Redefining a Professional Mother’s Success

How stepping away from traditional work created space for purpose, presence, and possibility

By Pamela K. Blackwell

“No rules,” advised a dear friend. Others have cheered me on with, “Do what the [blank] you want.” It’s unsettling, uncomfortable, and freeing advice to take.

Like many working mothers, I’ve spent years navigating the tightrope between professional ambition and family responsibility. But a few months ago, I did what many women dream about but often defer: I stepped off the ladder and left traditional employment.

For a motivated, high-achieving professional—consummate list-maker, jacket and water-bottle bringer—this step, without an immediate on-ramp to the next job, was unfamiliar terrain.

For more than two decades, I built a solid career in communications and government relations, climbing to leadership roles in respected organizations in New Mexico and Washington, D.C. I’ve teamed up with stellar colleagues and made a difference with the skills and dedicated effort I put forth. On paper, everything looked good. But in reality, I was in a box. I’d grown as much as I could where I was. While I did not have a clear path forward, I knew that I had more to grow, more to do and ample energy to do it.

Once I stepped off the ladder, something unexpected happened: opportunity after opportunity came my way. Freelance gigs. Consulting roles. A couple attractive full-time offers. The ego boost was real, but so was the danger of losing my balance between family and career.

For a person who almost always says “Yes, yes I can,” saying no hasn’t been easy. Saying no to good things is a privilege not lost on me. I’ve had to resist the urge to follow my default, self-prescribed path. I know myself well enough to recognize that once I commit to something, I dive in completely.

I’ve had to get brutally honest with myself. Was I going to fill my schedule with work that felt familiar and flattering? Or was I turning my back on a rare opportunity to do something entirely new and explore my interests? Could I use this window in time to stretch out and build something truly mine?

For the first time I could be like the main character in one of my favorite novels, The Midnight Library, and sample my alternate universes—alternate career and personal paths. I’d already slow-walked this idea, coaching middle school volleyball and track for four years. I decided to lengthen my stride.

Since leaving my job, I’ve trained like I’m sponsored by Nike to run 5ks. I’ve taught like John Keating from Dead Poet’s Society as a high school substitute teacher. I’ve traveled with my family like I’m a local tour guide. I’ve been a girl boss and chosen consulting work that is challenging and meaningful. And I’ve been a very present mother, driving my kids to-and-fro, no conference calls en route, just me and them and our conversations spilling over from the back seat to the front.

A wise friend told me not to take a job for six months. Try not to rush to fill the silence. She was right. I hadn’t taken a breath since starting my career and then having three children. I even worked while on hospital bedrest while pregnant with our twins. Saying no—especially to jobs I was qualified for, good at and even excited by—is the hardest part. But I needed a time-out.

Choosing not to fill the silence has meant watching my son play Saturday soccer matches with the dramatic slope of the Sandias as the backdrop. Other than applying sunscreen or bundling up, there’s nothing else for me to do.

This winter was the first state legislative session I’d missed in years, the all-consuming, round-the-clock months of political work. At weekend volleyball tournaments, I no longer had to block rogue balls from crashing into my laptop while trying to meet deadlines in the bleachers. Instead, I got to truly watch my daughters play the game I also loved at their age.

Many women tie their worth to their roles: job title, organizational clout, regular paycheck. Letting go of that feels like a freefall. I’ve worried: Would people still respect me? Would I lose touch with my professional identity? Could I support myself?

That advice helped shape my vision of starting my own consulting studio. It uses my skills, feeds my spirit, and lets me work on my terms. It gives me space to be there for my children and continue exploring joy in my alternate universes.

Saying no wasn’t about shutting doors. It was about creating space for the right ones to open.

And yes, I have days of doubt. Lots of them. I still get scared. I may ultimately return to traditional employment. Or maybe become a teacher. Either way, I’ve traded feeling boxed in for purposeful challenge, and I’m not inclined to give that up.

On the hardest career days where doubt creeps in, I fantasize about being a barista (though I’m an avowed tea drinker). So, I got myself a decent espresso maker. It’s not as easy as you think. At the rate I make espresso—and my paltry, at-home tip jar earnings—barista may not be my calling. But I’m working on it, one espresso at a time.

I’m still early in this chapter, but I know it was the right move. I feel more creative, increasingly grounded, and more present. I’m building something that reflects my values, not just as a professional but as a mother and a human being.

This isn’t a story of quitting. It’s a story of choosing. Choosing to step off the rung into the unknown. Choosing to trust myself. Choosing to model something radically honest for the people I love most.

And that, to me, is success.

This piece begins a series chronicling Pamela’s journey navigating career, identity, and family as a professional parent.

Pamela K. Blackwell is a mother of three teens, and the founder of PKB Consulting, a communications, stakeholder, and government-relations studio. She is a middle school volleyball and track coach and an avid 5k runner who enjoys travel, swimming, hiking, climbing, and cooking. Pamela is an 11-plus-generation New Mexican who grew up in Santa Fe and lives in Albuquerque with her family.