I just finished recording the audiobook for my upcoming memoir. It was yet another aspect of my journey, bringing my book to life, that was harder than I anticipated.

Because it’s a memoir, and I have decades of experience in television news, I wanted to narrate it myself. I recorded the audiobook over five separate sessions, each about three hours long.

I knew the process was going to be demanding, but I didn’t expect to be so exhausted when I was done. I didn’t just read the book out loud; I performed it, adjusting the dynamics of my voice to bring the appropriate energy and emotion to the different scenes.

The hardest part, though, was that narrating the book required me to relive some of the most challenging moments of my time as a mom, trying to balance the work I loved with raising my young twins, who I also desperately loved, just with a different part of my heart.

By now, I have reread, and rewritten most sections of the book more times than I can count. But I underestimated how difficult it would be to reexperience those memories yet again.

Most days after recording the audiobook, I’d come home completely wiped out, physically and emotionally. It very much reminded me of how difficult it was to write the book in the first place.

I’d been attempting to bring my memoir to life for nearly ten years. Eventually, I realized it was never going to happen unless I fully devoted myself to writing it. So, nearly four years ago, I hired my first book coach, , a talented and inspirational teacher, and committed the next year of my life to the project until I completed a manuscript.

For that year, writing was my full-time job. Every weekday morning I was often up before the sun.

Sometimes the words poured out of me. Other days, I’d simply stare at the computer, my mind as blank as the screen in front of me.

It was easy to recall many of the inspiring scenes as a young mom and morning anchor in Denver, doing work that fulfilled me, covering historic snowstorms and ad-libbing on live TV.

It was much harder to reflect on the moments that shaped me—how empty I felt after agreeing to leave my job in news to support my then-husband’s career; how I worked to professionally reinvent myself while also being the primary caregiver for my children; and, years later, how I set out to become a better version of me, rebuild parts of myself that I’d lost and discover new potential. All while being unaware that my marriage was dying.

Putting those experiences into the exact right words was important to me. I wanted other women to read them and feel as if they were there in the scene with me. I wanted them to laugh, cry, maybe become angry and even think, yes, me too.

But before I could tap those emotions, I had to be really honest with myself. I had to understand what I’d learned in the tough moments, how they changed me, and what I wanted to take away from them and share with readers.

There were many days after writing when I felt limp and numb.

My husband would come home at the end of the day to find me quiet, withdrawn and sometimes with puffy eyes from crying.

“Guess it was a tough writing day,” he’d say.

That was an understatement.

I haven’t even shared how grueling it was to then rewrite, edit and rewrite the manuscript again. I think my final version might be my seventh draft? Honestly, I stopped counting.

Fortunately, I had the opportunity to directly work with another gifted coach, writer and now my publisher at She Writes Press. She pushed me hard to be more transparent with my experiences, enhancing the meaning of the book.

Yes, bringing my memoir to life has been quite the journey.

And it’s only just beginning.

I have less than two months until What Do I Tell My Daughter? is officially released on October 6.

Now I’m in the thick of drumming up publicity for me, the book and, most importantly, the messages I hope will touch and affect other women.

I’ve never been the type of person to take the easy path. And while there have been plenty of moments when I wondered if I should keep going or quit, I wouldn’t change the journey.

I’ve grown a lot. I think I’ve healed some past wounds as well. And I have an incredible sense of accomplishment that I’ve finally realized my dream of writing a book.

Of course, I hope much more will come out of this.

If my story makes another woman feel less alone, perhaps changes her perspective on the choices she made in her life, or sparks a meaningful conversation with her, her daughter, son, or partner, it will all be worth it.

I guess that’s what keeps me writing and putting my voice out there.

Because sharing our experiences, acknowledging the beauty along with the pain, has the potential to make all our lives a bit richer.

The other day a friend asked me why I wanted to write a book, and a memoir at that.

Why would I want to put my life out there—the good, the bad and, at times, pretty darn ugly—for others to read, judge and potentially criticize?

Believe me, there have been times when I’ve questioned that myself, or if I should write the book at all.

Initially, what held me back was fear, fear that my story might not resonate with other women. I was afraid they’d read about my struggles with identity and ambition while balancing career with motherhood and think, ‘wow, that’s one weak, conflicted, and selfish woman.’

I also feared that since I’m not a famous celebrity, my life might not be special enough. Why would anyone want to hear about it?

What kept me going for the past decade, and the last four years especially, is other women, and my deep belief that I’m not alone.

I believe in many ways, the story I share in What Do I Tell My Daughter?, is every woman’s story, no matter your life circumstances.

I love being a mom. Raising my boy-girl twins, who are now adults, was challenging but also an incredible gift that brought me immense joy. There are so many great memories: carpooling every day to school and our light silly banter, family holidays and game nights, watching them in the school talent show or cheering from the soccer field sidelines. Mostly, it’s having my life intertwined with these two amazing humans and genuinely enjoying their company.

The truth though, is that I never want to solely be a mom.

I’m one of those fortunate people who found work I enjoyed and was passionate about—first in television news and later, after pivoting to find more flexibility, in public relations.

I always felt torn though, pulled in opposing directions by my work and my children, two important roles that both mattered to me.

I often felt guilty that I wasn’t completely fulfilled by motherhood.

And yet, after deciding to leave the 15-year career I built in television news for my family, I was overcome with grief, anger and emptiness.

I also resented that it was me, not my husband, who willingly made most of the daily sacrifices and adjustments to my work. I resented him and I resented myself for stepping into that role because I thought I should.

There are some women who have complete clarity about what they want for their life, careers and family. Most of us struggle mightily with our choices, fearing we’re making the wrong one.

No matter the path you take, including not having children, we brace ourselves to be judged by others. Sadly, some of the harshest judgement comes from within.

My book publishes in less than two months and I’m feeling buoyed by reviews from early readers.

One anonymous reader on NetGalley writes, “Katie captures the quiet cost of sacrificing your own dreams for the people you love with such vulnerability that it feels like you’re having a heart-to-heart with a close friend.”

I take those words as a huge compliment.

Other readers have praised me for giving voice to what many women think but rarely say out loud.

I’m not sure why more of us don’t feel empowered to speak up about the unique challenges we face as women. Perhaps we’re afraid we’ll shatter some image of perfection we want to present to the world.

From my experience I now know that our struggles are not a sign of failure.

It’s okay to love being a mom and also recognize we might need more to feel whole.

I hope my story sparks dialogue with other women, our partners and the next generation and if it does, then writing it will have been worth it.

I’ve come to believe that our stories don’t have to be extraordinary to matter.

Sometimes we need to just be brave enough to share what’s in our hearts and on our minds, and recognize we’re not alone.

“I don’t care babe,” Steve had said. “You decide and I’ll go pick it up.”

It was the end of a long day that started around 5 a.m. when I walked the dog, then sat down for back-to-back client meetings, a mountain of writing and countless work emails.

I genuinely did not have any bandwidth in my tired brain to figure out what I wanted to eat that evening.

