Navigating the Midlife Identity Crisis: You've outgrow who you were, but don't know who you're becoming

I once hosted a jewelry trunk show at my own house and didn't tell a single guest that I was the one selling the jewelry.

Let me explain.

In 2008, I signed up to be a Stella & Dot stylist. If that doesn't ring a bell, Stella & Dot was the cooler, sexier cousin of the old-school Tupperware party plan. We called it social selling: gather your friends for a girls night to socialize, sip and shop.

Having stepped away from a 20-year career in PR to stay home with my young kids, this felt like a decent way to work flexibly and earn a little money until I was ready for my next “real” job.

To launch the business, it was suggested I host my own trunk show with friends and family. So I created a gorgeous product display in our living room, set the mood with music, laid out snacks and bevvies. Everything looked beautiful.

And then the doorbell rang.

As friends and neighbors began arriving, I got cold feet. The excitement I'd felt minutes before vanished. My confidence apparently left the building too.

As women browsed and chatted, my mind was spiraling and my ego was screaming: What in the hell are you doing, Carla?! You're a glorified Avon lady. How did this even happen?

I mixed, mingled, socialized and did a little styling with the products, but never once mentioned that this was my business. It took a friend who was ready to check out asking, “Who's the rep?” for me to finally come out of hiding and admit the truth.

I continued to hide in those first few months, keeping a fairly low profile and only talking about the business when asked. The irony was not lost on me that as a publicist, I was doing a really terrible job creating awareness for my own brand.

Now, spoiler alert: my friends were delighted — and even happier to shop once they realized I was the stylist. In the years that followed, I built a multi six-figure business with Stella & Dot.

And I never did go back to a “real” job.

But in that uncomfortable in-between, all I felt was embarrassment. Fear. Sadness. Discomfort. Confusion.

I was simultaneously mourning the identity I'd spent two decades building — the title, the accolades, the achievements, the salary, the name-drop-worthy clients — while struggling to find my footing, purpose and worth in this next chapter.

And if I could travel back in time, knowing what I know now, I would wrap 2008 Carla in a tight embrace.

I'd whisper: This is so normal. This is what growth feels like. There is absolutely nothing wrong with you.

I'd tell her she didn't need to keep proving loyalty to a version of herself she'd already outgrown. That she could let go of the idealized identity without guilt, shame or endless worrying about what other people might think.

This was the first of many identity crises I'd encounter in middle age.

Turns out, I was just getting started

Fast forward a few years, and that same woman who hid in her own living room had built something real. The “embarrassing side hustle” became more than a thriving business. It became a community, a calling card and a whole vibe.

I'd gone from “Who's the rep?” to a full-blown reputation.

Somewhere along the way, I stopped being Carla who happened to run a business with Stella & Dot and became Stella & Dot Carla.

For the first time since leaving PR, I knew exactly who I was again.

Which was great. Until it wasn't.

Because eventually, I outgrew it. The business. The model. The chapter. And this time the identity crisis hit differently – harder, actually. This time, everyone knew me as Stella & Dot. It was how I got introduced. It felt like my whole personality.

Letting it go felt like defeat. Betrayal. Like losing myself all over again.

That's when a coach I was working with said something I've never forgotten: 

You are not Stella & Dot. Stella & Dot is the vessel.

You are the nectar.

Whatever I poured myself into next would take its shape from me, not the other way around.

I sat with that for a long time, which I mostly processed through big, ugly tears.

Because we are really, really good at becoming our vessels. At letting the container – the outer trappings – define us instead of the other way around.

I'd done it twice:

once clinging to the old,

once terrified to leave the new.

Different vessels. Same woman.

The nectar never changed.

So if you're reading this from inside your own uncomfortable in-between – a career that no longer fits, an identity that's ending, a version of yourself you've outgrown but haven't quite released…

I want you to know: the discomfort isn't a sign that something is wrong with you.

It's a sign that something is happening in you.

You can outgrow the container without losing yourself.

If this feels a little too close to home…if you've been carrying around the uncomfortable suspicion that the life or identity that once fit no longer does…I hope you know you're not the only one.

And if something in you is done performing the old version…you know where to find me.