The Moment I Realized I’d Lost Myself

I vividly remember the moment, the shock and sadness as if I’d lost a best friend.

It was late morning, on a beautiful fall day in Colorado. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky, and the sun warmed my face as I stepped into the backyard of the rental house where we were living.

My nearly 5-year-old twins were in pre-K class at a church up the street and except for Max, our 100-pound Chocolate Lab, napping in the golden glow on the porch, I was alone.

I had a small window left of the two and a half hours I had to myself before it was time pick the kids up. Most days after dropping them off I raced around trying to get as much accomplished as I could—doing chores around the house, going to the grocery store, maybe hitting the gym. Moving fast and crossing things off my to do list helped me feel purposeful.

Though, I wasn’t going to get much meaning out of the poop scooping that needed to be done. It was a thankless but critical chore. As I bent down to begin the task, I happened to glance at my watch. It was 10:50 a.m.

Suddenly, a wave of nausea hit. My heart plummeted. What the heck happened to me?

A short six months ago, during this time of day, I had been living a very different life. I recalled those memories with deep nostalgia and grief.

I would have been on the set at Channel 7, reading scripts and preparing to anchor the 11 am midday show. My mind would have felt alive, my spirit energized, eager to share the most important stories happening in our community and around the world.

I stopped for a moment, closed my eyes and shook the reflections from my head in disbelief. The life and career that had once defined me, and brought me great joy, were gone. And now here I was— picking up dog shit.

I didn’t know if I wanted to laugh, scream, or cry at the absurdity of it all.

As a young mom in my late 30s, I was lucky to have landed my dream job in my hometown. I’d worked in television news as an anchor and reporter for more than 15 years. I paid my dues, starting in small markets, making poverty level wages to launch the career I first envisioned for myself when I was nine. As I got more experience, I worked my way up in markets, from Eureka, California to Albuquerque and Detroit, before coming back to Denver, newly married and ready to start a family.

Once our healthy, boy/girl twins were born I believed I had a near perfect existence. Fulfilling work and a happy life at home with my family.

And then one day I agreed to give it up. My then husband got a great job offer in Orlando— a big title, a lot more money, and the kind of life-changing opportunity that we hoped would provide our young family with a path to financial stability.

I didn’t think I was leaving my TV career forever. I was going to take a break and rebuild my body that was tired of getting up at 2 a.m. every day for the past seven years. I was excited about spending quality time with the kids before they started kindergarten. And so, I quit.

But things didn’t quite go to plan. My husband’s new job blew up. Fortunately, he found another opportunity in Denver. Yet my position at the station was long gone in a news market where most people came and never left.

Suddenly I found myself unemployed. We owned a home in Orlando that we never lived in, no longer had a nanny, or the income to pay for one, and had two preschool aged kids who needed care.

I longed for the Katie who could lob a hard-hitting question in an interview, exercise her creativity through writing, earn a nice paycheck and feel accomplished at the end of the day. All of that had made me me. And yet that part of Katie was disappearing—had disappeared already. Her presence and energy felt like nothing more than a distant memory.

I had no idea how much my work had defined me.

I didn’t have time to ponder my plight for long because I had to pick the kids up, feed them lunch and get ready for gymnastics.

My mind was a bit distracted as I walked into the classroom to sign them out for the day. I noticed my daughter giggling with another blonde girl, and my gregarious son playing Legos with twin boys. The minute my kids saw me, they dropped everything, ran my way and nearly knocked me over as they jumped into my arms.

I felt a powerful rush of love surge through my body. My goodness, these two young humans mean the world to me. My heart again felt full as I smiled, reached for their tiny hands and walked toward the door. My children needed me and I wanted to be here for them while they were young.

Yes, I desperately missed myself. But so what? Couldn’t I set aside my own passions and desires to focus on being a mom? What’s another year or two of sacrificing me?

This was the day I realized, I’d lost a big part of myself. And in my journey through motherhood, it wasn’t going to be the last.

I had to find a way to reconcile these two very real and important sides of me. I wanted to be both an amazing mom and successful professional. I wasn’t exactly sure how to do that.

Looking back now, as an empty nester in my 50s, I see this pivotal episode with a different perspective. It was the moment I realized I’d abandoned an important part of who I was. And it was also a wake-up call, the spark that encouraged me to find my way back.