Maybe it's a Midlife Crisis, Maybe it's the American Dream
The story of how I found what I loved and it killed me.
“My dear, find what you love and let it kill you. Let it drain you of your all. Let it cling onto your back and weigh you down into eventual nothingness. Let it kill you and let it devour your remains. For all things will kill you, both slowly and fastly, but it’s much better to be killed by a lover. ~ Falsely yours” ― Charles Bukowski
This is the story of how I found what I loved and it killed me.
Hi. I’m Becka. I write about my reclamation journey which includes but isn’t limited to deconstructing my childhood faith, reclaiming agency over my body, abandoning hustle culture, exploring nature based spirituality, learning mimetic therapies like RRT and somatics, and my experience as a late diagnosed neurodivergent. Phew.
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“Find what you love and let it kill you…”
I’m an elder millennial. I’m one of those women in their early thirties who was born in 1984 and for some reason everyone keeps asking me what I want to do for my 40th birthday this year. ;)
I graduated from University in 2007. (One year before the economical crash of 2008. Shoutout to all my millennials who’ve been surviving “unprecedented events” since before it was trendy. Love you.) I launched a business because it seemed like the best thing to do when finding a job with my Psychology BA meant I could choose between middle school guidance counsellor and going back for my masters. I built it to a six figure business before age 25, and tumbled head over feet down the rabbit hole of self employment. I was published in bunches of magazines, won awards, taught workshops, and even made it onto the cover of a publication.
It was all fun and games till I had kids and realized that exchanging time for money as an artist is nearly impossible as a new mom without childcare so I business hopped to one I could do from home and built that to a multiple six figure earning business while raising little kids during the heyday of the #girlboss. I posted #thankgoditsmonday and meant it. I woke up early and stayed up late and worked from my phone during toilet breaks to sneak in a bit more productivity and I was so proud of myself for it. (Oh the cleverness of me!) I truly believed that my ability to let what I loved (entrepreneurship) devour me was me living the dream and, quite honestly, crushing it. I believed wholeheartedly that I was helping the world by being home with my kids, getting our family out of debt, and helping other people do the same thing. (The humor of the fact that I am now researching “invisible workload” and “invisible labor” is not lost on me after a decade of feeling proud of myself for doing it. What a mindfuck.)
I work-from-home mommed through the pandemic. I homeschooled and zoomed and baked banana bread and hatched butterflies and took my kids on nature drives (because we couldn’t be out in public at the time) and we tried to make it less scary by spending as much time doing fun stuff as we could. I celebrated with gratitude my privilege to do both things, to work and mom simultaneously. I was living the dream. So why did I feel like I was drowning?
Author’s note: I want to pause here and take a moment to note that my story includes multiple levels of privilege including but not limited to being a moderately attractive, white passing, straight passing, neurotypical passing woman married to a white, cis, straight man and both being healthy enough to work during that time with two healthy children. I understand that how I navigated my experience of all of this was only possible because of that privilege and what it affords me in our society and most people would not have the same options as I did for dealing with this mental and physical health crisis and that is exceptionally unfair and terrifying knowing what I have learned about trauma and nervous systems.
“…Let it drain you of your all…”
There was nothing more aspirational to me than getting things done in the cracks of the day. I was spinning 50 plates all at once and humblebragging on social nonstop about it because, like so many of us, I had been conditioned to believe that for a woman to be a success she had to do it all and do it all not only well but without perceived effort, while looking good, and with extra gratitude no matter what she felt inside while attempting to do it.
Once, in an interview, someone asked me what I did for fun. I said something like, “I build businesses. My work is fun. It’s what I want to do in my free time.” And it was true. I think? I was being “fearless in the pursuit of what set my soul on fire.” I was following Steve Jobs advice that “…to be truly satisfied is to do what you believe is great work and the only way to do great work is to love what you do.” I believed I was doing both.
