Mile Marker 50: Pulling Over to Find Myself

Lonely. Bored. Uninspired. But also responsible—so, so responsible. And afraid of change. That’s where I was.

I’ve had a successful career and took pride in staying busy. I thrived on achieving the next goal, solving the hard stuff, and keeping it all together during what felt like endless crisis mode. (How many years were the “Covid years,” anyway? Are we still in them?)

Recently, I stumbled upon an old Mel Robbins podcast—not her current hit with the relatable guests and massive following. This was a multi-episode Audible original from 2023, long before Let Them became a bestseller. It was raw and deeply personal. She shares her journey of self-discovery and invites listeners to reflect on their own.

One of her ideas struck a nerve: the “mile marker.” Think of your age as your location on a life road trip. And then—pull over. Look around. Ask yourself: Is this where I want to be? Is something missing? Am I bored, lonely, uninspired?

I was. So I kept listening—because honestly, I didn’t know why I felt this way. But as Mel continued to ask the hard questions, things started to click.

Ever since college (maybe even earlier), I had been pushing toward something—an invisible finish line I could never quite reach. My upbringing wasn’t particularly structured. I wasn’t pushed. If anything, I was told, “If all else fails, you can always come home.” But I didn’t want to go home. I didn’t like home. So I learned to push myself.

And I kept going.

I was the first in my immediate family to earn a college degree. I went to grad school—until I realized that wasn’t the path for me. I got married, had kids, kept the house, made dinner every night. Then my career started to take off.

I got promoted. I took every opportunity. I traveled the world, met people from cultures I’d only read about, and worked on things I once could’ve only dreamed of. I didn’t grow up with a clear picture of what I wanted to “be.” I just knew I wanted to do well, create stability, and give my family the life I didn’t have.

I poured myself into work. At times, my husband called me out on it. And after 14 years at one company—years I had wanted to leave for the last 2 or 3—I finally moved on. I swore I wouldn’t let myself get consumed like that again.

I switched industries. Took a job that was…honestly, boring. I told myself slowing down would be good. But it didn’t sit right. So I took a new opportunity, this time starting in a VP role. I thought, Yes. This is it. The title. The money. The travel. I was back in my zone. I was promoted again—this time to SVP. It felt like success.

Then Covid hit.

My industry was devastated almost overnight. Work ground to a halt. Layoffs began. We fought to survive. And just when we thought we were in the clear—2022 hit, and things came crashing down again.

At some point, I started to feel the weight of my decisions. People were impacted. Real people with families and dreams. And there were moments—quiet ones—when I knew something didn’t feel right. But I didn’t speak up. I hoped it would pass.

Meanwhile, the financial pressure mounted—two kids in college, sports, extracurriculars, the mortgage, the car, the credit cards. I cried more than once whispering to myself, I don’t have a choice. I have to keep going.

But the work didn’t pick up. The economy didn’t bounce back. Clients got harder to please. Teams grew tired. More layoffs came. Others simply left. And I began to wonder—why do I feel such deep responsibility?

Maybe it’s because I’ve always done it this way. Maybe I never stopped long enough to ask myself why.

But now, here I am. Looking at my mile marker.

And I’m ready.

I’m done being afraid. I want to take control of what’s next. I want work to feel rewarding again. I want to connect with people—without carrying the burden of their livelihoods on my back. I want to take a risk on myself for once.

So this is where I’m at: the fork in the road.

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I, I took the one less traveled by, And that has made all the difference. Robert Frost

My family and friends support me. They want me to be healthy. Happy. (And let’s be real—I’ve made myself physically ill more than once on this ride.) But I’m starting to feel inspired again. Capable. I know I have something to offer the world that I haven’t shared before. And I’m ready now.

I’m in the driver’s seat. I’m pulling back onto the road. And I finally know where I want to go.