While I appreciated not having to cook on a hot summer night, especially since I’d cooked (and planned) the three nights before, I was irritated that this question about ‘what to have for dinner,’ was falling on me. Again.

“Nope,” I said. “You need to make the call. What do you want to eat? I need you to decide.”

My exhaustion wasn’t really about dinner. It stemmed from the emotional labor, the mental load, that many women carry every day, in addition to completing the actual tasks.

We’re empty nesters now, but for many years, in my first marriage as a mom raising twins, my mind kept a running inventory of nearly every life detail for every breathing creature in our household—the kids, my then-husband, and the dog.

· Homework assignments

· Sports and other activities

· Lunch and dinner

· Doctors and dentist appointments

· My husband’s travel schedule

· Birthdays and holidays

· Gifts for those celebrations

It was an endless checklist of things that needed to be done, balls that couldn’t be dropped; all while keeping my own life on track, including my career.

Now, I know many women are good at multitasking, but that doesn’t mean it’s easy.

The emotional overload is draining.

And it’s why, even though I occasionally enjoy making dinner and developing a fun menu, coming up with the idea of what to eat for every single meal can be tedious and painful.

Recently, my 84-year-old dad validated my point.

For much of their marriage, my mom did most of the cooking and meal planning; and she was fine with that.

These days, my mom’s mind is not what it once was, and so my dad is now in charge of all the meals.

“Katrina,” he sighed, using his nickname for me. “I have a whole new appreciation for what you, your mom and your sister have done for your families. I had no idea how much energy went into all the planning, the shopping and the cooking. It is exhausting!”

Yes, it is.

It’s a lot for my dad; it’s a lot for most of us when we’re already stretched and busy taking care of the people we love.

Sometimes we need a break, someone else to carry the load, physically and mentally.

I’m getting better at pushing back, asking for help, telling everyone to fend for themselves. My favorite option happens on those evenings when I’m alone, my husband is out golfing or playing poker. I get almost giddy about the idea of not thinking about dinner.

I’m thrilled to simply have cheese, crackers and some fresh fruit.

It doesn’t really matter what I end up eating.

The best part is not having to decide.

Someone asked me the other day for one word to describe how I’m feeling about my life.

I cheated a bit and used two: excitedly overwhelmed.

My debut memoir, What Do I Tell My Daughter?, comes out in less than three months, on October 6. I am thrilled to finally be able to share my story with the world because I hope it will uplift and encourage other women. I hope they’ll feel validated in their own experiences; recognize themselves in my struggles to balance career and motherhood, loss of identity, and desire for more fulfillment.

Along with the excitement, my brain is on overload.

My central nervous system is so amped up with anticipation about everything I need to accomplish over the coming months, it almost incapacitates me. It certainly affects my sleep and without good sleep, I’m not the person I want to be.

Here’s the thing, I know better.

I know I have to stop pushing. I have to slow down, be present and breathe. This is perhaps a life lesson I still hope to master: how to prioritize when everything feels important.

Because everything does feel important.

There’s my work, supporting clients with their PR and communications strategies. There’s my family; spending quality time with my husband and son, and the Sunday night dinners we prepare for my aging parents. I have friendships I want to nurture because those women are my biggest source of strength right now. My writing feeds my soul; exercise burns off the anxiety and helps me sleep. I want time for yoga and meditation because both calm my mind and body, even though these also become one more task on my list. Oh, and our one-year-old puppy who deserves love, attention and a good walk.

And somewhere in all of that, I want to actually enjoy this beautiful, busy life and be the be version of myself.

Yep. It’s a lot.

Lately, I’ve been trying to ask myself, what matters most?

What’s the most pressing thing on that endless to-do list?

What will make my mind feel at ease and my heart happy?

Today, the answer was writing.

So, I skipped yoga. Instead, I rode my Peloton for a short workout, meditated for 10 minutes, and sat down to write. Yoga will still be there tomorrow and I’m committing to go.

I know I am not alone in putting an absurd amount of pressure on myself to do, and be so much all at once.

Life is busy. We want to show up for our work, our families, our friends, our health and ourselves. We want to do it all, and to do it all well. But we also need to be realistic.

Maybe instead of trying to do more we need to keep asking, what matters most? Focus on that. Give it our full attention.

Everything else will be there tomorrow and that’s when you’ll have another chance to choose again.

So today I’m wondering, what matters most to you? What will bring you the most peace or the most joy?

I hope that clarity allows you to breathe and feel empowered in the process.

For many years, as a busy working mom, I thought there was something wrong with me. I had no illusions that raising young twins while running a household and maintaining a career would be easy. But I couldn’t understand how I could suddenly get so grouchy with people, why my brain seemed foggy or why I was waking up every day at 3:23 a.m., exhausted but wide awake.

I thought I was the issue. I figured I’d somehow lost the stress-management skills I’d built working in television news. I wasn’t cut out for motherhood like all the other women I saw in carpool line, always smiling and seemingly well-rested.

Then I went to my doctor, who, after some quick bloodwork, reassured me that in fact, I wasn’t the problem that needed to be fixed. Even though I was in my early 40s, I was in perimenopause, and it could last anywhere from two to ten more years.

Fortunately, my female provider, who was a few years older than me, was also educated about steps women could take to support our bodies during this transition. She prescribed me bio-identical progesterone, which she called “the feel-good hormone for women,” and said it should help me sleep better and stabilize my moods.

I also added various supplements recommended by a naturopath, limited gluten, and stopped drinking red wine before bed. Sure enough, I felt like myself again: calmer, happier, and smiling.

Fast forward four years, and the life disruptions started up again. Sleepless nights, sudden moodiness and inability to focus. Sadly, my former doctor was no longer practicing and the 30-something-year-old gal who replaced her didn’t have the same level of awareness or compassion.

After hearing my struggles, she handed me a prescription for trazadone, saying the antidepressant often helped women my age get through this stage of life. I told her I didn’t like taking any medication, including Advil, unless I truly needed it. She then coldly suggested I learn how to better manage my stress, even though I already practiced yoga and meditated.

I left that day deflated, feeling unheard and unseen with no solution to my health concerns except a drug that would knock me out rather than address what was actually happening.

Sadly, my experience is not unique.

It’s estimated that 75 million American women are currently in some phase of menopause. Shockingly, nearly 80% don’t seek care for their symptoms.

Think about that! Tens of millions of women, busy taking care of children, aging parents, and our careers, not getting physical support for what are very real, and potentially debilitating symptoms.

Menopause and its effects on our aging bodies, remain misunderstood, under-discussed, and underfunded, leaving many of us struggling to get the support we need for our emotional well-being and long-term health.

It wasn’t long after my disappointing appointment that I found another provider who specialized in women’s hormonal health. I was fortunate to have the resources and insurance to do that, and again, I got back on track.

But my friends, this is troubling. Women’s health isn’t something we fix once and then move on from. Supporting our aging bodies is a life-long journey. I’m now in my mid 50s, still adjusting my hormone therapy (HT) or adding new supplements, hoping to protect my aging bones, my heart, and my brain.

We women are not the problem. Being misunderstood, not listened to or dismissed for our symptoms and struggles is what’s wrong.

