By Laura Massimini 
My kids are growing up.
And so am I.
The difference? They’re allowed to change without explanation, but when Mom does it, people start whispering about a midlife crisis.
For years, I thought “Mom” was the final title on my life’s résumé. Not in a bad way. It’s the role I’m most proud of. But I quietly stopped asking myself, What’s next for me? My days revolved around school drop-offs, ballet practice, softball tryouts, grocery runs, and laundry that never, ever ends. My identity was so tied to being “Mom” that I couldn’t picture myself as anything else.
The same thing happened in my career. I’d been in the same job for years. I was good at it, respected in it, comfortable in it. But also…restless. I’d find myself staring at my computer screen, not because I didn’t want to work, but because something in me was itching for more. Not just a new project or a promotion, but something different. Something that made my heart beat faster again.
At first, I pushed the feeling away. I told myself I should be grateful for stability, for steady paychecks, predictable routines, and knowing exactly where I belonged. I convinced myself that restlessness was just selfishness in disguise.
But the tug wouldn’t stop.
One day, it hit me: I expect my kids to grow. I buy them bigger shoes, celebrate their milestones, and marvel at the people they’re becoming. So why was I telling myself I couldn’t do the same? Why was I allowed to cheer for their next chapter but not my own?
That realization cracked something open in me.
It started small. I gave myself permission to imagine a different life. One where I wasn’t boxed in by my job title or my “mom” role. I talked to friends. I started writing again. I made lists of things I’d always wanted to try but had been “too busy” for. Slowly, my “someday” list became a “why not now?” list.
And then, I did it. I left my job.
It no longer fit who I was becoming. I didn’t have every detail of my next step figured out (still don’t, if we’re being honest), but I knew I couldn’t keep ignoring that voice telling me there was something more. I wanted to work on projects that lit me up. I wanted to create. I wanted to grow in ways that scared me just enough to know they mattered.
The shift has been…weird. Good weird. Uncomfortable weird. Like breaking in a new pair of shoes you know will be your favorite but are giving you blisters right now.
It’s also been messy. Jumping from a two-income household to one. Losing benefits and rushing to find a replacement before the next doctor’s appointment. I’ve sat at the dinner table and talked about my own goals instead of just asking about theirs. And yes, I’ve felt the guilt. Oh, the guilt. Moms are trained to put ourselves last, so the second we take a leap toward our own dreams, we feel like we’re stealing from someone else’s plate.
But something unexpected happened: my kids started cheering me on.
They’ve seen me try, fail, laugh, and keep going. They’ve asked questions about what I’m learning. What new jobs I’m applying for. They’ve watched me model that it’s okay to outgrow old versions of yourself, and that growth doesn’t have an expiration date.
Motherhood will always be my anchor. But it’s not my ceiling.
I’m still their safe place, their constant, their soft landing. I’m just also letting myself climb a little higher, reach a little further, and see who I can become next.
Because one day, my kids will stand where I’m standing, at a crossroads between what’s safe and what’s possible. And I want them to remember the mom who didn’t just tell them to dream big, she showed them how.
The best gift I can give my kids (other than snacks in the car at all times) is proof that we never have to stop growing up.
by Christian Simmers 
by Sherry White 
by Jonathan Alexander 
