For nearly 20 years, I was the queen.
Not literally – but close enough. I directed a small but mighty research center at a university, with an annual operating budget of a million dollars. I raised funds, set the vision, networked, hired, mentored, and made sure the whole operation honored our mission: supporting rural schools from low-income communities.
My associate director of 10 years had a system for our weekly meetings – he would draw a small crown next to anything he wanted to raise with me, so he could quickly see which topics to bring up. The queen would weigh in.
I’m laughing as I write this, because it sounds absurd. But it also felt really good. People scheduled things around my availability. When I walked into a room, I had credibility before I said a word. The center was often called “Elaine’s center” – not its actual name. My ego was well-fed.
And then I retired.
What surprised me most was how easy it was to walk away from the role itself. Nearly two decades of relationships, programs, partnerships – and I basically haven’t looked back. What I didn’t anticipate was the loss of being known. Being sought after. Having people need what I specifically had to offer.
If any of this sounds familiar, this article is for you.
Why High-Achieving Women Struggle More – Not Less
Here’s what I’ve observed, both personally and as a retirement transition coach: the women who worked hardest to build careers are often the ones who find retirement most disorienting. And that’s not a coincidence.
Think about who we were for all those years. Many of us could wake up early, make sure the kids were fed and loved, work productively and efficiently, come home and do it all over again – and then tackle a work task after dinner. We mastered high performance and multi-tasking. We brought home the bacon and fried it up in the pan. (You know the commercial.) If we were lucky, we derived tremendous meaning and accomplishment from what we did. We were recognized. Respected. Sought after.
That’s exactly what makes retirement so destabilizing.
When the career ends, it doesn’t just take the job. It takes the structure that organized our days, the feedback loop that told us we were doing well, the social connection we didn’t have to manufacture, and the identity we’d spent decades building. For many of us, we knew we existed – in the most visceral sense – because of the respect and recognition we received. We may not have spent much time cultivating an inner world, because there simply wasn’t room.
And yet, the advice available to women navigating retirement rarely addresses any of this directly. Most resources focus on finances, travel, or finding new hobbies. The specific psychological experience of leaving a high-achieving professional identity – that part often goes unnamed. Which is part of why so many accomplished women find themselves caught off guard.
What We Actually Lose
Let me name it plainly, because I think it matters to see it clearly.
When we retire, we lose our title and the status that came with it. We lose the daily feedback – literal or otherwise – that confirmed we had something valuable to offer. We lose our connection to our fields, to technology, to the latest trends and ideas in our profession. We lose a ready-made social world of people who knew us, cared about us, and shared our professional DNA.
One of my clients, a longtime executive who retired after decades of leadership, described it this way: she missed being recognized as an expert and being sought after as an advisor. She talked about how energizing it had felt to give presentations – the room listening, the applause afterward. She wondered, out loud, whether she’d ever feel that way again.
I also lost something I didn’t expect: I stopped laughing as freely. I realized this when I had a dream about my former associate director – the one with the crown system. In the dream, we were sitting together laughing uproariously, the way we used to in our best moments. When I woke up, it hit me: I don’t have that kind of easy, organic laughter in my days anymore. Not because my life is sad – it isn’t – but because I’m no longer surrounded by people who share a history with me, who catch the reference, who appreciate the joke. That kind of laughter is one of the hidden casualties of leaving work behind.
We also lose our excuses. For years, “I’m so busy at work” justified not cultivating our inner world, not experimenting with who we were outside of our roles, not setting limits with friends and family. Retirement removes that cover. Suddenly we’re face to face with questions we’ve never had to answer.
The Question Nobody Prepared You For
Who am I now?
Not, who were you? Not, what did you accomplish? Who are you now — when the title is gone, the calendar is open, and no one is waiting for your sage advice?
Most high-achieving women have never seriously sat with this question. Our identities were shaped around achievement, contribution, and external validation. We knew ourselves through what we did and how well we did it. That worked beautifully for decades. It just doesn’t translate cleanly to retirement.
This is the heart of what makes retirement harder for women like us. It’s not a character flaw. It’s almost a predictable outcome of how we were wired to succeed.
What the Space Can Open Up
Here’s the part I want you to hear clearly: the loss is real, and something else is possible.
When the professional identity loosens its grip, space opens up. Not immediately, and not without some fumbling – but it opens. I’ve watched it happen with clients, and I’ve lived it myself.
One of my clients, a recently retired administrator, realized early in our work together that her outer world was full and good – meaningful relationships, a comfortable home, a community she cared about – but her inner world had been neglected for years. The one thing she really wanted in retirement was to write. Once she named that, she created a simple daily practice: early morning walks in a forest near her house, phone left behind. Just space to hear herself think. That’s where her writing began.
Another client had no clear sense of how she grounded herself each day. When I asked her, she paused and thought about it. She reached out to friends by text each morning, but beyond that she was drawing a blank. Retirement was finally giving her slower mornings to start exploring what a real inner practice might look like for her.
I’m in this exploration myself. I’ve tried plenty of things in my first eight months – some clicked, some didn’t, and all of it was useful information. But the moment that surprised me most was simpler than any class or activity. I started showing up consistently at Friday night services at my synagogue. And something began to happen there – a slow version of the Cheers “Norm!” moment, where people recognize me, call me by name, and I feel like I belong to something. It reminds me of what I loved most about work: being part of a community, being known, mattering to a group of people who show up week after week. That’s not a hobby. That’s belonging.
This is what I think of as the second adolescence of retirement. We have time, space, and some freedom to try things and see what fits. Not every experiment works. That’s entirely the point.
Two Things That Actually Help
In my work with women navigating this transition – both those who’ve just retired and those who are still a year or two out – two shifts make the biggest difference.
Developing a Daily Practice of Checking in with Yourself
Not a productivity ritual – a self-ritual. It might be journaling, a morning walk, prayer, meditation, or simply sitting with a cup of coffee and asking: What’s going on in my heart and mind today? How do I want to feel? What do I need to be aware of?
For women who spent decades being highly attuned to everyone else’s needs, this practice is often surprisingly hard. And surprisingly clarifying.
Adopting an Experimenter’s Mindset
Start trying things – even small things – and pay attention to what gives you energy and what drains it. Cross things off the list without shame. Stay curious rather than conclusive. I’ve seen women begin this process before they even retire, and it makes an enormous difference. Clarity almost always comes from action, not from thinking harder.
A First Step
If you’re navigating this transition – whether you’ve recently retired, you’re still deciding, or you’re a few years in and still finding your footing – the question “Who am I now?” isn’t a sign that something went wrong. It’s the right question. And it deserves a real answer.
I’ve created a free guide specifically for high-achieving women sitting with exactly this question. It’s called the Who Am I Now? Guide – five short reflections you can move through in about 20 minutes, or sit with more slowly if you want to go deeper. Either way, most women tell me they feel something shift by the end of it.
The guide walks you through naming where you are in this transition, releasing the roles that are ready to be let go, reconnecting with what made you come alive long before your career began, identifying how you want to feel each day as your north star, and capturing a snapshot of who you’re becoming. Not as a conclusion – as a beginning.
Think of it as spring cleaning for your inner world. When you clear out what no longer fits, you make room for what’s actually yours.
Download the free Who Am I Now? Guide here.
Let’s Have a Conversation:
What’s one thing you’ve gained in retirement that surprised you – or one thing you miss more than you expected? I’d love to hear in the comments.