That’s why I’m honored to take the stage in the coming days and interview the CEO of Boulder Valley Health Center, Dr. Savita Ginde, about the impact of menopause on our lives, and discuss real solutions to improve women’s health.

Our discussion follows a live performance of Coming in Hot, by the national touring standup comedy show Women Unhinged. Bringing hundreds of women together to laugh about our health challenges adds levity and builds awareness.

We need to educate more people—our partners and lawmakers—and advocate for ourselves in doctors’ offices and in Washington D.C.

There are positive developments we can celebrate. We’re now openly talking about what was once a taboo topic thanks to fierce women advocates like Maria Shriver, Hollywood actress Halle Berry, and Melinda French Gates, whose generous donations ensure funding for research that prioritizes women’s health.

No matter who you are or what phase you’re in, know this: You are not alone. You matter, and you deserve health care that allows you to live your best life.

Of course, that would go against everything she’d been taught growing up in a society that told women we could, and should, be smart, attractive, accomplished and have a perfect body. Younger Katie would likely look at me, like I was crazy and say, “Yeah, right.”

Then I’d pull her closer, look her in the eye and say, “I mean it. Ditch the idea of perfection. It isn’t real. It isn’t attainable. And the sooner you realize that the easier life becomes.”

One of my all-time favorite gifts to myself is a plaque that reads: “darling, a beautiful thing is never perfect.”

It hangs by the mirror in my bathroom. I see it every day. And when I allow myself to absorb the meaning, I get a smile on my face and feel a lightness in my heart.

It’s taken me much of my life to realize that perfection is a farce. Trying to achieve it is exhausting, sometimes debilitating.

In contrast, there is great beauty and freedom in accepting, even embracing, imperfection.

The roots of my need for perfection took hold when I was growing up. I was raised in a happy and supportive home. My dad praised me when I worked hard. He’d say, “Atta Girl, Katie,” when I brought home straight As, finished my chores or made a goal in my soccer game.

My mom also meant to encourage me in her own way. One day, when I was six or seven years old, she told me, “Katie, you’re smart and pretty. You’re perfect.”

Without realizing it, I adopted perfection as the standard I expected of myself.

On the surface, perfection sounds so ideal. And it is probably partly responsible for much of the professional success I’ve achieved.

And yet, when that’s the expectation you set for your life, the only place you can go is down. Imperfection. Failure.

I think it was around the time when I was hoping to become a mom that I started to recognize how unattainable perfection was.

I was pushing hard to achieve it—a high-profile career in TV news, a picture-perfect marriage, stability and success. From the outside it looked ideal.

Then life happened.

Miscarriages.

Mistakes on live television for all to see.

Leaving my dream job.

Frustration with the challenges of motherhood.

Scaling back on my career to care for family.

More struggles with motherhood.

Losing another job.

Never winning Mother of the Year.

An unfaithful husband.

Divorce.

I had an ah-ha moment, and a significant a shift in my perspective on perfection, not long after my first marriage ended.

I’d always sent family holiday cards, and I wasn’t letting my failed marriage stop me from doing that now. I created a montage of photos-the kids with friends and on the soccer field, travels around the world, my new boyfriend (who became my second husband), and a picture of me with my ex and our children.

After receiving the card, a dear friend reached out.

“I love your card,” she’d exclaimed. “And that you’re not afraid to show your messy, imperfect life with everyone.”

At the time, I don’t think I’d ever described by life as messy or imperfect, even though it was certainly both. I was simply living it the best way I knew how.

I wasn’t trying to make a statement. I was trying to show my children that although their dad and I were no longer married, we were still a family. We could come together, support each other and smile.

We weren’t perfect.

We were resilient.

Striving for perfection is an endless, impossible journey.

I still set lofty goals for myself—making an impact with purposeful work, caring for my family, and maintaining good health as I age.

But there’s a difference between being the best person you can be and not leaving room for mistakes and missteps. Because it’s in those moments, that we learn and grow.

My beautifully messy, imperfect life became the material for my upcoming memoir, What Do I Tell My Daughter?

I share the good, the bad and plenty of the ugly. Not to invite sympathy, but because I hope sharing my failings and being vulnerable, might give others permission to stop expecting their lives look perfect too.

At the end of every chapter of my book, I write a note to my daughter. A life take-away or lesson I hope she’ll learn from.

For the final one of the book I write:

Kylie,

Our lives are often perfectly imperfect. Embrace what you’re given and move forward with the light that makes you, you.

Maybe that’s what I’d most want my younger self to understand.

A beautiful life isn’t a perfect one.

It’s the one that takes you places you never expected, includes a lot of love, plenty of heartache and the acceptance that no matter what, it’s yours to own and celebrate.

I appreciate the feedback some of you have shared about what you wish someone had told you before you became a mom or launched into your adult life. One comment from Carolyn, my cousin who is a new mom, resonated strongly with me.

She said she wished someone had told her how much she’d love her baby. So true!

Of course, we believe we’re going to love our children, or we’d likely never become parents. But it wasn’t until my twins were born that I felt how much I loved them; the intense, visceral surge of unimaginable, uncontainable love.

I had a C-section, and the moment my daughter, Kylie, was born I was overcome by an almost surreal rush of joy, a magnetic pull of pure, unconditional love. It took my breath away. I started sobbing with utter bliss. The incredible feeling was duplicated one minute later when her brother, Hayden, was born.

That profound bond is why I wanted to be—strived to be—a perfect mom for my babies.

And that’s what leads me to this next story in my series of what I wish someone had told me: the myth that women can have it all. In my experience that lofty goal became an unattainable expectation that made me believe I was failing.

When you tell an ambitious, type A woman like me, she can have it all, I can guarantee she’s going to take you up on that notion with complete abandon.

As a young mom who’d worked my tail off to build a career in broadcast news and who’d suffered through miscarriages to finally get pregnant, there was no doubt I wanted both: to be the best and most devoted mom I could be, and to maintain my fulfilling job.

Yes, I was sleep deprived, stressed and overwhelmed. But I was also happy.

Having it all, career and motherhood, made me feel whole. Each role satisfied different parts of who I was in deeply meaningful ways.

The problem is, there’s only so much time in the day to have it all. We can’t be in two places at once or fully devote ourselves to each position with the kind of attention we want.

As a working mom, you always feel like you’re not doing enough for your kids and not living up to your full potential at work.

My best friend, Kristin, and I were recently talking about this challenging position many women face. She’s a CEO for a tech company and has managed hundreds if not thousands of people throughout her successful career. Her perspective is that women aren’t just trying to have it all, we’re trying not to lose it all.

I understand her point—when many high-achieving women become moms we don’t want to lose all we’ve built. We don’t want to give up the achievement, the satisfaction or pay that our careers provide. We also don’t want to lose the love, the bond, and sustaining relationships we have with our children, families and in our marriages.

Plus, many of us need it all—a steady income to contribute and support our family and the deep connection to the little humans our hearts cherish so completely.

