Midlife Crisis Management – Steering Back Onto the Road

(After a 20-Month Skid)

Managing the dumpster fire

You ever get to a place in your life where it seems like things are going great? And you aren’t too sure how you got there to begin with? But you’re going to ride that wave until it dumps you overboard? Yeah. That was me, and somehow 20 months later, I am managing another midlife crisis, and have moved to another country.

The Gen X-Fille

What did I do? I worked for the big blue box, otherwise known as IKEA. I started 7 years ago and until then, it had been the best job I have ever had. Which is a surprising comment for working in the retail industry.

For the majority of the years that I worked for IKEA, it was all in the state of Texas. But the store I was at restructured in 2024, and did away with a bunch of positions, including my own. Circumstances what they were, growth is found outside of my comfort zone.

So out of the nest I flew. Took a job in a new city, and I moved 757 miles away to Atlanta.

Leap of Faith

I want to say I really weighed the options, but I didn’t. I wanted the job, I wanted to stay with IKEA. I’ll be honest, I spent the whole first month after the reorg announcement looking for jobs outside of IKEA. I applied to anything and everything. Admittedly, with minimal effort (a dash of self-sabotage), which unsurprisingly yielded no results.

By the second month of applications, with one month left with the company, I was in a low-key panic. Especially once it was certain I could not stay in Texas. By then, I was applying to all the jobs at IKEA that I could aim for. Lateral and next levels. This time, I put in the maximum effort. No effort spared. The process from interview to hire took a total of five days. It was meant to be, right?

Navigating in the Unknown

Or so I thought. Should have been a real chance to prove myself and my entrepreneurship potential. Practically handcrafted to fit me and my variety of skills. And so I juggled being between two cities. I renewed the lease for my Texas apartment about four months before I found out that they had no plans to keep me there. That was a foolish gamble on my part.

Thinking back I should have seen the writing on the wall. I had struggled against the toxic leadership in that store. I have several posts that are sitting in my drafts all about the toxic adventures I endured. Of how hard it was as a woman in leadership. I should have taken the severance package and figured something out. 

But I was hopeful, especially after landing this sweet opportunity. 

Difficulties Ahead

For those of you who don’t know, I have two sons in their early twenties. That is still wild for me to say and believe for a variety of reasons. Probably disassociation. In any case, they were living with me at the time. In this economy, it was for the best. And culturally, it checks out. But, once it was certain I was moving to Georgia for work, only one son wanted to go, the other wanted to stay in Texas for his own reasons.

We came up with a plan to keep the apartent in Texas and I would move to Georgia. At first, the idea was I would stay with a friend. Well, that turned into an absolute shitshow – miscommunication, jealousy, and his family — it was reality TV hell. There is a reason I do not like living with other people. Not because I can’t be a good roommate, but because I have no patience for passive-aggressive behavior. If we can’t communicate like adults, then that’s a wrap for me. 

So after only a few months of reluctant hospitality, I was minus one friend and had moved out on my own. Back in Texas, my absence meant there was a room for my son’s friend to move in when he needed a place to stay, and we came up with a plan to share expenses. It was difficult, and I got to know myself during those first three months that I was living alone in this apartment.

I realized it was the first time in 25 years that I had lived alone. The last time was before I moved in with my then-husband, right before the birth of my first son. 

The struggle is real

Life in Atlanta was terrible. Not because I was living alone – that was great. But because the work was not turning out the way I was hoping, and I did not like living in Atlanta. The traffic is the worst I have experienced, and I have lived in many places throughout the United States. I would like to see how it compares to Los Angeles traffic. Somehow I think Atlanta would rival any city when it comes to the stupidity of the drivers. The sheer amount of cars on the road at all hours of the day, and not just on the highways. ALL ROADS. There was never relief from the congestion. 

I was in misery the entire time I was there. 

Unfortunately, by the time I was settling into the apartment and had finally moved out of the apartment in Texas, three months later, I lost my job. They were closing down the store I moved out to work at in the first place. I thought things were going to be different. New city, new coworkers, new management. But alas, it was the same shit, different city.

I don’t know if it is something endemic to the US corporate structure specifically. When I was in Europe visiting stores, or when I collaborated with coworkers overseas, the vibe was very different. Not that I should be surprised. They said it in 2021 that the corporate culture of IKEA US was fucked up due to the lack of diversity in management.

Whiplash

It all happened so fast that I barely had adjusted to no longer being in Texas that I was like, I guess I am going back. But I didn’t want to go back. Over the last year, in addition to the struggles at work, the outside world seemed to be going to shit. Devolving faster than I could comprehend. The algorithm was really working against me because all my feeds were bad news. Bad things happening politically, bad things happening with DEI, bad things happening with women’s rights. 

I no longer felt safe. I was overwhelmed. What do I do? Where can I turn? I did not feel safe in Texas. The state had revoked women’s rights so fast I wasn’t sure I would be able to reliably receive medical care if I returned. Not that I had received good medical care in the decade that I spent there. I didn’t get my health right until I moved to Atlanta. Okay… so that was the one good thing from moving to that city. But literally the only thing. 

