The Year I Lost (and Found) Myself

A year ago, I “lost” my job. Six weeks before that, I “lost” my dad. But jobs and parents aren’t socks or keys—you don’t misplace them, and they don’t turn up under the couch. These weren’t accidents of misplacement. They were ruptures. Endings. Closures.

And yet, in loss there was also finding. Losing my father and my role stripped away the scaffolding I had leaned on for identity and stability. What remained was vulnerability—and the work of piecing together who I was when the titles and anchors were gone.

My father’s death left an ache I couldn’t outwalk. He wasn’t simple—our relationship had its edges—but he was constant. He listened, gave sharp advice, and showed up in small ways that built the architecture of my days. Without him, there was a hole. And in the silence, I sometimes imagined his disappointment. Titles mattered to him. Without one, I felt ashamed—not because my family judged me, but because I had absorbed a cultural script: Your worth is what you do.

And then came the end of my role. Not because I failed, but because alignment did. I had spoken up for what mattered—and in that quiet, heavy moment, I knew my advocacy had cost me my place.

When You’re Not What You Do

When people asked how work was this year, I smiled and said “fine.”If they asked what I did, I said “consulting” or “between things.” To a select few, I told the truth: I was unemployed. And in those moments, I felt invisible.

Because in our culture, identity is shorthand for a title. Without one, you’re easily dismissed. And if you’ve left more than one role? The assumption is simple: you’re the problem. Few stop to ask why.

But I know why.

I refuse to silence myself when I see harm. I don’t shrink when integrity is at stake. I disrupt.

The word “disruptor” gets thrown around like an accusation—troublemaker, meddler, someone who stirs chaos. But disruption isn’t recklessness. Disruption is conscience. It asks organizations to examine what’s working, what’s broken, whose voices are amplified, and whose are missing. It’s often the first step toward progress.

And yet, the double standard persists. Men who disrupt are praised as bold. Women who disrupt are branded “too much.” Organizations claim to value courage and authenticity, but rarely protect the people who embody those values.

That’s why the silence of unemployment hit so hard. What was dismissed as “too much” in the workplace was, in truth, the integrity I was unwilling to betray.

Maybe the problem is the questions we ask. When someone asks, “What do you do?” the expected answer is a title—Director of X, Vice President of Y. But what if the better question is, “Who are you?”

Because I am more than a résumé line.I am a woman. A daughter. A friend. An ice cream lover. A basketball fan. A caretaker of animals. Empathic. Creative. Resilient.

Worth isn’t tethered to a position. It’s found in the messy, human, gooey stuff that makes us who we are.

Anchors in the Storm

So I built new rhythms: long walks with the dogs, cooking dinner, keeping the house moving, chasing sunsets. I invested in relationships, worked to be a better friend and listener, and asked myself: What am I good at? What brings me joy? What does the world need from me? Who am I?

I proved something to myself, too: finishing my doctorate at Vanderbilt with a 4.0, earning my MBA, conquering courses in coding and economics I once thought impossible—and adding professional certifications along the way.

I leaned into creativity, drafting coursework on leadership, learning, and organizations. And I reconnected with my father’s side of the family. When they surprised me by showing up at my graduation, claiming me as theirs, it felt like healing stitched into a year of loss.

So when people ask how I’ll explain the “gap” on my résumé, I’ll tell them the truth: I didn’t just pass the time. I found myself.

What Leaders Need to Remember

This past year taught me lessons I’ll carry forward—and that I believe organizations need to hear:

• Grief walks into work with us. Leaders who ignore it compound harm. Leaders who acknowledge it earn trust.

• Integrity is not compliance. Employees who speak up aren’t problems to manage; they’re culture carriers to protect.

• Disruption isn’t danger. When people like me leave, organizations lose our advocacy. Leaders should know the cost when integrity walks out the door.

• Worth can’t be tethered to titles. Recognition must value courage, care, and resilience—not just outputs.

• A gap is not a red flag. Ask what someone learned in that season. Chances are, it’s the resilience your organization needs most.

This isn’t just about me. It’s about every talented professional whose story doesn’t fit neatly in a LinkedIn headline. Every leader forced to choose between integrity and security. Every person quietly asking: Who am I, when I’m not what I do?

Where Do I Go From Here?

I stand at a crossroads—shaken, yes, but not defeated.

For years, I was expected to play small—to shrink myself to fit into spaces that didn’t know what to do with a strong, creative, smart soul. And I did. But not anymore. Now I am ready to rewrite not only my story, but my playbook.

Maybe it’s time to bet on myself. To stop waiting for someone to choose me and start choosing myself. To build a future of consulting, writing, teaching, coaching. A future where I no longer ask for a seat at the table—I build the table.

Because here’s the truth: a disruptor alone is called difficult. A disruptor with her people is called unstoppable. Maybe I’m not too much. Maybe I just haven’t fully found my people yet.

And if I do return to an organization, it will be one that refuses to abandon its values in the face of political winds. One that doesn’t treat DEI as disposable, but as essential. One that stands firm in the belief that people—not just profits—matter.

I don’t know exactly what comes next. But I do know this: I am still standing. I am ready. And I’m writing a new playbook—one that prizes courage over compliance, humanity over hierarchy, and authenticity over applause.

So let me leave you with this:

• Would you walk away from a role, not for your own sake, but because staying would mean being complicit in the mistreatment of others?

• When someone’s résumé shows a gap, do you dismiss them—or do you ask what wisdom was forged in that season?

• And maybe the hardest one: are you building a culture where disruptors—your truth-tellers, your conscience—are silenced, or one where they are protected and heard?

Because in the end, this year wasn’t just about endings. It was about finding. And what I found is that authenticity is not a liability—it’s a lifeline.