Purpose, Lost and Found

Midlife Reinvention

Natalie Silverstein

Jul 10, 2025

I’m excited to share this essay that I wrote in response to a prompt from the wonderful publication

Midstack

. With gratitude to

Jessica Smock

for selecting it for the “Reinvention” roundup this morning.

I peered around the conference room table at the group of exceptional women assembled before me. No, I wasn’t presiding over the board meeting of a Fortune 500 company. I was the president of the Parents Association of an independent school in Manhattan. My executive board was comprised of some of the brightest, most organized women I had ever met. JDs, MBAs, former bankers and executives, masters-prepared educators - they were an impressive crew. We joked about the years of schooling, the risk of being overeducated and underutilized. We wondered whether our collective brainpower was being put to the best use debating sushi vs. pizza for the parent reception, freestanding balloon bouquets vs. hanging balloon bunches at the annual book fair. We were driven by a collective purpose. We cared deeply about our children. We were motivated to ensure that our school community was strong and safe and that the faculty had every resource and opportunity to succeed, thereby providing the best experience for our kids. We did good work. I don’t regret a moment of the time I spent doing it. And yet, I often wondered whether I was squandering a hard-earned masters degree. I worried I had become a cliche.

I had given up my career after our third child was born, relinquished my ability to get dressed in a clean outfit every morning and walk out the door unencumbered, to descend into the subway on the Upper West Side and ascend into midtown Manhattan chaos. I gave up the joy of striding into an over air-conditioned office tower, riding up in the elevator to the 44th floor, sitting with a cup of coffee as I gazed out the window onto Times Square below. My work was not so earth shattering (I pushed papers around for a health insurance company) but it was my identity, my purpose, before I became “Mom.”

We decided that my working “outside of the home” (as it is delicately called at cocktail parties) was putting too much strain on our growing family and our resources. Childcare was expensive, and my salary didn’t quite cut it. I felt like whatever I was missing at home was more important than whatever I was doing at work. Honestly, it was a relief when the decision was made. I had just had my third baby, and the older two children were seven and four. It was a lot of work, and I was tired, and I couldn’t escape the nagging sensation that I needed to be present for the pick-ups and drop-offs, the homework, the tuck-ins. I wanted to be the Mom that I aspired to be and so I stayed home. My days were filled with busy-ness, and I was happy. The time whizzed by, as it does when you’re raising young children. Yes, I was busy and happy, but then, over time, I felt adrift. I was lost in the swirling sea of my own life.

I was forty years old.

I have a vivid memory of lying on my side in our bed, a few years later. The children were tucked in for the night. They were all in school at this point, living their own little lives and busy becoming who they were meant to be. I was crying to my husband that I needed something, I just didn’t know what it was. I needed to DO something, to have some purpose beyond my role as a parent and spouse. The years were flying by and I was pushing 50. Half my life had been spent in a ferris wheel of diapers, soccer games, dance recitals and school permission slips. I felt like my brain was in the throes of atrophy. I could not believe that this was it - this was all there was for me. As I shared these feelings through tears, my husband calmly and kindly said, “So, do something. Do whatever you want to do. I support you. You can do anything.” I wasn’t sure what I wanted to do - I just knew I couldn’t go on in the same way. My kids deserved a happy parent, someone with purpose and confidence, someone who could set an example of pursuing a dream, never giving up, creating meaning in her life. I made a silent commitment to myself: I would write something (an essay? a book?) and publish it before I turned 50. I never said those words aloud to anyone, but I took the steps to make it happen. Some people call this manifesting. For me, it was feeling the ocean floor with my toes and kicking like hell to break the surface again.

I had an idea for a parenting book, a resource guide to help busy parents engage in service, volunteerism and philanthropy with young kids. I had been helping friends to identify family-friendly opportunities in our city, after searching high and low to find them for my own family. I understood that hands-on service is probably one of the best ways to raise kind, compassionate, empathetic humans. I had lots of ideas, and personal stories to share, and I started to percolate a book proposal. A generous friend who is a published author gave me feedback and was my first cheerleader. She gave me a piece of invaluable advice: read a book about writing a book. I bought a book called The Weekend Book Proposal and wrote a solid proposal over the course of a few days. I incorporated input and edits from a book agent I met through a writing workshop. In a short period of time, I felt like I had a real, viable proposal - but then, what to do with it?

Sometimes hubris and dumb luck conspire to make magical things happen. I printed a copy of my proposal, put it into a brown paper envelope and addressed it “To Whom It May Concern,” care of an educational publishing house in North Carolina. I knew this publisher had similar books in its catalogue and it seemed like a good place to start.

Miraculously, a few months later, I received a call from a female editor at the publishing house - of course it was a woman, a mother, who frequently volunteered with her own children. I firmly believe that only a big-hearted woman with a discerning eye would have fished my proposal out of the “slush” pile (aka garbage) and spotted some potential. She brought my proposal to her team. She was a cheerleader who believed in the value of the book, and my ability to write it. The publisher bought my book, and sent an “advance” check in the whopping amount of $250. I framed that check and it sits on my desk to this day. I was over the moon.

My midlife reinvention was just beginning. That first book, written for families of young children, was followed by another written for teens. The teen book sparked an idea to create a podcast (Simple Acts, Big Impact), now in its fourth season, on which I interview teen “changemakers.” In the years since, I’ve contributed essays to various online publications. I launched my own Substack (Sunshine and Grit), and I frequently find myself in writing groups and among other insightful, thoughtful women who lift me up and amplify my work.

I’m still a mom, spouse and caregiver, but I’m not ONLY those things. I am something of my own creation. I’ve built a community of like-minded people. I find pockets of inspiration and creativity in my busy life. My children know that I found a passion and a purpose, well into middle age, and I pursued it with the love and support of their father and many kind and generous friends.

The best part of my reinvention story is this: I made that silent commitment to myself - that I would write and publish something before I turned 50 - the year I turned 48. My book was published on April 1st (no foolin’!!), 2019, just 3 months before my 50th birthday. Is that manifesting? Kismet? A total lucky coincidence? Maybe, but I don’t think so. I think everything happens when it’s meant to happen. We can invent, and reinvent, ourselves at any time. We just have to surround ourselves with champions, take a deep breath and keep kicking.