  It didn’t matter that I stepped into the basement of a building where we were renting a few desks.  It didn’t matter that our company-wide calls – only a couple dozen of us at the time – were taken huddled around a regular office phone tethered to a phone line, on speaker, next to the wall of an office desk because the chord wasn’t long enough to be moved more than a few inches.  

We were together.  Building something from scratch, based on the vision of two founders with the intension to build something better, more sustainable, and with a higher purpose.  They were singularly focused on building a company that stood for something bigger than all of us – and to make the world a better place by doing so.  The promises of shared ownership, flowing profits, community philanthropy, and culture envy were ever present.  But, during those first several years, none of those promises became reality.  It didn’t matter though.  I was so bought in to the culture.  I was drinking, no … gulping down the Cool Aid.  And when salary increases didn’t happen or bonuses didn’t come to fruition, it didn’t matter either.  It didn’t matter because I knew I was part of something special.  It felt like the beginning of a Netflix docuseries.  It was messy, and stressful and challenging… so. very. challenging.  I was pushed out of my comfort zone so often and so much that I actually started to feel my proverbial comfort zone stretch exponentially.  

I was living the professional life I could have only dreamed of having, but didn’t even knew existed in real life. 

I was living the professional life I could have only dreamed of having, but didn’t even knew existed in real life.  After just a few years, I was running one of our region’s offices, traveling across the country for client work, meeting senior leaders in huge multinational companies, leading multimillion dollar books of business, hiring talent because of the growth I was helping to build.  I was on the Board of Directors for an influential community board, and offering pro bono counsel to small non profits.  I was getting paid to provide marketing consultation.  It was awesome.  I felt alive.  I felt needed.  I felt like my voice mattered.  I felt like I mattered.  The higher I rose in seniority, the more valuable I felt.  Eventually I rose to the most senior status I could in the firm.  I had the title, the influence and the respect of my colleagues and clients.  I felt satisfied.  

I would tell friends from college about what I was doing and to them, it all made sense.  I was working for an agency that rose to be among the top Benefit corporations in the world, we were 100% employee owned and we gave at least 10% of our profits back to our communities.  I was financially successful, empowered with my influence, and living out my potential.  They would joke that the company was built for me.  My destiny was taking shape and it was manifesting into reality.  

Along the way, I was proving to myself that I could be something in the world and that I could take the building blocks from all of those years of school, and make it count.  I was making my student loans count for something.  And I was making all of the sacrifices my parents made to put me through college mean something too.  If I didn’t feel like I was on a path toward tangible, career-focused successes like salary, title and influence, then it felt like all of their sacrifice was for nothing.  I benefited from going to college five and seven years after my siblings.  My parents had more resources and when the student loans, scholarships and grants were added together, I had even more opportunity to attend the college of my dreams.  A liberal arts, picturesque bubble that I absolutely loved and am so grateful to have had the opportunity to attend, at that time, with those people, who eventually became lifelong friends.  

It’s hard to walk away. Even harder to admit the time is right. Harder yet when it feels like most everyone who experienced your rise are no longer here to celebrate its conclusion.

It’s hard to walk away.  Even harder to admit the time is right.  Harder yet when it feels like most everyone who experienced your rise are no longer here to celebrate its conclusion.  But the time is right.  And despite how hard it is, the chapter must end. 

It must end even though I was there; I created, I influenced, I provided counsel and feedback regarding nearly every new initiative or tradition, celebration or heartbreak, hire or pink slip, decoration or policy, party or lead.

My career trajectory rose at the exact same time I became a mom.  I carried 5 babies.  I gave birth to 4 beautiful boys.  I nursed each of them for over a year.  I pumped every single day at work, every couple of hours.  Every day I had to think about the shirt I wore and whether I could take it off and put it back on by myself.  I had to remember my pump, the bottles, the attachments, the bra and the bags.  I had to time each session to perfection.  I needed enough time to underdress and enough time to clean up too.  I made a game out of it.  I timed myself and tried to set a new PR each session.  And I had to protect my supply at all costs, and pretend that I was so comfortable in my own skin – that I didn’t care every person in the office knew I was half naked in the room next door as a machine was sucking milk from my breasts, and discretion from life.   I had to pretend.  Otherwise I would have had to admit defeat.

I had to protect my supply at all costs, and pretend that I was so comfortable in my own skin – that I didn’t care every person in the office knew I was half naked in the room next door as a machine was sucking milk from my breasts, and discretion from life.   

