Dear Reader,

As part of my February blessing, I wished this for you:

So, I want to ask you: Have you ever realized you were in the wrong room? What happened next?

Sometimes, I wonder if the hardest part isn’t leaving, but admitting—to yourself—that you’re no longer in the right place.

Let me share a story with you.

Just after stepping into a key leadership position in academia, I had a dream. A parable, almost.

In the dream, I walked toward a lectern, feeling prepared and confident. I looked down at my carefully written index cards, and the blue ink evaporated like smoke from burning incense.

It didn’t matter. I was ready. The lecture hall was packed—colleagues, mentors, friends. I’d been preparing for this moment my entire career.

I took a deep breath. And like magic, my speech flowed effortlessly. I was improvisational, unshaken, completely at home in my own skin.

There was rhythm. There was calm.

Until the dean rose, slicing through my sentence: “Dr. Hofsess, I’m getting reports this is a ‘drunk and dash’ presentation. We need you to step down—immediately.”

(Dreams are wild, aren’t they?!)

For an instant, shame flooded my body. I questioned myself.

But no—I may have been off-script, but I was clear-headed.

I placed my blank note cards on the lectern, crossed the frozen room, and pressed my weight into the exit door.

Outside, my husband was waiting. It was dusk, and a little foggy.

“How’d it go, babe?” he asked, cool as ever.

I looked up into the streetlight above and said the only thing I knew to be true:
​“I don’t know what happened, but I can’t go back.”

A few months later, I was wide awake when I said it again.

“They offered me the promotion… at my current salary. Non-negotiable. Babe—I got nothing.”

Over a decade of exemplary performance. Leadership training, a robust negotiation strategy, and the unanimous support of my department.

And still: nothing.

What stung most wasn’t the offer itself, but knowing my White, male colleagues were quietly handed so much more.

“I don’t know what happened, but I can’t go back.”

Walking away from a job I loved (and was really good at!) was hard.

But the mixed blessing of midlife is that it becomes harder and harder to conform:

• To stick to the script.
• To tolerate someone else's expectation.
• To smile and accept the undercompensated position for the “experience.”

The soul-stirring work of midlife isn’t about playing the game a little better.
It’s about recognizing when you’re in the wrong place for you.

This is what a Second Bite is all about.

Not settling for scraps.

Not waiting for permission.

Taking a full, unapologetic seat at the table—and sometimes, leaving the damn room.

Where is your Second Bite asking you to go next?

Onward,
Brooke

P.S. If you’re ready to leave the wrong room but aren’t sure where to start, let’s talk. Fill out a coaching application here. ​