Can Women have it All?

Recently, I attended a networking event and struck up a conversation with a bright young career woman. After introductions, I shared that I have two adult children — both close to her age — and that I’d spent over 25 years building a global career.

Maybe she thought I had some wisdom to offer, or maybe she was just in the mood for a lively exchange. Either way, she leaned in and asked: “Can women have it all?”

I smiled and replied, “Yes — but there is a cost.” I don’t think she expected that answer.

I went on to explain that I now work with women in midlife, helping them unpack the compromises they’ve made and reconnect with the parts of themselves buried beneath decades of responsibility. She paused, smiled, and said, “That’s smart.”

I laughed gently and replied, “Thank you… but this is the cost of having it all that I am talking about — we get to spend the second half of our lives healing from the weight of it.”

Our conversation moved on to other thought-provoking questions — ones I’ll explore in future posts — but that moment stayed with me. It stirred something deeper.

I often look for signs that I’m on the right path, and that exchange reminded me why I do what I do. It affirmed my purpose — helping women navigate this rich, complex chapter of life with more clarity and less regret.

After sitting with that moment, this reflection surfaced. I share it now for any woman walking the delicate line between career, family, and love:

When it was just the two of us — no responsibilities, no demands — it was beautiful. We laughed. We traveled. We connected. But that’s not why I married him.

I married him to build something — a life, a family. We both wanted that. We chose to become parents. We shared dreams and intentions for the future.

We both had careers, and I truly believed we’d support one another so we could have it all — grow together, share the load, and create a life of balance and fulfillment. But over time, it became clear: his career would always come first.

And while I didn’t expect mine to come first, I also wasn’t willing to shrink it into a job just to keep the peace.

So I got practical. With our combined income, I built a support system — childcare, household help, whatever it took to ease the pressure and create space for both of us to thrive.

But I still carried it all. The schedules. The planning. The emotional labor. When something slipped through the cracks, I was the one expected to fix it.

That’s not partnership. That’s quiet, steady disconnection.

We tried counseling. We tried to reconnect. But eventually, it felt like the kids and I had built a life — and he remained on the outside. Not because he wasn’t welcome, but because he chose not to step in.

Eventually, I stopped asking, stopped reminding, stopped pretending I was okay.

And so did my adult children.

Timing matters. When you finally reach the point where you’re ready to leave, no amount of therapy can mend what’s been worn thin. By then, I was too tired. And the love… was already gone.

I didn’t leave because I gave up. I left because I couldn’t keep doing it all alone — and calling that love.

If any of this resonates with you, please know: You are not alone. You’re not asking for too much. You’re asking for partnership — and that should never feel like a luxury.

Leaving wasn’t the end of my story. It was the beginning of choosing me — fully. Finally… breathing again.

Stay tuned — that young woman asked a few more brilliant questions that deserve their own reflections. I’ll be sharing those soon.