This past year I willingly said goodbye to a part of my life that defined my very core. A career that took nearly half my life to cultivate. It was intense and stressful; it was creative and imaginative; strategic and calculated. It was layered. It challenged me, inspired me, stretched and pulled me in directions I never could have dreamed. It reinforced my values and tested my instincts. I was building a marketing firm from the ground up. I wasn’t its Founder, but I was there from its founding year, feeling the currents of success and failure just the same.
I needed its Closure, yet I felt secure within its grasp. I was happy to let it define me because it made me feel powerful and accomplished; it provided cover to my personal life too. I was building a family…four babies through it all, but only a select few had insights into such vulnerability. My personal brand was my career. I had control over its personality, and I constructed it with precision. It was like a masterclass for my perfectionist tendencies.
My personal brand was my career. I had control over its personality, and I constructed it with precision. It was like a masterclass for my perfectionist tendencies.
Anyone who knew me outside of my professional context fit within three distinct groups: family, childhood friend, college friend. It was simple, clear, straightforward. No explanations needed. A foundation already was in place so building upon it came easy. These were the only circles who had insight into my personal side. Colleagues tried but very few made it in. It was better that way; at least I convinced myself it was.
It was slow at first, hardly noticeable. Parents at daycare would want a playdate or extend a birthday invite. They’d suggest a playground meetup too. A friendly gesture I turned down every single time. I opted out. My oldest two were too young to choose, and I had no desire for what I rationalized could only turn out to be forced, surface level relationships. There was no foundation to build upon. Daycare was temporary and our move was likely. My personal brand intact, this perfectionist introvert remained in control.
And then we moved. We built our forever home. We transitioned from cracked, culturally diverse sidewalks to perfectly laid concrete. We moved in seven days after our third was born. It was the first time I felt off balance – unsettled in the framework of its newness. Before then we lived in old brick and cobblestone, a slate roof with copper pipes. Original hardwood and a fireplace through which Santa could slide. My before complimented my creative agency side. Yet it was transitional. It always felt that way. A decade-and-a-half long chapter in which I could hide from building new relationships – justifying because of its temporary nature and leaning instead to what already had been nurtured.
When we moved, I didn’t leave our newly built house for nearly three months. Uncomfortable in my own postpartum skin and unsettled in our new surroundings, the idea of meeting anyone new made me uneasy. Nothing felt like a steppingstone to a next chapter. This was the chapter – I was living it – and I felt overwhelmed by it. I felt vulnerable. I was anxious. I avoided meeting anyone new because I didn’t feel prepared. I was building a new, foundational relationship group and this time I was its Founder. It felt heavy. I put pressure on it.
I avoided meeting anyone new because I didn’t feel prepared. I was building a new, foundational relationship group and this time I was its Founder. It felt heavy. I put pressure on it.
Since no one knew my story, I felt like every word mattered more. Instead of enjoying the slow and subtle build, I just felt off center. I felt like I was living in a bizarre irony. I yearned for others to know my story, yet I had absolutely no desire to share it. Anything I did share felt forced, out of order, or lacking context.
I felt like I was living in a bizarre irony. I yearned for others to know my story, yet I had absolutely no desire to share it. Anything I did share felt forced, out of order, or lacking context.
I was frustrated with myself. I heard myself talking, but couldn’t recognize the person who was starting to appear. Instead of building a new base, it felt like I was digging myself into a bizarre hole. For a while my newborn, two- and four-year-olds were my cover. My husband too. They were my most beloved excuses and innocent shields from creating something new with anyone.
Eventually I transitioned back to work, and I felt powerful again within its framework; I slowly began to feel at ease with all our new, newness. I embraced what we had built and willed myself to feel only gratitude for chapters now closed. It also helped that my schedule was intense and balancing a young family left little to no time for cultivating new relationships. It’s how I liked it. I felt in control. I was pregnant again too, with our fourth baby angel. I was centered. I felt empowered and seen – unstoppable. I was living my best life. And with my story understood and validated at work and at home with my closest circle, I was more than happy not to bring anymore new in.
And then came the pandemic. The world stopped, and the lockdowns only exacerbated relationship dynamics already there. For this introvert at heart, it was bliss. Yet another excuse, another shield to save me from close encounters with others. It was one of the most challenging times to be a parent with a career – yes – but it was also the most beautiful time with our now complete, family of six. All our energy radiated inward, and it felt secure and comfortable. We were solidifying our unit and through the crazy, it did intensify our dynamics – and thankfully for us, toward the positive.
All our energy radiated inward, and it felt secure and comfortable. We were solidifying our unit and through the crazy, it did intensify our dynamics – and thankfully for us, toward the positive
Eventually though, the world came back to life. Virtual realities replaced with in-person interactions started to be normal again. It shook me off balance. For so many years of my adult life I had been building up intentional walls. And now, with my boys’ worlds expanding with school, sports, friends and new teams, those walls were harder to maintain. Meeting my boys’ friends, turned in to meeting their siblings, which led to meeting their parents, and their parents too. First names and last ones, Mr. and Mrs. and a Ms. in between. It was a lot. It was overwhelming. It was awkward, uncomfortable and hard to navigate. I started to feel that pressure bubble up again and my inner frustration too.
It was disorienting to willingly said goodbye to the part of my life that defined my very core. Without its safety net to rely upon, I felt off center. And what I see now is that I brought that uneasy, off-balance aura with me to nearly every conversation and new interaction. I was hesitant – unsure of who to be, what to share and with whom to be free. I didn’t feel like I was being me.
It was disorienting to willingly said goodbye to the part of my life that defined my very core. Without its safety net to rely upon, I felt off center.
There were moments, for sure – meaningful conversations, emotional connections, grieving and celebrating alike. There were bonfires, dinner parties and playdates; brunch spots, galleries and many a day drink; sports tournaments, brisk walks, and even a downtown date. Those were the times I felt sane and closer to center.
With time comes reflection and clarity. I’m grateful to have had this transitional year to reflect and recenter. I committed to it nearly a year ago, and I can confidently say I have fulfilled that promise to myself. I see now how much I let my job consume so much of me. These last twenty years were a crucial chapter of my life. I’ll aways be proud of that, but I see now it’s just one chapter – a very long one, no less, but just one.
I’ve evolved. I see now that perhaps a life lived at its best should intersect and overlap, coincide and integrate. I’m grateful to have a choice in that.
So, I choose to be mindful about cultivating a new foundational circle. This year I will leave behind some intentional walls and my propensity toward siloed relationships. Instead, I will keep spending time and energy nurturing new relationships – and vintage ones too, that exude trust, joy and authenticity.
I will keep spending time and energy nurturing new relationships – and vintage ones too, that exude trust, joy and authenticity.
And most of all, I will work on being better at being me.