This piece was written by one of our dear readers—a woman with something real to say. Each month, we handpick the best submissions for Dear Reader because we’re after that PROVOKED bite: truth, intelligence, and heart. These stories come from women our age—women who’ve lived enough to know better and still care enough to tell it anyway. Because being seen and heard matters. Because storytelling is how we stitch ourselves to one another. And because when one woman speaks her truth, another finally recognizes her own. — Susan Dabbar, Editor-in-Chief

After 30 years practicing law, starting a business offered the chance to do things differently. But the need for approval turned out to be harder to leave behind.

Sometimes I fantasize about becoming a restaurant hostess. I don’t want to own the restaurant, develop the menu, or create its brand. I just want to wear a stunning dress, seat people, and go home. No clients to worry about, no trials to prepare for, and no responsibility for what happens after my shift ends.

This may sound like an underwhelming fantasy for someone who has spent most of the last 30 years in a courtroom handling serious cases, including child abuse, neglect, and sexual violence.

But some of the most demanding work of my career wasn’t even part of the job I had originally been hired to do.

When New York enacted its new red flag law, allowing courts to temporarily remove firearms from people deemed a danger to themselves or others, I was the first attorney sent into court to litigate these cases. One day, I was scheduled to conduct three hearings involving over 10 witnesses and give a two-hour presentation about the new law to the county’s police force. When the governor came to tout our county’s implementation, I watched him publicly thank an elected official who wasn’t even my boss. 

I was later assigned to the police department, away from my lawyer colleagues and with even more responsibility. I was called “acting” counsel to the police commissioner when it suited the situation, but my official title and compensation remained unchanged. Then came COVID, the murder of George Floyd, and sweeping police reforms. I helped navigate those crises, too.

I always made my bosses look good.

When Being Needed Isn’t Enough

I eventually returned to the district attorney’s office, where I’d begun my career. The pay was better, and I was back doing criminal law, which I loved. But I still wondered why I’d been trusted with leadership responsibilities without the title to match. Instead of questioning the people and the politics, I questioned myself. I resolved to be an even better “team player” in my new office.  

But when a difficult jury trial kept me from my family during a major holiday, it made me question what I wanted from the next 10 years of my career.

Around that time, a senior official in the district attorney’s office was appointed to lead another government office. He offered me a deputy bureau chief position. Here I was, being offered another supporting role.  

He enthusiastically described the woman he’d already selected as bureau chief, including how she’d traveled around the state teaching changes in the law. I’d done that too. In fact, the county still owed me money for my travel expenses. But I said nothing. I didn’t even ask why I hadn’t been considered for the top job. It had already been filled before I even knew it was available.  

I thanked him.

He then made clear that the first six months would be “all hands on deck.” No vacations, no time away. A close family member was facing a serious medical situation requiring regular travel for appointments over the coming year. I needed to be there.

After all those years of wanting to be chosen, I was finally being asked. Just not quite for the position I wanted, and not at a time when I could put the job first.  

I declined the position and left my job at the district attorney’s office, too. 

Why, at that moment, did I think I could be so bold?

I Still Had Something to Prove

For starters, I’d spent the last few years commuting while listening to the gospel of women’s reinvention. Your thoughts create your results. You can achieve impossible goals. You just have to become the woman capable of closing the gap between where you are and where you want to be. 

I loved all of it. 

After years of someone else deciding how far I could rise, building something where I didn’t need anyone’s permission to succeed was irresistible.

I imagined money, a beautiful office, and speaking engagements where nobody stood up and yelled “Objection” just as I was hitting my stride. I imagined proving everyone who had overlooked me wrong. Most importantly, I imagined finally proving to myself that I’d been right about my abilities.

I started a coaching business for lawyers and had some early success. Then my husband unexpectedly lost his job. Worried about our finances, I returned to practicing law in addition to building my business. 

I could do it all without asking anyone’s permission. But I also had more worries, more websites, and more sales funnels to create. 

I didn’t escape pressure. I diversified it.

Because somewhere along the way, “You’re not done” became “You’d better have a second act,” and if you haven’t succeeded, perhaps you haven’t done enough work on your “mindset.”

I’d traded one way of feeling inadequate for another. I now had real independence, just not the kind I’d been chasing. And no achievement could quiet the part of me still waiting for someone else to say, “You were right about yourself.”  

That part of me is still there. I see it when I check LinkedIn to see who viewed my posts. I see it when I consider saving money for cosmetic procedures while listening to women my age proclaim how wonderful it is to finally stop caring what anyone thinks. Who are these women? Because I’m clearly not one of them, and neither are many of the women I know.

After a lifetime of trying to become more, I’m beginning to wonder whether what I really want is to stop demanding so much of myself. How much is enough?

Which brings me back to my imaginary restaurant job. Within two weeks, I’d be worrying that Mary thought I was giving John all the good tables, or that I had ruined someone’s anniversary by not giving them the window seat. 

I don’t even have the job, and I’m already mediating disputes and inventing a new seating system. Apparently, I can reinvent my career all I want. I still bring the same woman to work.