Once upon a time there was a young woman who dreamed about a life full of potential and adventure. She was creative, curious, full of youthful charm and vigor. She formulated goals, educated herself, and committed to achieving her dreams. She was confident, determined, and comfortable in her power. Anything was possible.
Then one day, this woman woke up to find herself adrift. She was exhausted, having expended herself in tedium for many years, for she had generously donated her body, mind, and spirit to the needs of others. Suddenly, the benefactors of her labor no longer required her assistance, and she discovered herself bereft of passion and purpose.
Sound familiar? Not all but many women find themselves in this predicament when their children leave the nest. I am one of these women. In my youth, I studied, I traveled, I took full advantage of life. I worked hard and had the good fortune to attend a highly rated law school where I met my prince charming and embarked on what I believed would be a fairytale life.
I was (and still am) a notorious dreamer. But the reality of a demanding career, complicated pregnancies, and the needs of my family dented my original aspirations. With my husband’s career on the rise, I made the decision to leave the workforce.
I enjoyed motherhood, but I was surprised by how quickly my confidence and self-worth faded. I panicked and attempted a return to office but did not have the physical, emotional, or mental ability to sustain a professional comeback. I gave up on the pursuit and doubled down on the duties of the devoted mother.
Don’t get me wrong—I loved raising my boys, and if I could do it all over again, I would make the same (or many of the same) choices. But the experience came at a high cost, a cost that our society does not always recognize or reward. If you give yourself in entirety to another, whether that person is a spouse, a child, or other person of significance, it is often a challenge to find yourself again. And if you do, you might not even recognize yourself.
I have casually observed that individuals who give up their careers to take on the full-time at-home parent roll are taught to undervalue themselves, surrender their dreams, and sacrifice their power.
And I’m here to say: screw that!
We need to remember who we are, be honored for our service and sacrifice, and be given the chance to fulfill our passions and purpose. But first, we must learn to dream again—without restraint, without judgment, and with the extravagant imagination of a child. Only then can we rediscover ourselves, our youth, and our vitality. And for me, that’s where it all began . . . Once Upon a Time.
It was an innocent inquiry: “You’re turning fifty this year, what should we do to celebrate?” my husband asked. My expression and demeanor revealed that I was not thrilled. Fifty years. How did that happen? Give birth, blink, and you’re fifty. That’s how I felt. It didn’t seem fair. As a young woman I was going places; I earned a position at a top law firm on Capitol Hill; I was offered a fellowship to study German law at the University of Heidelberg; I had plans . . . BIG plans. But I couldn’t do it all. Did I fail? Sometimes it felt that way.
He tried to cheer me up. “We could go on a trip?”
“Meh . . .” I sighed. “Who would watch the kids?”
Silence.
Reluctantly, he suggested, “What about a party?”
“Party?” I perked up.
Providing Tiffany an opportunity to host a party was like offering bloody remains to a piranha: devoured and digested before the last syllable.
As a creative, nothing gets me going like a themed event. But I had to be original given that many in our community had already celebrated their fiftieth and most of the popular themes had been used previously. Pressure on.
My oldest child, a sophomore in high school at the time, had the opportunity to participate in an educational trip to Europe with his history class. Concerned about his severe nut allergy, my husband and I decided to trail him. We travelled separately to Europe, kept our distance, and did our own thing. We toured Versailles and various castles and palaces in and around Munich.
It was regal, it was romantic, almost make believe, and . . . then it came to me: An immersible experience that dares imagination, distant in time and tradition, an illusion of artful indulgence, a fiction, a fantasy: a Royal Fairytale Ball.
The event was magic—the room twinkled with glittering tiaras and elegant satin gowns, which swirled and swayed to the delicate cadence of the orchestral waltzes. Participants were spellbound and starry eyed. There was laughter, there was awe, there was wonderment. The fairytale theme provided guests with a sort of freedom, an opportunity to transcend the ordinary, to make believe and become a brilliant star in their own story. It was more than a night to remember—it was an opportunity to remember, to rediscover youth and inspiration, to stretch the mind and wander in the world of the inner child.
That is when things began to change both for me and for many of my guests. A few who had unsuccessful relationships found companionship, some went back to school or started new careers, some packed up and moved on to entirely new adventures, and some, like me, retooled, reinvested, and reinvented themselves.
Since then, every year on my birthday I gathered with friends for coffee, lunch, or drinks to celebrate and reminisce about the Royal Fairytale Ball. Naturally, we wore our tiaras. Many of my friends commented on how the tiara made them feel: Pretty. Powerful. Important. Buoyant. Young. There was something magical about these fancy little crowns that seemed to transform the mind and bolster confidence.
A tiara is an ornamental headpiece typically reserved for formal occasions. It’s a symbol of power and beauty. Tiaras denote distinguished status and thus could imply elitism. In this light, the tiara might embody a negative connotation since aristocrats and elites are seen throughout history as undemocratic, securing undue privileges at the expense of the majority. But what if the tiara was democratized and rebranded as a symbol of self-love and used to lift individuals up so that they could perceive their unique worth and beauty?
I can envision women, as well as men and transgender, using this symbol to come together to support each other, to celebrate their strength and potential, and to remember who they are and what they are capable of—at any age.
When my youngest child readied to leave nest and I approached the end of my tenure as a stay-at-home mom, my first thought was “game over.” I was spent, disconnected and afraid. I didn’t recognize myself; I didn’t feel like I had an identity outside of the children. When I looked back toward my youthful ambitions, they seemed foreign and unattainable. I had forgotten my passion and my power. But that tiny tin tiara taught me to dream again.
I went back to school to study design and founded my own design firm specializing in green interiors. I started an environmental nonprofit with my children to teach them the values of environmental stewardship and activism like my mother taught me. And most recently, I created a tribute to the tiara, a social and philanthropic society dedicated to self-empowerment: The Tiara Club.
Anything is game, because anything is possible when you reconnect with an unfettered imagination and let yourself dream.
If you have enjoyed this chapter from her book, Women Who Dream: 30 Stories to Inspire Big Beliefs and Big Dreams, Tiffany invites you to own your own copy of her #1 Amazon International Best-seller.