A Life Spent Putting Others First

For most of my life, I showed up for everyone else first. I was the mom who made sure every lunch was packed, the HR manager who stayed late to support a struggling employee, the volunteer organizing toy drives for hundreds of children, and the dependable one who always said yes.

There was nothing wrong with that. In fact, I’m proud of it. I believe that kind of love and service matters deeply. But somewhere along the way, I started to disappear in the process. Not on purpose. Not overnight. But piece by piece, I tucked away the woman I used to be to make room for everyone else.

And when the kids got older, the house got quieter, and the calendar opened up just a little, I realized something. I didn’t know what I wanted anymore. I had taken care of everyone else, but I hadn’t checked in with myself in years.

The Quiet Ache of Losing Yourself

It’s a strange feeling to look at your own life and feel disconnected from the person living it. I was doing good things. I was useful. I was needed. But I wasn’t fully me.

The dreams I once had, the creative energy, the passion for storytelling, the woman who once felt alive on stage, they had been shelved. Not forgotten completely, but placed far enough out of reach that I almost believed they no longer mattered.

That ache came out in the quiet moments. When the house was still. When the to-do list was done. When I wasn’t fixing, organizing, or helping. That’s when I would feel it. The pull. The whisper. The question: What about you, Bobbie?

Listening to the Whisper

At first, I tried to push it aside. I told myself it was selfish to want more. I had a good life. I was grateful. But the whisper didn’t stop. If anything, it got louder.

It wasn’t calling me away from my family or my responsibilities. It was calling me back to myself. Back to the woman who once had dreams of acting. Back to the storyteller. Back to the artist who saw beauty in brokenness and believed in the power of second chances.

I started small. I updated my headshots. I signed up for a casting site. I took a deep breath and stepped into my first audition room in years. I didn’t feel confident, but I showed up anyway. And slowly, something in me started to wake up.

Facing the Guilt of Choosing Yourself

Choosing yourself after years of choosing everyone else isn’t easy. At first, I felt guilty. I worried that people would think I was chasing something silly or shallow. I worried about spending time on myself. But I had to learn that restoring yourself is not selfish. It’s necessary.

I had spent years pouring out love, time, and energy into others. It was time to refill my own cup. Not so I could live for myself, but so I could live with purpose. So I could serve from a place of joy and wholeness instead of depletion.

There is power in choosing to step back into who you were made to be. There is healing in honoring the parts of yourself that were buried to survive.

God Never Forgot Who I Was

Throughout this journey, my faith kept me grounded. I truly believe that God didn’t forget who I was, even when I did. He saw the woman underneath all the titles. He knew the dream He planted in me from the beginning. And he was patient.

When I prayed during those hard seasons, I asked Him to show me the way forward. Not just as a mother or volunteer or employee—but as Bobbie. The woman He created. And slowly, He started opening doors. Sometimes after 50 auditions and 50 rejections. Sometimes in the form of a quiet moment of clarity. Sometimes through someone else’s encouragement. But always, in His timing.

Embracing the Woman I Am Today

Coming back to yourself doesn’t mean returning to who you were before life happened. It means embracing who you’ve become and letting her evolve with grace.

I’m not the same woman I was in my twenties. I’m stronger. Softer. Wiser. I’ve raised children, built community programs, loved people through crisis, and held space for others when no one else could.

Now I get to bring all of that into my creative work. Into every audition, every scene, every story I help tell. I get to be an artist and a servant. A woman of faith and a woman with dreams. I don’t have to choose between the two. I get to be fully me.

It’s Not Too Late

If you’re reading this and you feel like you’ve been living for everyone else, I want to tell you something straight from my heart: You’re still in there.

You are not too old. You are not too late. You are not finished.

You don’t have to blow up your life to find yourself again. Just start listening. Start asking what makes you feel alive. Start honoring your own voice, even if it’s shaky at first.

Because resurrecting the woman you were meant to be isn’t about starting over. It’s about coming home.

And when you do, you’ll realize, she never really left. She was just waiting for you to remember her.