Just like all the other female online entrepreneurs I was scheduling photo shoots so I had more content to post of me smiling, well-dressed, with a coffee in my hands and maybe a kid and probably my laptop and definitely my phone. Maybe even blowing confetti towards the camera. There were gold mylar balloons at one point. I checked all the boxes… the big open mouth smile photo, the wide mouthed belly laughing while looking off to the side at a person making a joke who isn’t actually there, the looking at my phone while walking multitasking shot, the mid-stride power strut shot, the sitting at a table at a coffee shop with a latte looking with peaceful contentment out the window…
And I don’t think there’s anything at all wrong with those photo shoots except that even when I was doing them the cognitive dissonance over the fact that none of that happened in my normal day to day life (except maybe zoning out staring out the window with coffee) even as an entrepreneur doing what I love. I didn’t wear bright colored dresses and laugh with a three finger wide smile. I didn’t take calls while strolling down Park Avenue in trendy clothes. I absolutely did not smile this much. (Now I look back at those picture galleries and see someone trying so hard. Look at all the costumes and masks she had to wear just to keep the whole machine going.)
But I did love what I was doing and I felt so passionately about it. Truly. So much of what I had been able to learn to do had completely changed the trajectory of my family’s life. And I wanted to communicate that. I think we all did (do?) But in doing so in such a way, we widen the gap between expectations and reality. Because when I left those photo shoots and went back to reality it looked very different.
“…Let it cling onto your back…”
My actual day to day was me in yoga pants and un-styled hair. I only put on makeup if I had an in person meeting (rare) or had to be on zoom. It was doing my hair and makeup one day a week so I could batch record content and reels that made it look like I actually got dressed like a respectable grown up every day. (I did not. I still do not.) It was snapping at my kid because I needed to finish sending a message I started when they were distracted by something and they were no longer distracted and were now at my hip tapping me going, “Mom. Moooooommmmm. MOM!”
My business tasks clung to me long after business hours. There were no business hours. And to be completely honest, the nonstop demand made me feel good. Like if I had that many emails and messages coming in I must be in high demand. I must be good at what I did. I didn’t see it as exploiting myself. I saw it as being good enough to be wanted. And part of me was afraid if I didn’t respond fast enough they’d move on to the next person and forget about me. (And they did) And then what would that mean about my worthiness?
“…And weigh you down into eventual nothingness…”
Fast forward a few more years. Feeling out of alignment in my career, I pivoted yet again. Except this time I was years older, multiple years into a healing journey, doing a ton of therapy and figuring out childhood trauma, in school for learning about trauma informed therapy modalities, and a mom of two school aged children.
On paper it was an exciting thing. Really a dream come true start-up opportunity. Everyone involved was leaning in hard. It was all about the mission. Just like Steve Jobs knew as he pioneered building a company with the WHY at the forefront. Like how if you believe you’re selling computers, you will want to take time off for holidays to spend with your family and you’ll be excited to leave work early when you can. If you believe you’re changing the world, you’ll want to come in early, leave late, and spend weekends in masterminds and on retreats with your co-wrokers. We were all in on the WHY. We were mission focused. We weren’t just selling products, we were changing lives starting with our own. Steve Jobs would have been proud.
So you can imagine my confusion when less than 6 months in, I hit a wall that debilitated me in every way. Physically. Mentally. Emotionally. I had to stop working for the first time in my adult life. I didn’t take time off after birthing my first child. I didn’t time off after adopting my 2nd. And yet here I was with no “excuse” that I knew of needing to press pause because I just physically and mentally could not continue.
What had I been grinding over for so long? Products and community centered around wellness, self care, health, community, and creating freedom and balance. Ha!
If I can’t laugh about it, I’d cry. And I’ve definitely done lots of both.
“…Let it kill you…”
I was fantasizing daily about finding out I had cancer or some sort of horrible debilitating disease so that I could stop everything and have all my friends and family not judge me or be upset with me for it and instead dote on me, offering to do anything I needed or wanted, watching my kids, sending meals, etc.
I told my husband that and he looked at me like I had just shown him that my femur was sticking out of my skin. I was so confused. He was flabbergasted. And his reaction helped me to begin to see how serious things were.
(It was like when you had a really traumatic childhood and you’re telling someone something that seemed normal to you as a joke and you watch their faces just kind of go blank and you start to realize, “Oh, that’s not a normal thing everyone went through?” And they are like, “OMG! NO ARE YOU OKAY?!” HAHAHA. It felt like that.)
“…And devour your remains…”
During the first few weeks of my sabbatical I did nothing but sleep. I spent almost all of it in bed. I had appointments with doctors and various therapists. Medications were changed and added and taken away. I felt like a chemistry experiment. (I’m working on writing out my medical experience of the last three months and it’s proving to be really difficult for me to articulate so I’ll save the details for a future essay and just stick to what’s most relevant here for now.)