It’s why it was such a blow to my sense of self when I left my dream job and scaled back on my career for my family. I desperately loved my son and daughter. And yet, without the work that had defined me, I no longer felt complete. I felt like a failure, worthless, like I wasn’t enough. Certainly not compared to the woman who’d once achieved the have it all standard.

Many women have struggled with this conundrum for generations. We have the capacity to do so much, personally and professionally.

There’s nothing wrong with being ambitious, wanting both a successful career and happy home life. The problem is when we allow having it all to be an all or nothing expectation. It’s simply not attainable.

What is possible is to recognize you can’t be all things to everyone, including yourself.

Ideally, you find a balance between sacrifice, achievement and your family’s needs with what makes you most happy most of the time.

And perhaps stop equating all you do with your value as a person.

Sometimes instead of asking: How can I do more? Maybe you should be asking: What really matters for me to do now?

I also hope you can get to a place where your realize that you are enough, regardless of what you accomplish

.

When I was a kid, my parents told me I could be whatever I wanted when I grew up. I heard the same thing from teachers, coaches, and professors in college. If I worked hard enough, I could achieve the career of my dreams, financial success and the happiness that should come with it.

What no one ever told me, what no one ever talked about, was how difficult it would be to build and maintain that career and be the kind of mom I wanted to be.

I wanted both.

After nearly a decade of getting experience and paying my dues in the competitive business of television news, I landed my dream job as a morning anchor in my hometown of Denver. A couple years later my husband and I welcomed healthy boy/girl twins.

For several years as a young mom, I was convinced that I might have the nearly perfect life I desired.

It was often painful waking up around 2:15 a.m. to get to the station for my shift. And I felt guilty that I wasn’t there to love on my kids when they woke up. Instead, it was their dad or the nanny.

But I made up for my absence by being Supermom once I got home, taking them to the park, music classes or doing art projects. I was grateful to have quality time—much of the afternoon and evening with the kids and then return to the work I loved the next day.

As our children got older, my husband started traveling regularly for his work. Suddenly, I wasn’t just a working mom, I was a working mom doing most things singlehandedly. I was exhausted and stressed, constantly trying to meet the demands of two roles that both mattered to me.

The pace got so overwhelming that when my kids were nearly five, I agreed to leave the news desk, move out of state and support my husband’s job. That decision surprised a lot of people, including me.

I had no idea how that choice would impact my identity, sense of self and earning power for years to come.

I missed working- the intellectual challenge, the adult interaction and the paycheck that helped support our family. Less than a year later I wanted to get back to work.

It was harder than I expected to find another job in news. I also recognized that returning to a traditional full-time schedule would be grueling and would cost me valuable time with my kids.

So, I reinvented myself, took a new professional path, freelancing in PR. It was validating to again find work I enjoyed and liberating to have a schedule with more flexibility.

Again, I thought I had found an ideal balance.

I was my children’s primary caregiver while also building a business. Playing both roles wasn’t easy. There were many times I thought I wasn’t doing enough as a mom. I was also acutely aware that I limited my professional growth to what could happen between the hours of 8 and 3 when the kids were in school.

Meanwhile, I watched friends achieve success at the network level in news or others climb to impressive heights in corporate America. I often felt I wasn’t living up to my potential. My self-judgement was cruel and relentless. (There’s so much truth to that phrase that comparison is the thief of joy.)

I also resented that while I was juggling my work and carrying most responsibilities around the house, my husband remained focused on his career growth unimpeded. I resented him and sometimes resented myself for making the choices I did.

Even more so, when, nearly ten years after leaving the news business, my marriage blew up.

The partnership I counted on when I scaled back my career, the one I believed would provide long-term financial security, was gone.

Turns out the flexibility and balance I’d achieved also had costs.

I don’t regret being a mom. Not at all.

I’m incredibly grateful for the quality time I had with my now adult children. But I do sometimes wonder where I might be at this stage in my life if I hadn’t walked away from my dream job all those years ago.

What if? What if? What if?

My best friend, Kristin, once said to me, “There’s no such thing as Utopia for women.”

I think she’s right.

No one told me that for much of my life as a working mom, two very real and important parts of me would feel like they were in constant competition—each vying to be the role that mattered most.

Looking back, I wish someone had told me that I absolutely could have both career and motherhood, but not necessarily the way I imagined. Choosing both comes with compromise, sacrifice and likely losing important parts of who you are.

If I could give my younger self some advice, I tell her that having meaningful work and a happy home life is possible. But you might need to shift your expectations of what they both look like and recognize that perfection can’t be a part of the equation. Stop thinking you have to do it all, ask for help and give yourself some grace when you fall short or don’t have the energy to do more.

I also hope young women and moms will recognize that it’s okay to be selfish at times. Take care of your own needs while you’re focused on caring for others. In the end, you need to be your biggest supporter and advocate.

And what about you? What do you wish someone had told you before you became a parent or launched into your career? Would you do things differently? What and why?

Thanks for sharing your comments. Our journeys are more beautiful when we recognize we aren’t alone.

As a young mom, in my thirties, I had a strong sense of self. Or at least I thought I did.

I had a happy marriage with a man I believed was the perfect partner. I’d worked around the country, survived plenty of professional challenges, and established a solid career as an award-winning TV journalist. I was confident in the woman I’d become.

Then my twins were born. Motherhood changed me. It forced me to grow in beautiful and unexpected ways.

The lessons I learned weren’t just about raising children. They were about ambition and sacrifice. Identity and self-worth. Marriage and partnership.

My journey through motherhood provided me some of the greatest joys of my life and some of my most difficult moments. I made choices that surprised a lot of people, including me. I also survived some unfathomable experiences.

Like many of us, my life today doesn’t quite look like I expected it would. I often wonder if I’d known back then some of what I know now, would that have impacted what I did, the choices I made or the path I took? Maybe. I’ll never know.

While I can’t go back in time, I hope that some of my wisdom might help the next generation of women (and men) be more prepared for the challenges they’ll face. Perhaps it will shift their perspective and help them approach their choices with greater awareness.

In the coming weeks, I’m going to be reflecting on what I wish someone had told me before I became a mom. For me, at the top on that list is that no one told me how hard it would be to balance career and motherhood without losing important parts of myself along the way.

I’d be honored if you’d share your thoughts and experiences. Whether you’re a parent or not, what do you wish someone had told your younger self, before you embarked on your career, parenthood, or simply, this crazy thing called life?

If you aren’t comfortable writing in the comments, please feel free to message me directly.

We all have unique journeys, and there’s something beautiful about listening, sharing and learning from one another as we try to become the best people we can be.

I recently met a new neighbor, a mom of four who’s about to become an empty nester.

“I’m not really sure what I’m going to do when everyone’s gone,” she told me.

In her voice I heard a sense of sadness, or maybe it was fear, uncertainty and even a little excitement.

“What have you always wanted to do?” I asked, almost giddy, thinking about all the possibilities waiting for her.

So many women I know, including me, are standing at a similar crossroads. We’re in our 50s. Our kids are graduating from high school or college. We’ve spent decades caring for others or have been laser focused on work, are ready to slow down, make a change or kick it in to reach greater professional heights.

