Two years ago, I crossed the threshold into my 41st year, and I embarked on a journey I never imagined a working mother my age could—or should—take: I reinvented myself.
As a child, I delighted in trying on various professional identities, each one a bold new aspiration. President, teacher, writer, psychologist, movie star—you name it. It wasn’t until my twenties that I began to narrow down my choices, bidding farewell to dreams of the White House and an Oscar. Yet, as an adult, I remained open to possibilities. I sought out jobs that felt fulfilling and switched employers when a new opportunity sparked my interest or when my current role lost its appeal. With advanced degrees in hand, I transitioned between different fields, unencumbered by obligations other than my own financial stability. My youth gave me the confidence to chase new adventures, and I embraced the freedom of being single.
Graduate school led to policy work, followed by law school, clerkships, and ultimately, a prestigious position at a top law firm. Initially, it was both challenging and financially rewarding. But soon, I found myself disillusioned with the grueling 15-hour workdays, the adversarial nature of the legal system, and the expectation of being perpetually available. I pondered leaving, weighed the financial implications, and then hesitated again.
Then life threw me a curveball. I got married, became a stepmother, adopted a dog, bought a house, and had a baby. Suddenly, the thought of leaving my job felt infinitely more complex. Bills needed to be paid, college funds needed to be established, and the home required upkeep. While I often dreamed of being a stay-at-home parent, I took pride in my financial contributions. I cherished my professional identity and didn’t want to abandon the years of education and training I had invested in. It was vital to me that my boys saw a strong working mother as a role model. Yet, a nagging voice reminded me that stability might be more important than the thrill of novelty.
Jumping from job to job didn’t seem like the responsible thing to do. I felt it was neither predictable nor rational. Leaving my job for a new path felt as far-fetched as finding time for an uninterrupted adult conversation or a solid night’s sleep.
Work became a means to an end, and nothing more. I craved inspiration and a fresh challenge. My husband suggested I pursue one of my childhood dreams as a side gig. So, by day, I catered to my clients’ needs and my boss’s demands. By night, after the kids were tucked in, I wrote—often for free, snatching moments wherever I could. I wrote because it filled me with joy. I dipped my toes into the water, wondering if this passion could evolve into something more than a sleep-depriving thrill that came with seeing my name in print. After two years of squeezing writing into the nooks and crannies of my life, I finally took the leap, encouraged by my husband, and quit my job to pursue writing full-time.
At 41, with two kids in tow, I found myself unemployed for the first time in 25 years. The blend of terror and exhilaration was palpable.
I recognize the privilege in this choice. Having a supportive spouse—financially (at least for now) and emotionally (always)—is no small feat. Yet, what I discovered after leaving my job was that the biggest barriers I faced were not financial. They were rooted in fear: fear of losing my identity, fear of failure, fear of judgment from others, and fear of upending my family dynamic. I had a million “what-ifs” that held my aspirations hostage. I suspect many of us do.
When I resigned, I was met with disbelief from some colleagues and envy from others. I transitioned from being a seasoned attorney to a rookie freelancer. Instead of facing scrutiny from judges and adversaries, I confronted rejection from indifferent editors and critiques from faceless critics. Self-confidence became a constant struggle. Occasionally, I miss the structure that came with office life and, yes, the paycheck.
However, the gains I’ve made far outweigh any losses. I now enjoy autonomy, flexibility, creativity, time with my children, restful nights, and the opportunity to pursue a long-held dream. I learned that skills from one profession can be adapted and applied to another. Education and training are never wasted; they simply find new purposes. My family doesn’t define me by my job, and I realized I had allowed that to happen for too long. I may not have a book deal, a viral post, or a steady paycheck, and that’s perfectly fine. For now, I’m building a new career, and even if I stumble spectacularly, I know I can pick up the pieces without regret.
Let’s be real—a mid-life transformation is packed with obstacles and sacrifices. But if you’re yearning for a fresh start and can wrap your mind around what it means to begin anew, the rewards can be tremendous. We may not all become E.L. James or Sara Blakely, but we can all strive for something greater. As Shel Silverstein wisely noted:
“Listen to the mustn’ts, child,
Listen to the don’ts,
Listen to the shouldn’ts,
The Impossibles, the won’ts.
Listen to the never haves,
Then listen close to me—
Anything can happen, child,
Anything can be.”
This article was originally published on June 9, 2015.
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Summary
At 41, I took a leap of faith to reinvent myself after years of working in law. Juggling family life made the decision daunting, but pursuing my passion for writing brought me joy and fulfillment. I learned that fear held me back more than finances and that skills can transition across careers. Embracing this change has given me newfound autonomy and creativity, showing that it is never too late to chase your dreams.