It’s impossible to describe the split reality happening at the exact same time.  Pumping at least four times during the work day to literally give life to my baby, while at the exact same time feeling the weight of managing up to a third of company revenue to sustain the life of our firm.  I would travel while pregnant, throwing up more times that I wanted to admit and having to hide how I was feeling.  I leaked in front of clients.  I was mortified.  I left client meetings early to pump, having to convey every ounce of confidence humanly possible to leave the room, in an attempt to avoid yet another leaking episode.  I pumped in the most disgusting public bathrooms and unsecure hotel meeting rooms.  I had countless arguments with incompetent TSA personnel – having to actually explain why I was carrying liters worth of milk with me when traveling home without my baby.  I had to explain to some ignorant clients, partners and even young colleagues, why I had to step away every couple of hours to pump.  It was exhausting.  It was frustrating.  It was beyond draining.  But I would not let it detract me from my goal – a consistent, sustained upward trajectory.  

I was a master at compartmentalizing.  I could rival anyone at it.  It was the most important tool I had at my disposal. 

I was a master at compartmentalizing.  I could rival anyone at it.  It was the most important tool I had at my disposal.  I knew how to be a professional and I was good at it.  I placed a lot of my self worth on my own ability to rise up the proverbial ladder.  It was my identity for so long, and I would be damned to let someone take that away from me by identifying me instead by my children or husband.  I shied away from talking about my family in large settings, and only offered advice and counsel if individuals I trusted with the information asked me directly.  Colleagues had to earn my trust, to entrust them with such personal information.  I was certainly not handing it out for free.  I didn’t go out of my way to explain how excruciating it was every single day.  The weight of building a career at the exact same time as building a family was the most difficult journey I have ever been on, and likely ever will be on in my life.  But it was a journey I chose to compartmentalize because I was not going to let someone question my commitment, my value, my ability because of my new motherhood status.  

It became my own secret badge of honor.  I felt sorry for those who left – telling me on their way out they couldn’t possibly start a family and do what I was doing.  I gave myself absolutely no option other than to do what I was doing by succeeding in building my career and my family.  The fact that it was hard felt like I was earning a bigger, better, badge – albeit secret and just for me.  There was no alternative route.  No detour.  I couldn’t even fathom another way.  If I held back on my career, I failed. If I couldn’t build the family we wanted, I failed.  If I couldn’t handle those often times opposing forces with grace and perfection, I failed.  

I realized how stark it was after coming back from maternity leave with my third son.  Weeks after returning from maternity leave, I was meeting with a client when he casually asked how I had been.  Instead of leading with news that I just had my beautiful third baby boy and was returning from maternity leave, I instead chose to tell him how I had just moved into a new home my husband and I built.  In fairness, we moved in 7 days after my son was born.  But the point is, it never remotely even crossed my mind to share that I just gave birth to a precious, sweet angel.  It wasn’t even a passing thought.  Building a house, now that was a sign of success, and that is what I wanted to convey.  It felt good to share such exciting life news.  It was validating – a sign of outward professional success.  After I left the presence of the client, and the surroundings of my career self, I immediately felt horrible about my self.   I called a colleague who was standing with me during the conversation to convince her – or maybe more accurately, convince myself, that I was not a horrible mom.  

I would die for my children, but I was not going to kill my career.

I would die for my children, but I was not going to kill my career by leading with news about my family. 

I took my babies into the office a couple days a week.  A beautiful benefit offered to parents, that only exaggerated for me the split life I was leading.  For a few precious moments when I was nursing in privacy, it was utopia.  But in a split second, I was pummeled back to reality as I heard colleagues or clients repeat my name through the phone, asking again for my insight, opinion, perspective, and permission to proceed.  

Every day my baby came to the office, was a night of even more work.  It was impossible to sustain the same level of productivity at work with a 3 month old 100% dependent on me.  I accepted that because I knew I only had a few weeks to take advantage of this dual reality.   I was the one who opted in.  I chose this path.  I was not going to complain or talk about how hard it was.  It was a choice I had complete control in making and it just felt wrong to say otherwise.  And truthfully, it was another badge of honor I secretly wanted to prove to myself that I could accomplish and add to my personal list of accomplishments.  A list no one ever saw, but one that I never let out of sight.

It was another badge of honor I secretly wanted to prove to myself that I could accomplish and add to my personal list of accomplishments.  
A list no one ever saw, but one that I never let out of sight.

When I was pregnant with our fourth baby angel, many subtle questions came my way about whether I was going to continue working.  It was deafening.  It was frustrating.  How could anyone ask me that – I was at the top of my game.  I felt like I had finally made it – why would I possibly give that up?  Juggling 50-hour week schedules along with my husband, and parenting 2, 4, 6 year old boys with a baby on the way, was absolutely not a reason to walk away.  Did they know me?  Did they have any clue how fiercely competitive I was with myself?  Of course not.  Why would they – I never let on to any of it.