As much as we miss our children— the sports, carpools and chaotic routines we built around their lives, this transition also brings us freedom.

Freedom to rediscover ourselves.

Freedom to reconnect to parts of us that got lost in responsibilities.

Freedom to finally chase far-fetched dreams.

And honestly, I’m incredibly inspired watching some of my friends transform themselves in fun, unique and beautiful ways.

Sarah is the lead singer of a rock band.

Erin is modeling and walking runways around the world.

Kathy is back performing in local theater productions.

Kristin, who knew she wanted to be a CEO at age nine, is now in year two leading an IT firm to new heights.

And me? My debut memoir, What Do I Tell My Daughter?, publishes October 6. It’s a project I started ten years ago that I hope will empower generations of women to take a closer look at their life choices and consider what they need to feel more complete.

If you’re reading this and feeling energized, maybe a bit anxious or doubtful about your future, I want to encourage you.

Maybe now is your time.

It can be scary to put yourself out there, try something new, take a risk and possibly fail. Like me, you might still need to work. And I definitely don’t have the same energy I did twenty or thirty years ago. But what if you succeed? What if you reach for your dream and achieve it or simply find something that makes you laugh and smile.

It doesn’t have to be big.

Stephanie and Michele play pickleball.

Dori is designing flower arrangements for clients.

Jenni and her husband, John, commit to taking one camping trip a month to explore someplace new.

Maybe for you it’s golf, a cooking class, painting, photography or pottery.

Whatever it is, I hope it makes your soul sing.

There are all kinds of studies that show the importance of keeping our brains active and engaged as we age. Learning new skills stimulates neuroplasticity, helps your brain build new neural pathways and hopefully stay emotionally and physically healthy longer.

So, what do you want to be as you continue to grow up? I don’t know if there’s anything too far-fetched.

Perhaps you need to take a moment, be still and listen to your heart.

It might be whispering the answer you’re looking for or possibly screaming it out loud.

Maybe now is your time to finally hear it.

Wow! THIS made my day. My debut memoir, is officially an “Editor’s Pick” according to Publishers Weekly BookLife Review. Basically, that designation means they think, What Do I Tell My Daughter? is an exceptional independently published book based solely on literary merit. Even more meaningful is that, that’s the honest opinion of a professional reviewer, not a friend or someone who cares about my feelings.

A couple notable quotes:

“High-achieving women will find community and solace in this book’s honest reflection and examination of struggle, affirmation and acceptance.”

“In briskly compelling prose, Trexler presents a response to a perennial dilemma, interrogating the inherent binary of the “can women have it all?” question with a journalist’s rigor.”

You can read the entire review here:

https://booklife.com/booklife-review/9798896361640

My book publishes October 6. I’d be honored if you’d pre-order it now at your favorite independent bookstore or online wherever books are sold.

https://www.simonandschuster.com/books/What-Do-I-Tell-My-Daughter/Katie-Trexler/9798896361640

…

I just returned home to Denver after visiting my daughter, Kylie, in New York City. It was an early birthday and Mother’s Day present for me. And what a gift it was.

Ky has dreamed of living in the Big Apple ever since she toured the area with her middle school class more than ten years ago. After graduating from college, she moved to Brooklyn with one of her best friends, Emma, and her cat, Ghost. At the time, she didn’t have a job. What she did possess, however, was an incredible drive, adventurous spirit and deep belief in herself.

It hasn’t been easy. Her first gig was as a brand ambassador in luxury fashion; aka glorified customer service. The hours were long, customers often rude and bosses unappreciative. It was never going to be her forever job, but it served a purpose.

It ignited that belief inside Kylie’s spirit that she wanted and deserved better.

Finally, after six long months of barely scraping by, she got a great position doing sales for an AI-powered platform in the legal space. She loves the work, makes good money and is surrounded by supportive higher-ups and collaborative teammates.

Throughout our weekend together, Kylie had a glow about her. I watched her navigate the subway with ease, give strangers directions with kindness and clarity, and discuss her work aspirations with poise and determination. She exuded that confidence that comes from struggling and coming out the other side.

Over brunch one morning, she looked at me with an enormous smile and said, “Mom, I did it.”

Yes, sweet girl, yes, you did.

In my upcoming memoir, What Do I Tell My Daughter?, I end each chapter with a short note to Kylie — which are meant to be words of advice for her and all women, all people, really.

At the end of Chapter 3, “Living My Dream,” I write:

Kylie,

You can be whatever you want in life. Be brave, take risks and work hard. But above all, believe in yourself. Always believe in yourself.

As a mom, it’s incredible to know that Ky is already living out those words.

It takes bravery to uproot yourself and move to the largest city in the country, during a brutal job market without a set plan. It also requires a deeply rooted belief in yourself, and awareness that no matter what, you’ll survive and even thrive.

This journey of life is all about figuring out who we are, not just our careers but who we are as human beings, in our heart and spirit. We’ll face plenty of obstacles, need to adjust our path and endure experiences we couldn’t have imagined, personally and professionally.

That belief in yourself is the unshakable foundation. Time and time again, it will be tested by fear, self-doubt or challenging circumstances. Even though it may not feel like it at the time, every difficult moment makes us stronger— fortifies our spirit, reinforces the foundation and prepares us for whatever comes next.

I had to hug Kylie goodbye on the subway, surrounded by strangers. I held her tight, not wanting to let go, and knowing when I did release her, I might just catch a glimpse of the wings that have carried her this far and will continue to help her soar.

Keep flying my dear girl.

Keep flying high!

The other day, a dear friend from college reached out to tell me she’s enjoying reading my Substack posts.

“What resonates most is how relatable your writing is for all women and our roles in society,” she told me.

That meant the world to me because that’s exactly why I write.

But what she said next made my heart sink.

“The judgement that comes from not having a family and kids is so brutal.”

I often write about the challenges and triumphs of motherhood, and yet this path isn’t for everyone. Either by choice or circumstance there are many women who don’t have children.

No matter our situation, women can’t escape judgement.

-Don’t have kids? You must be selfish. How will your life have meaning?

-Have children and a career? You’re obviously self-absorbed. Your kids should come first.

-Or you’re a mom who doesn’t work outside the house. You’re labeled “stay at home,” implying you don’t really do much with your life beyond that. Must be nice. What do you do all day?

We can’t win.

No matter our choices as women, we face judgement. Some of the harshest criticism comes from within.

I remember how terrible I felt after my first miscarriage. What’s wrong with me? I’ve spent so many years trying not to get pregnant and now when I want to, I can’t. I’m failing as a woman.

Whether other people were judging me or not, I was doing it to myself.

Years later, after finally having our twins, I suffered tremendous guilt because I also had a career as a morning anchor in Denver. My workday started at 3:30 a.m. So, I was never there to greet my kids when they woke up.

I made up for that by playing supermom every day after work with endless activities and attention. Never mind that I was a zombie from lack of sleep and started to have chest pains from the stress.

I was so afraid of failing as a mom, I set absurd, unattainable expectations for myself that took a physical toll.