Around the second month I had enough energy to nest. I started rebuilding my backyard garden, tackling craft projects and home DIY things like organizing the fridge and re-arranging furniture in rooms. But my newfound energy and small bits of joy were routinely tainted by intrusive feelings of guilt and shame. I began to realize how deeply interwoven and internalized capitalism and productivity was to me. I would cry to my husband about how worthless I felt. I felt like I didn’t deserve to go out with friends, like I hadn’t “earned” getting a nice nice out. I was terrified to meet new people because I was afraid they’d ask me what I did for work and I felt like without a list of impressive career achievements and current projects to respond with I’d be seen as less than. I started to realize how much I used my work as a shield, as a mask, to seem impressive and hopefully get people to respect and treat me with kindness. Without it, I felt completely vulnerable like the soft spots of my belly were open to being sliced with a sword at any moment. I just wanted to hide.
By month three I started to feel like how could I possibly go back? It felt so similar to every other deconstruction journey of my life. It’s like once you know, you can’t not know anymore so how do you just go back and act like nothing is different? And now I knew things about myself I didn’t know before. I knew I wouldn’t ever be able to operate in my career the same way anymore. (Which, honestly, has been so scary and unsettling to navigate.) And the work to pick up the bricks of the castle that I had built in my work life as an adult to protect me and start looking at each one and evaluating, “do I want to keep this?” and then starting to figure out how to build a new castle from what’s left had begun. And damn it is daunting.
I realized I don’t want what I love to kill me I want it to bring me to life.
I don’t want it to weigh me down. I want it to make me feel lighter.
I had done everything the inspirational quote had instructed
and none of it made me feel good.
Find what you love and let it kill you? Check.
Let it drain you of your all? Check.
Let it cling onto your back and weigh you down into eventual nothingness? Check.
Let it kill you and let it devour your remains? Check.
I think capitalism dangles these ideas in front of us like carrots. And we all go on slowly burning thinking we’ve set our souls on fire when really we are just keeping the engine of capitalism lit and roaring for the very small group of people who benefit from it.
I gave my all to what I loved and let it kill me.
But just like I wrote in my last essay about Easter, death isn’t the end.
Death precedes new life. Death gets the soil ready for something new to grow. What dies away nourishes what comes next. And it feels beautifully poetic that my journey is aligning with the wisdom of the seasons so perfectly right now as I feel within myself blossoming an inner spring.
Bukowski’s quote ends with a sentence that starts with, “For all will kill you” and yes that’s true. In fact, I’ve noticed that we each die to older versions of ourselves again and again. I, myself, feel as if I’ve lived 5 lifetimes since I started my entrepreneurial journey. And at least another 3 or 4 as a parent. Remembering past versions of myself is like remembering a dream after you’ve woken up as it slips away: I was in an apartment, and you were there. But it wasn’t you. But I knew you still. Come to think of it, I don’t think I ever saw your face. It just felt like you. And all of a sudden we were on a train running along the top? I don’t know why. Then there was an old house? I think? I don’t know…
But I don’t want what I love to kill me anymore. I want it to make me feel more like living. Not like I’m chasing what I think living should look like. I want it to energize me. And not just my stroke my ego. I want it to nourish me even on days when I’m not productive my capitalism’s standards.
I want it to be the heartbeat of my life, not the taskmaster.
Just like the meme floating around instagram right now that I love so much that talks about the famous Mary Oliver quote, “What is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life.” We’ve all taken that quote and used it to inspire us into action, into leaps and stretches. But Mary’s answer to her own question was to simply walk along lakes and woods paying attention to things like geese and flowers.
And that’s just fine too.
Author’s note: PS. Recently someone asked me what my hobbies are and I was so excited (and proud of myself) to have some to share. In case you’re wondering, my hobbies are: organic gardening, learning about native plants, baking, romantasy books, camping, nature, writing, and treasure hunting at thrift stores. I still enjoy building businesses, but like only some of the time.
xo, B
What about you? Have you had a similar experience? How did you navigate it? Any tips for me or other readers? Come say it in a comment.
Reclamation by Becka Robinson is a reader-supported publication. Most posts are available for free to subscribers to support as many people as possible on a healing journey. Paid and Founding subscribers will receive the bulk of my seasonal essays in the Reclaiming Rituals series, personal stories from my healing journey surrounding shame, sexuality, and deconstruction and more as we grow.