But then the world stopped, and a new virus forced humanity to take notice. At first I was angry.  I was so frustrated.  I could not accept that I had absolutely no control.  The pandemic forced me in to a corner.  My most important tool was ripped away from me.  It was an absolute impossibility for me to compartmentalize. I couldn’t do it.  

Just days after I returned back from maternity leave, the shutdown happened.  My second day back from leave I was on a leadership call, discussing strategies for navigating what felt like an apocalyptic situation.  

There I was again in a split reality.  As the dangling cords from my ear buds were tickling my new born’s chest as he nursed from my soar engorged chest, it all unfolded.  I felt like I was watching a slow motion video.  As I am trying to prove yet again to myself and my colleagues, just days after coming back from maternity leave with my fourth baby boy, that I can come up with informed, strategic ways to navigate our business, I am literally seeing my family start to fall apart.  At that exact same time, the exact same time interval, as my new born baby is drinking milk from my exhausted body, I see my 2 year old in motion to pick up what appeared to be a marble and put it in his mouth, seconds away from a choking nightmare – and at that exact moment, my 4 year old is running across the room in circles butt naked dazed and quite confused, while my 6 year old is sitting at the kitchen table with adult sized headphones, in front of a computer, trying to pay attention to a class lesson and navigate his first Zoom call, calling my name in desperation to help him – even just to sit beside him.  

It was brutal.  I literally felt like my entire being was being ripped apart and handed out in indiscriminate parts to my family, depending on who was first in line – or better yet, yelling more loudly for attention.

It was brutal.  I literally felt like my entire being was being ripped apart and handed out in indiscriminate parts to my family, depending on who was first in line – or better yet, yelling more loudly for attention.  It was the first time in my adult life that I felt like I was at a real cross roads.  No longer was compartmentalization an option.  I felt like I had absolutely no other choice, other than to choose one over the other.  In that moment, I crumbled.  I cried.  I knew I had to quit.  Along with the rest of the world, I never could have imagined a worldwide pandemic would be the cause.  In that moment, I knew I had to kill my career today, to keep my tomorrow alive.

But I didn’t. Instead, six more months later, after an extended maternity leave, schools open and daycare back in business, I went back to work along with what seemed to be the rest of my industry too.  We all emerged from the darkness, in our own unique home office, ready to revel in the ridiculousness that was. 

We all emerged from the darkness, in our own unique home office, ready to revel in the ridiculousness that was. 

Putting aside that the world itself forever was changed – everything for me changed exponentially too.  I cut back my hours, and my earning potential too.  I shifted my workday and I started to see that there was a world that existed outside of back-to-back meetings in quarter block time increments.  It was eye opening.  It was appealing.  It was starting to suck me in.  It lasted for only about a week.  

Despite my shift in hours, I was blasted right back into my known working reality when I was entrusted to lead our single largest new business opportunity at that point in our history.  The success or failure of our financial year was one hundred percent dependent on the outcome, and I was the primary account lead.  It was daunting.  The stress permeated through my body.  It was exhausting, but oh. so. satisfying and exhilarating.  After six months away, and making a decision that seemingly stifled my career trajectory, I felt like I was right back where I left off.  

It was several weeks of jam packed days, followed by night after night of conference calls lasting through the night – while I heard the cries of my babies faintly through my office door for me to put them to bed, and jealousy permeate through the house as they became envious that their baby brother could be with me as he nursed. But they were so much older, a mere 2, 4 and 6 years old, which didn’t afford them the same nightly access. I was overwhelmed.  My husband was overwhelmed.  I was trying desperately to compartmentalize.  I couldn’t.  My old tools didn’t make sense anymore.  The world had changed.  I had changed.  Our life forever shifted and there was no going back to what was.     

At the same time, I was subtlety encouraged to leverage my status as a mom of four young boys to my, to our, advantage.  In short, if I could manage a full time, high stress job along with raising four young boys, there should be no doubt, I could manage leading any team toward success.  My peer competition was an extroverted, joke slinging Irishman (eye roll) and I could not be any more different.  But I knew I was good.  I knew I had the acumen to lead what would become the largest account in our company’s history.  I could operationalize a team like no other, and I had no doubt.  My ego was checked when I heard how supposedly amazing he was, but I gave myself absolutely no other choice than to move forward.  I was not going to put my kids on display.  

The irony.  
For so long, I was meticulous with how I separated my home life from my work life, and now, at arguably the most important moment in my career, I was being asked to do the exact opposite. 