When my kids were almost five, life presented me an unexpected chance to shift. Surprising everyone, including myself, I stepped away from my career to support my husband and an opportunity he had in another state.

For about nine months I didn’t work.

I’ll never forget when a friend’s husband asked me, “How does it feel to no longer be someone?”

I was so shocked by his insensitive jab; I couldn’t even come up with a witty comeback. His perception was that my life no longer had meaning because I wasn’t working in news anymore and was ‘just a mom.’

This is the real and pervasive mindset we’re up against.

No matter the role we women take on, society judges us.

I’ve come to believe that every woman, every person, needs to make the choice that makes them most happy, most of the time. It also needs to align with your family’s needs, financial situation and personal ambitions.

Oftentimes, we don’t have control over our choices. Life makes them for us. Even the best laid out plans can shatter in an instant. That happened to me when my first marriage unexpectedly blew up.

I still look back on my life and wonder if I could have made better decisions.

Probably. Maybe. Who knows?

I spent many years analyzing and working on a spiritual level to forgive myself for my apparent mistakes. I finally found peace knowing that I made my choices based on the information that I had at the time. And at time, those were the right choices.

It is so hard trying to live up to everyone else’s expectations. I’m still working on not caring about what other people think. That’s easier said than done.

Wouldn’t it be beautiful if women could find solidarity with each other, push back against all the noise and judgements. Give ourselves and other women grace.

This I know, whatever path you’re on. Someone else is right there with you. You’re not alone

.

One of the most challenging parts of writing my memoir was going back in time, re-living painful experiences and translating them into words. Some memories reached back to childhood. Others were more recent, from my life as a busy working mom of twins, who left a dream job for family, and in the process, lost a huge part of my identity and self-worth.

I’m sharing my story not because I think it is so exceptional, but because it isn’t. In many ways, it’s every woman’s story. I’ve tried to make my book as real, raw and honest as possible. And hopefully, other women will read it, see themselves in it and quietly say, me too.

One day while writing my manuscript, I veered away from the chapters and crafted this poem, “Two Women.” It was about a time when I was really hurting. My children were almost teenagers, my marriage was dying, though I didn’t see it, or perhaps wouldn’t let myself. What I did know was that I was lonely and unfulfilled.

I came across the poem last week. Reading it now, I feel so much compassion for the Katie I was then. I was deeply wounded, desperately searching for what I needed beyond my role as mom and wife to feel more complete.

Fortunately, I listened to her. Acknowledged she wanted and deserved more.

It’s been nearly a decade since that chapter of my life. I’m in a much better place– happy in my second marriage, more clear about who I am and what I want out of relationships, my work and what makes my soul content.

I’m sharing, “Two Women” with you in case it resonates with you, a friend, or someone you love. Few of us talk about the pain we live through because we’re afraid of being judged. But I want you to know you’re not alone.

I’m also sharing it as a reminder that nothing lasts forever. Change allows us the opportunity to grow and evolve. And as the last line of the poem suggests, we can again learn how to fly.

Thanks for reading.

Two Women
A Poem 

I was two women.

A woman whose world revolved around others.
The one needed by so many, whose heart and path weren’t her own.

A woman who willingly devoted her entirety to those she loved- gave up her time, energy, and sense of self. 

And another woman who observed the first from a far.

I faded into the background.
Witnessed her innate ability to love,
Transform into a deep desire to please.

Expecting no reciprocity but secretly craving it.
Wanting to be adored and nurtured so that she too felt safe and free to be who she wanted-
Free to be me. 

I patiently waited for that other woman to break because then I’d have my chance.
An opportunity to be heard again, acknowledged, have my own desires met.

Because even though we are expected to be selfless,
Being solely focused on others can extinguish our light, rob our spirit, quash the needs of our own soul.

We too need to be fed, supported, and loved.
Without that we aren’t complete.
Without that we cannot fly.

A couple weekends ago I found myself alone in the house with time and solitude to do whatever I wanted. On the rare occasion that happens, I get giddy trying to decide which self-indulgent experience will be most fulfilling— reading a book, organizing my closet or taking a nap.

That Saturday, my heart urged me to paint a canvas, a decadent expression of creativity I hadn’t done for a long time. Every spare moment I’ve had recently has been dedicated to writing my memoir. (Oh, and our one-year-old puppy, Moki, who turned our lives upside down with lots of love, chaos and potty training.)

I don’t paint to sell the art or impress other people. I do it for me. I relish getting lost in the color, the movement of the brush and allowing my brain to stop thinking and just be in the moment.

The idleness is liberating, healing and enables fresh ideas to percolate.

I don’t have a studio. I simply set up an easel in our kitchen and plunk a bunch of towels on the ground to protect our floors from the splatter.

I typically paint abstracts because I don’t have the skill or patience to create something literal like a face, dog or mountain scene. I work with acrylics and use colors I’m drawn to.

For this canvas, I chose green for the background because it makes me happy. It looks vibrant and alive, just like the season of spring that is upon us. I added a little pink here, a touch of blue and light green there.

I was first exposed to painting nearly 20 years ago by Laurie Maves, a contemporary artist who lived in Denver at the time. A couple of her paintings decorate the walls of my home. (She now offers coaching and mentoring to people who want to BE FREE via the creative process, and I’d encourage you to check out her Substack to learn more.)

Back then was a challenging time for me. It was few months after I agreed to leave my dream job as a television news anchor to support my husband’s career. I didn’t think I was leaving my profession of choice forever, but I also didn’t realize how much of my identity was linked to my work and the role I played in the community.

Our twins were almost five years old. While being their primary caregiver was important and filled my heart, there were parts of me that were unfulfilled, bored and longing for more.

Hoping to spark some relief, my life coach and friend Tammy Cunningham invited me to join her at Laurie’s studio to paint for the day. Before this, the closest thing I’d done to art was finger painting with the kids. The idea of me painting seemed absurd but it also sounded fun, adventurous and liberating.

I recall asking Laurie, “So, what do I paint?”

“I don’t know,” she shrugged. “Pick out some colors and then let yourself go. It’ll come to you.” She brought me a wooden board that was about two feet wide and four feet tall.

I didn’t have any idea what to create. So, of course, I went with an abstract.

At first, I was tentative. Awkward. But then something inside me shifted and I allowed my hand and body to flow, moving the paintbrush up and down in swirls and strokes. Soon, I became breathless from the excitement of creating in hues of red, green, blue and yellow.

We worked for a couple of hours. Except for a few breaks when we’d move across the room to get a peek at what everyone else was doing, we were each in our own world.

The experience was more than a magical escape. It was transformative. I felt a release of tension that I didn’t know I had been carrying. I realized I had a smile on my face, and I felt like I was radiating a beautiful light.

Those few short hours returned some passion I’d been craving in my life as a young mom.

My soul was again singing!

I reflect on that remarkable day, that memory, any time I pull out a blank canvas. I am grateful to have been exposed to this form of self-expression.

These days when so many of us are moving fast and often have our eyes tuned to one screen or another, I wonder if we’re missing out on the simplicity and joy that comes from the act of creating.

