Who Am I Anyway?

It’s uncomfortable to change the identity you spent decades establishing

Change, in my experience, is always good. Transition, not so much.

Last night, I went to an event where I bumped into a dozen people from my previous professional life as a television executive. It was a little awkward.

These were people whose clients I would cast, whose companies I sought to collaborate with, fellow executives who might hire me or whom I might one day hire. They were people I used to see every summer at the Just For Laughs Festival in Montreal where the entire comedy business descended to scout talent, network, and share one too many drinks at the hotel bar. Familiar faces I’d known for at least 15 years and hadn’t seen since I was laid off from my last corporate job over three years ago.

I spent 20 years carefully growing and tending to my reputation, my relationships, and how I was perceived in this community. They still belong in it — but I don’t.

Today, I’m in a new chapter, and while I’m happier than I’ve ever been, it sometimes feels strange to be building a new professional identity outside of the one I so painstakingly constructed. If you’re reading this, you can probably relate.

One of the most uncomfortable things about pivoting to self-employment in midlife — especially in a new domain — is this loss of identity, of status, this sense that you no longer have a clearly-defined place in the world. Answering “What are you doing these days?” without the buttressing effect of a familiar company name, an impressive title, and a defined role is an awkward and familiar experience for women who are reinventing themselves in midlife.

Every time a former colleague approached me last night, I felt the pressure (wholly self-imposed) to tell a clear, compelling story — to leave them reassured that I am still as impressive and successful as I was. I’m getting better at navigating this dynamic with other people and within myself, but only because I now have years under my belt of claiming my own authority and telling a new professional story.

In the beginning, it can be hard to find the right words. We care SO MUCH about what our peers think. We feel like liars spinning a tale of the buttoned up, wildly profitable business we wish was already built, not the messy inchoate thing we’re actually making — experimenting every day with how we package our offerings, create content to promote our expertise, grow our audience and generate revenue.

The truth is that we’re not just building businesses in midlife to make our creative dreams come true, even though that might be part of it. We’re reinventing ourselves because there is an existential need to create work and generate income that no one can ever take away.

Our former colleagues feel this too — this contraction in once-stable industries. Underneath the polished explanations, we all know what’s happening: encroaching ageism, an economy in transition, and the growing realization that we’re going to need to work into our sixth and seventh decades.

I had a conversation with a former colleague whose professional path paralleled mine more than anyone else’s. “We did everything right,” she said. “We rose through the ranks. We were smart about our careers. At this point, we should have the plum jobs — Chief Content Officer, EVP, Head of Programming. But there are so few of those jobs left.”

So many of us find our careers stalled just at the moment when — according to the linear promise of a corporate career we bought into for decades — we should have been ascending.

So we sit with that. We live in the discomfort of this transition and the weirdness of showing up at a party where you were once someone, and now you could be anyone at all.

Trust your reinvention. You will figure out who you are now and what you’re offering — as a solopreneur, small business owner, fractional executive, consultant or whatever language you’re comfortable claiming. Maybe one day you’ll call yourself an entrepreneur, but that’s definitely not a requirement.

In this new chapter, you get to define how you show up in the world. You get to speak in your own voice, on your own behalf. You get to tell the whole truth. You don’t just have to wear a VP hat and be the dutiful emissary of the corporation that pays your paycheck. You get to claim your sovereignty, and, as the kids say, DO YOU.

There are so many gifts that live on the other side of all this discomfort.

Deep breaths. You will get there. We will figure it out together.

Love,

Erin & Sarah

Know someone who needs Broad Collective? Feel free to share this post!

Share