I spent 25 years climbing to the pinnacle of my industry…and I think I screwed myself
In public, I’ve done everything that I hoped to achieve. Behind the curtain, I’m broke, spiritually bankrupt and questioning everything.
My mom worked in the university system and many family members were lawyers, pilots, and other forms of ‘badge’ professions. Right out of the womb, my ‘thing’ was art–it was my expression, my solace and my aspiration. Innately right brained, I also fired hot around writing, poetry and pretty much anything involving innovation, intuition, and self expression–but sit me down for a math test or SAT and eyebrows raised quickly. I didn’t care. I was doing fashion illustration for the local paper at 14 and mapping out a future that had nothing to do with test scores and Ivy Leagues.
Instead of supporting the evolution of the skills God gave me, my family took me on as a career development challenge. Recognizing me as the living antithesis of academia, they were hell bent on beating what I loved into the ‘hobby’ category and getting me on the ‘right track’. You know, the one that makes lots of money, involves a sexy wardrobe and (hopefully) landed me in a sweet house or slick condo in a city worth visiting.
Conditioned to not question, I went along with it…and spent the rest of my youth sweating out a business degree that I hated with every ounce of my soul. I hated the teachers, the topics, the snotty self-important students and the rote, soulless learning path of suck it in, spit it out and move along to the next chapter. Check, check and check. Nothing was interesting, nothing stayed with me and certainly nothing helped me see what the heck I was going to do with my life.
Lucky for me, life handed me some breaks. I ended up on the opposite coast where a kind soul watching me toil inside a mind numbing marketing department saw something in me. She introduced me to a friend running the Jeep account for a large advertising agency, mentored me to make a change and set me on a path that would span many decades. It was hard, involved many moves and required me to channel the level of balls, bravado and blind self-belief of a shield maiden. I lived through horrible bosses (both male and female), many rounds of “Me Too” incidences and one leap of faith after another. But by my early forties, I was living the dream–size 2, designer clothes, standing on stages, and getting quoted by some of the biggies. I was leading a North American division of one of the top ad agencies in the world and closing business like bad ass. I published a book, broke norms and was making some serious bank. But I was also living two lives–one a stressed out single mom with a young daughter and Au Pair, the other making shit happen on Madison avenue with a glamorous and brilliant group of single friends.
At the time, I thought I’d done what so many others had barely dared to dream–I had cracked the code. I was mom to a happy, healthy little girl that I loved more than anything in the world while also serving as an example of what was possible for a girl that wouldn’t give up. My parents may not have supported my needs, but I had found my way back to a creative, compelling career that I enjoyed and was damned good at. Funny how we talk ourselves into the story we want to be true.
When COVID hit, like so many others, I was knocked flat on my butt. My ‘specialty’ was unique and involved working with the biggest retailers in the world doing innovation and new ways to engage customers…and we all know what happened to retail over the pandemic. I lost so much–my company, my savings, my purpose–but I also gained internal enlightenments that I had never given myself the space to see.
When I got quiet and surrendered myself to an honest once-over, it hit me hard that I was doing one thing, and one thing only–I was make a tiny set of rich white CEOs richer. They were not people contributing good things to their employees or the people that they sell to. In most cases, they were pushing goods from factories responsible for horrific human conditions. They were contributing to the carbon situation with unabashed greediness, pandering to Wall Street while BS’ing people with disingenuous trope. I was rating my value by what multi-million dollar gigs I helped win, which of my projects, awards or quotes showed up in the press and how many speaking slots I was snagging. I was contributing absolutely nothing to my personal moral compass OR the greater good of society. It was not a pretty moment.
On the personal side, the wheels also came off. My child, now a troubled teenager, started self harming and we discovered longstanding sexual abuse in her past. I was devastated. As we continue to navigate it, I often wonder if I would have seen it had I not fully trusted those caring for her while I was in New York moving mountains. I don’t know…and I never will. Pedofiles are some the most dangerous predators in existence and use numerous grooming techniques to get away with their sick addiction. Gauging from the beautiful and broken community of mothers I now belong to, the most prevalent thing I hear is “how did I not see it?” I say it to myself daily.
All said, I don’t mean to use this piece as a sound-off of self pity. Rather, I hope to inspire others to stop and really question the value of the incessant narrative we are preaching to our kids about their self worth being measured by their college degree, LinkedIn profile and checklist of accomplishments. In the world that’s now staring us in the face, what do we really want for our children? To be happy, healthy and thrive making a living doing what they love? To do work that impacts people and society with truly important contributions to terribly concerning issues? Or to nurture our personal narcissism and push them into getting that big salary, happiness be damned?
For me, I’m turning down next month’s speaking engagement. I’m not doing an all day tour with a team of uber important retailers. I’m not taking the next job with a salary that, 10 years ago, would have looked like my saving grace. And I’m not writing a new business book. Instead, I’m writing one that supports the sea of suffering mothers that I now belong to. I’m learning how to start a foundation, form a 501(c)(3) and beating the loudest drum I can raising awarness of the horrific lack of legal repercussions and protection for sexually abused children.
Am I going to be able to support myself? I think so. I hope so. I have skills that can be translated into freelance, and I luckily have an amazing life partner that believes in what I’m doing. But what I’m not going to do is waste one more minute on what anyone else thinks about my choices.
I feel lucky. I’ve done so much, but by doing so, I’ve learned the most important lesson of all–you don’t screw yourself taking the wrong path. That only happens if you don’t learn from it.