Whether it’s writing, playing an instrument, cooking or planting your flowerpots. What’s so enriching about these exercises is that we get out of our heads and let our hearts dictate what happens next. It taps a part of our spirit longing to be released.

You don’t have to be an expert or pretend to be perfect at it. We all have a creative side, and while some may appear more gifted than others that shouldn’t prevent the rest of us from trying. In fact, the messier, less defined and vague creations might hold the most meaning for you.

The next time you have a free moment, I challenge you to do something different that stretches your boundaries and is something just for you.

Not because you’re good at it or needing to be productive, but because it makes you feel alive.

I’d love to hear what you unlock for yourself or even see what you create.

.

It was late morning, on a beautiful fall day in Colorado. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky, and the sun warmed my face as I stepped into the backyard of the rental house where we were living.

My nearly 5-year-old twins were in pre-K class at a church up the street and except for Max, our 100-pound Chocolate Lab, napping in the golden glow on the porch, I was alone.

I had a small window left of the two and a half hours I had to myself before it was time pick the kids up. Most days after dropping them off I raced around trying to get as much accomplished as I could—doing chores around the house, going to the grocery store, maybe hitting the gym. Moving fast and crossing things off my to do list helped me feel purposeful.

Though, I wasn’t going to get much meaning out of the poop scooping that needed to be done. It was a thankless but critical chore. As I bent down to begin the task, I happened to glance at my watch. It was 10:50 a.m.

Suddenly, a wave of nausea hit. My heart plummeted. What the heck happened to me?

A short six months ago, during this time of day, I had been living a very different life. I recalled those memories with deep nostalgia and grief.

I would have been on the set at Channel 7, reading scripts and preparing to anchor the 11 am midday show. My mind would have felt alive, my spirit energized, eager to share the most important stories happening in our community and around the world.

I stopped for a moment, closed my eyes and shook the reflections from my head in disbelief. The life and career that had once defined me, and brought me great joy, were gone. And now here I was— picking up dog shit.

I didn’t know if I wanted to laugh, scream, or cry at the absurdity of it all.

As a young mom in my late 30s, I was lucky to have landed my dream job in my hometown. I’d worked in television news as an anchor and reporter for more than 15 years. I paid my dues, starting in small markets, making poverty level wages to launch the career I first envisioned for myself when I was nine. As I got more experience, I worked my way up in markets, from Eureka, California to Albuquerque and Detroit, before coming back to Denver, newly married and ready to start a family.

Once our healthy, boy/girl twins were born I believed I had a near perfect existence. Fulfilling work and a happy life at home with my family.

And then one day I agreed to give it up. My then husband got a great job offer in Orlando— a big title, a lot more money, and the kind of life-changing opportunity that we hoped would provide our young family with a path to financial stability.

I didn’t think I was leaving my TV career forever. I was going to take a break and rebuild my body that was tired of getting up at 2 a.m. every day for the past seven years. I was excited about spending quality time with the kids before they started kindergarten. And so, I quit.

But things didn’t quite go to plan. My husband’s new job blew up. Fortunately, he found another opportunity in Denver. Yet my position at the station was long gone in a news market where most people came and never left.

Suddenly I found myself unemployed. We owned a home in Orlando that we never lived in, no longer had a nanny, or the income to pay for one, and had two preschool aged kids who needed care.

I longed for the Katie who could lob a hard-hitting question in an interview, exercise her creativity through writing, earn a nice paycheck and feel accomplished at the end of the day. All of that had made me me. And yet that part of Katie was disappearing—had disappeared already. Her presence and energy felt like nothing more than a distant memory.

I had no idea how much my work had defined me.

I didn’t have time to ponder my plight for long because I had to pick the kids up, feed them lunch and get ready for gymnastics.

My mind was a bit distracted as I walked into the classroom to sign them out for the day. I noticed my daughter giggling with another blonde girl, and my gregarious son playing Legos with twin boys. The minute my kids saw me, they dropped everything, ran my way and nearly knocked me over as they jumped into my arms.

I felt a powerful rush of love surge through my body. My goodness, these two young humans mean the world to me. My heart again felt full as I smiled, reached for their tiny hands and walked toward the door. My children needed me and I wanted to be here for them while they were young.

Yes, I desperately missed myself. But so what? Couldn’t I set aside my own passions and desires to focus on being a mom? What’s another year or two of sacrificing me?

This was the day I realized, I’d lost a big part of myself. And in my journey through motherhood, it wasn’t going to be the last.

I had to find a way to reconcile these two very real and important sides of me. I wanted to be both an amazing mom and successful professional. I wasn’t exactly sure how to do that.

Looking back now, as an empty nester in my 50s, I see this pivotal episode with a different perspective. It was the moment I realized I’d abandoned an important part of who I was. And it was also a wake-up call, the spark that encouraged me to find my way back.

I’ve always been an early riser, even more so now that I’m in my 50s and everything disrupts my sleep- hormones, sugar or my husband tossing and turning.

One morning last week I was out the door with Moki, our mini-Bernedoodle, shortly after 5 a.m. I wore a headlamp to light our way and keep an eye out for deer that frequent our neighborhood. It also helped alert the rare car zipping by that I was there and would prefer not to be hit.

We were just about done with our 45-minute walk when I noticed another headlamp bobbing up and down toward us. We stayed on opposite sides of the street because it felt safer, not knowing who the other person was. We did acknowledge each other.

“Hey there,” the dark figure said.

“Good morning!” I replied.

As the other early bird passed, I realized it was my neighbor Susie, and she was walking with a purpose.

Once I got home, I texted her.

“Hey Susie,” I wrote. “It was so dark, I didn’t know that was you.”

“Yeah, I’m headed to my eye surgery that I’m having this morning.”

Okay, excuse me? You’re walking to your eye procedure at zero dark thirty?

There’s a hospital about a mile down the road, but still. Really?! Why wasn’t someone driving her there?

Susie explained that she didn’t want to make her husband get out of bed and she likes to get her steps in.

“I don’t mind. I’m nutty that way.”

I found myself shaking my head. Susie has a lot of friends in the neighborhood, me included, who would have happily taken her.

“I get it,” I replied. “But we’re always here to help if you need it.”

Bemused as I was, I could honestly see myself doing the exact same thing. I wouldn’t want to inconvenience anyone or wake them up before dawn. Better to hoof it on my own, get in some exercise and kill two birds with one stone.

But it got me thinking—why don’t women like to ask for help?

We’re often the first to step in for others. But if we’re ever in a moment of need ourselves, we hesitate. We power through. Unless we’re in a real bind, and even then, only if it’s a doozy. Like, I broke my ankle, so I can’t walk to my early morning eye surgery.

So, what is that about?

Do women believe we always have to be strong, capable and independent?

Are we afraid of being judged, or considered weak?

I know my friend Susie and I are not alone in operating this way. It’s an interesting phenomenon, and I wonder if we can all learn something from it.

I’ll share my thoughts on that in a minute.

First, though, here’s more about why I do what I do.