The irony.  For so long, I was meticulous with how I separated my home life from my work life, and now, at arguably the most important moment in my career, I was being asked to do the exact opposite.  I just couldn’t do it.  This was my chance to prove to myself, more than anyone else, that I still had what it took.   If we lost, I knew I couldn’t stay.  Not only did I feel like the weight of our firm was on my shoulders, I felt like the weight of my entire career was riding on this outcome too.  It was my singular chance to prove to myself, more than anyone else, that under no uncertain terms, I was a master at managing a full time, high stress job along with raising four young boys.  And then…

We won.  We hired.  We grew.  We achieved great, purposeful, incredible success.  It was awesome.  It was rejuvenating.  I absolutely loved it.

And then… it wasn’t.  

Just over a year later, our client’s strategy had to shift dramatically and with it went millions of dollars.  I received first, and in turn had to share, the most devastating news.  I felt empty.  I was sad for what could have been, and for awhile, I felt completely off center.  

I lost the control I craved, and influence that drove me.  Something more fundamentally shifted for me too.  I felt paralyzed with the very idea of starting again. 

I lost the control I craved, and influence that drove me.  Something more fundamentally shifted for me too.  I felt paralyzed with the very idea of starting again. 

Never in my career did I shy away from a client interaction.  I was the first to raise my hand, and I was the first to jump into the deep end.  I have had the opportunity to build the most fulfilling client relationships, and experienced some of the worst too, like being screamed at through a conference line with such force, such horrific venom, that it felt like he could have physically attacked me through the phone.  I went through it.  I was there. I had the spotlight on me in conference rooms across the country, and through phone lines across the globe. It was really hard, but it was energizing too.  It’s partly what drove me.  It was another secret badge of honor that I was subconsciously stacking up and keeping track.

It felt like I changed in an instant.  A colleague suggesting I call a client, or head up a new opportunity made me immediately anxious.  My heartbeat changed and my body tensed.  I had never experienced anything like it before.  I didn’t even know how to talk about it.  I felt like the moment I let it out, so too would my value go with it.  I was a completely different person, and no one knew.  

I felt like the moment I let it out, so too would my value go with it.  I was a completely different person, and no one knew.  

Eventually a key moment in my universe aligned and I was able to shift my focus internally.  I loved it.  I could use my experience and influence to guide accounts and mentor teams in different ways.  It was fulfilling, and I got back to center.  

But over time, it became more obvious to me that I had willingly taken myself out of the very arena that awarded me such success early on.  It was no ones’ doing other than my own, and eventually what felt for so long like the inevitability of sustained influence, growth and upward success, eventually just stopped.  I stopped.  I knew I had.  I wasn’t the same person.  I didn’t have the same drive to be on top and command like I did before.  I was already there, and I was there for a long time.  I was ready to embrace something different.  

It look a long time.  It took a very long time.  And the time I had to work through it on my own is something for which I’ll forever be grateful.  I will be forever grateful that I could arrive at the conclusion on my own.  Not everyone gets that chance.  But I did.  And I do not take that for granted.

When I was 17 years old I quit the very first job I ever had.  I was a waitress, reluctantly turned restaurant manager at a local pizza place.  I worked weekends through high school – Saturday nights and Sunday mornings.  Never Fridays.  Friday was my time for high school football games and friends.  My boss was amazing and understood.  But one day he didn’t.  He scheduled me for Fridays and when I asked him to change it, he refused.  He told me I had to get my priorities straight.  In that moment, I said exactly what I felt.  I was nervous, yes – but I looked him straight in the eyes, declared in no uncertain terms that I absolutely did have my 17-year-old-high-school-priorities straight, and quit.  It felt so good.  It was exhilarating.  It was one of the most important moments in my life.  I knew I could stick up for myself when it counted, and there was no doubting my own self-awareness.   You can’t teach that.  It’s something within you.  I was proud of myself for knowing and recognizing it.

Now, more than 25 years later, I have no other choice other than to be courageous and self-aware.  Not because someone else is forcing me to be, but because I’m forcing myself to be.  I have to be in control of what’s next, and I can’t be afraid of where that may lead.   

I have no other choice other than to be courageous and self-aware.  Not because someone else is forcing me to be, but because I’m forcing myself to be.  I have to be in control of what’s next, and I can’t be afraid of where that may lead. 

For the first time in my life, I don’t have a plan – a to do list of goals to accomplish and to strive toward.  I’m just here.  In the present.  And it is the most uncomfortable I have felt in my entire life.  But I know I’ll be ok.  It will just take some time, and maybe some local pizza and wine too!