Everyone is busy; I don’t want to bother them.

When my to do list is long, it’s often easier to get shit done and move on to the next thing than explain the tasks to someone else or ask for their help.

It is also about control. I like things done a certain way. I could ask for someone else to bring an appetizer to our dinner party but what if no one likes it, or what if they forget and the crowd is disappointed or hungry?! That would reflect poorly on me.

Admittedly, I am Type A. My life’s been far too messy to believe perfection is attainable. Still, I want to get as close to it as I possibly can, even if it exhausts me.

It’s ironic. Our independence drives us. It helps us succeed, manage the complexities of our work and home life and keep everything functioning.

And yet, I wonder, does it also isolate us; deny us the love and care we provide others and that we deserve?

Maybe so.

That’s why I’m trying to let others help me more.

For Easter brunch I’ve asked family and friends to bring sides and desserts. I even suggested that store bought items are just fine.

I’m a part of this amazing cohort of authors, who are also publishing their books-novels, thrillers and memoirs- through She Writes Press, the same hybrid publisher I’m working with. We have a Facebook group and meet regularly to ask questions or offer suggestions for navigating this unfamiliar world of book publishing. I’m touched by how giving and helpful each of these women is.

Also, unsolicited, I’ve had friends and colleagues go out of their way to refer me for new work opportunities and to speak on panels. I didn’t ask for their help, they just did it.

And guess what? It all feels really good.

What a beautiful thing to have kind, loving people in your life who want to support you and see good things happen for you.

I realize most of us women aren’t going to change our ways. We are capable, hard-driving and thrive on achieving. Still, maybe we don’t always have to go it alone. We can be strong individuals and perhaps even stronger as a community.

So, what do you think?

Are you ready to let others step in and offer a helping hand?

If so, sister, I’m here for you.

It’s okay to ask for help.

Really, it is.

It’s six months before publication, and I’m reviewing the first designed layout of my memoir. On page four, just after the title, What Do I Tell My Daughter? you’ll find two significant words before my story begins- Human Authored. The Author’s Guild, of which I’m a member, recently expanded this certification program for all authors who publish in the U.S. so consumers will know the material they’re about to read was written by a human and not generated by AI.

It’s unfortunate that this has become necessary, and yet I’m grateful this special certification exists. I’m displaying mine as a badge of honor.

I am often amazed by the capabilities of artificial intelligence and admittedly use it for day-to-day inquiries, like how to train my Bernedoodle, or even expedite aspects of my public relations work. (Some companies I work with have their own platforms and we are transparent with clients that we use AI for efficiencies.)

And yet, there’s a line that should be drawn.

People are turning to AI to write books, songs and produce art. When these productions are passed off as unique, it’s insulting and fraudulent. When we accept AI generated material as ‘creative work’, we lose touch with the most beautiful, inspirational and real aspects of human expression.

My book has been nearly ten years in the making. The past three have been especially long and difficult: seven drafts, countless tears from reliving some of the greatest challenges of my life, losing part of my identity as a woman and working mom, and the unexpected joy from rediscovering who I am and the person I want to be.

Writing a book is a difficult endeavor. It’s estimated that less than 1% of people who say they want to author a book actual finish the task and publish. That’s why this milestone is so meaningful.

I couldn’t have gotten to this point without a few remarkable coaches and editors: Shari Caudron, Brooke Warner and Krissa Lagos. There is no doubt that these talented women improved my work. They too, used their expertise, skill and creative minds to do so.

These days many of us are craving real human connection; to be touched in some way by another soul and know we’re not alone in this ever-changing, often scary and fragmented world.

Our stories can bind us together. Shared vulnerabilities make us stronger and perhaps enable us to become better people. I’m honored to play my small role demonstrating what a gift it is to be human.

I watched from a distance, smiling at her energy and focus as she cared for everyone in her presence.

This is us. This is what most moms do every single day. We juggle work, children, homework, sports, our pets and the household food supply. We manage the various needs and choreograph the many moving parts required to keep our families effectively operating.

If this gal and I had been in the same life season, I would have wanted her as a friend, colleague or co-leader for the school fundraiser. You want a woman like this on your team —hard working, efficient and wildly creative. Despite our crazy schedules and multi-tasking, most of us still find ways to support each other, pick up the slack as needed and rarely complain about any of it. That would, of course, be a waste of our precious time and energy.

Like me, many people would be inspired by this young woman, or they might just glance and not even recognize how remarkable she is.

In fact, I wonder if she even appreciates her amazing feats, or has her ability to push, accomplish and move fast become a necessary, self-imposed expectation?

I saw myself in this mom, how I raised my now young adult twins while my husband focused on being the main breadwinner. I was the primary caregiver, scheduler, soccer team mom and volunteer at two middle schools all while holding down a career in PR and squeezing in exercise to stay in shape.

I thrived on the busyness. It made me feel important and in control as I crossed things off my endless ‘to do’ list.

My identity and self-worth became intertwined with how much I was accomplishing for everyone else- my family, the kids’ schools, my company.

I often felt overwhelmed and yet, ironically, I wanted more. What that was, I wasn’t sure.

I started to sense an emptiness within when my children were on the cusp of being teenagers and stopped needing me the same way. I was still required for carpools, meals and sporting events, but hanging out with me was no longer as important.

After school they’d escape to their bedrooms to do homework or connect with friends and I found myself alone. Occasionally the solitude provided me relief, a chance to exhale and recharge.

But slowing down also made me feel. And that’s when I realized the years of frantic busyness masked a growing void in my soul. I felt isolated, not from others, but separated from myself.

If I wasn’t doing everything for everyone else, then who was I? And what did I want for my life?

Then one day, as I debated numbing with peanut M & M’s or potato chips, it hit me.

I’d been so focused on others, what others thought of the kind of mom and woman I was- that I’d stopped making me a priority.

I was responsible for my own happiness, and I needed to know it was okay to choose me.

And so, I set out to find myself again. Rediscover what might satisfy my heart in a different way.

I took on this Deep Dive into Katie with the same intensity as I did most things in life.

I practiced yoga more frequently, along with meditation, positive affirmations and spiritual retreats. I experimented with painting, finding life in the abstracts emerging on canvases. I dedicated time each day to journaling and began creative writing with the wild notion that someday I’d write a book.

I allowed myself to be a bit more self-absorbed and discovered new avenues that filled my spirit with joy. In time, this devotion to self, made me feel peaceful, lighter and more complete.

I’d found a beautiful balance between the selflessness of motherhood and the selfishness my soul required, to be undefined by roles and expectations.

I reflected on those realizations as I watched that young woman walking with her family. I wondered if she was genuinely happy or finding meaning in busyness and doing.

I wished I would’ve had the chance to tell her, I see you. I applaud you. But please know, you are valued not for all you do, but for who you are inside your heart. I’d encourage her to take inventory of herself and her own well-being. I’d ask her to consider, what she needed to be genuinely content, happy and whole.

I’d let her know it’s okay to slow down—be quiet, listen and feel. Our children are a gift who deserve to be loved and nurtured.

But so are you, my friend, so are you.