So here I was, healthy physically for once in my life, but sucking mentally. And though I wasn’t as devastated about losing my job as I should have been (which spoke more to the level of job dissatisfaction I had been feeling but not acknowledging) I knew that if I didn’t come up with some kind of plan, I was going to slide into a deep depression. It has happened before, and I didn’t want to end up there again. 

My new plan? Go to Guatemala, like I had been wanting to do, and there was nothing to stop me from doing it now. A sabbatical of sorts. 

Back to basics

Let’s rewind to the COVID years… it was 2020 and my mother invited me to travel with her back to Guatemala. I was more than happy to go. I hadn’t been back since 1997 despite all the desires to return. During the marriage, I realize now that the ex had no intention of going with me. Not with the closeted bigotry that eventually revealed itself during the 2012 presidential election. God, that was a shocking revelation. I am still reeling from that emotional trauma. 

So for almost 20 years I was unable to return. First due to sabotage, then due to lack of resources. Although I was willing when I was divorced, I struggled as a single mother for almost seven years. So, back to 2020. I was in a better place, and returning to Guatemala was so satisfying. 

The experience of traveling to Guatemala was different for me from my mother. I did not have the same negative filter. She returned with the judgmental eye of someone who only had resentment and bad memories. I felt like I was returning to someplace that was also home. 

Real or not real?

My mother moved me and my brother to the United States when I was little, like 7 years old. And we have lived in the US ever since then. I have distinct memories of the plane trip when we left Guatemala. I have memories that I am not sure if they are real or constructed over years of storytelling and shared experiences with family. I remember telling her that I did not want to leave, asking why we were going. Her reasons then resonate the same way now – a bunch of nonsense and excuses. Bullshit about my father that I found the truth about in December.

Though I ponder who I would have been had we stayed. Somewhere in the multiverse, there is a version of me that grew up here instead of in the US.

So in 2020 when we were in Guatemala during the height of COVID, I told myself that if I had an opportunity to return, I would. I didn’t want to just come back for vacation. I wanted to spend real time there. One of my mother’s sisters had at some point had a similar crisis and she returned to Guatemala with her daughters for some time. I remember that, and it did serve as inspiration – I would not realize this until many years later, as then in 2020 that was not relevant to me. 

The two weeks we spent in Guatemala were chock full of activity. Visits to government facilities, sight seeing, some shopping. Mostly a lot of waking up early and a lot of walking to take care of paperwork. The wheels of  bureaucracy move at a snails pace in Guatemala. Despite it all, I recall my mother couldn’t wait to return to the US, whereas I was in no rush at all to go back and when it was time to go, couldn’t wait to return. 

My mother views my interest in Guatemala with condescension. She lacks the empathy to understand anything from another person’s perspective. So if she doesn’t see something the same way I do, in her mind, that invalidates my experience/point of view. A psychiatrist would have a field day with my mother. Unfortunately, she would have to admit that mental health is a real thing. If she were ever to accept that she is fucked in the head. She will never acknowledge that she has passed on her generational trauma to me. Thanks so much for that. Much appreciated. 

A midlife crisis emerges

I woke up one day and realized that instead of looking for a new job, I had an opportunity. I could cut all ties and flee (basically) to Guatemala. To return to the country and spend some real time there, getting to know myself. I could live the dream and go on sabbatical and write.

I was mentally tired of chasing my tail for what seemed to be no reward. I worked a job for almost 7 years that in the end amounted to nothing. Although I was eager, qualified, and knowledgeable, I was met with obstacles at every turn. Maybe it really wasn’t meant to be, and I needed to accept that. Which meant that I had nothing to lose by giving this a go. 

Disbelief doesn’t cover the reaction that I got from my mother. I had to let her know of my intention because much of my plan required her letting me use the house we have in Guatemala to stay at. Which meant that I had to accept when she insisted on coming with me. Especially after I told her that I intended to drive my truck from the US to Guatemala City. The trip wasn’t the issue. I was not worried about the distance – at this point I was a pro at long-distance driving. I was not worried about navigating through Mexico. It was no more dangerous than driving through certain parts of the United States. And nowadays, that is even more true than before. 

But to hear her (and my brother since they share a brain) talk about it, you’d think I was planning to drive through Beirut. To hear her say it, I was going to be kidnapped, trafficked, raped, killed, robbed, assaulted, all the bad things. Over dramatic much? Her lack of confidence in me was underwhelming.

I had watched a few Youtubers describe their experience. I’m sorry, but if a couple of white Canadians can drive to Latin America, with almost zero Spanish, with their dogs, I most definitely could do it, no problem. a

She also didn’t understand why I wanted to return, why I would want to live in Guatemala at all. Especially since she merely tolerated the place. She reluctantly agreed with my plan, but there was a catch. 

Trauma olympics

I had to agree to bring her with me on my journey. Ugh. Kill me now.

I do not exaggerate when I state that the space she took up in my truck would have been better used for my things. She was literally useless the entire trip. 

First of all, she doesn’t drive. So right there, useless. Secondly, she can’t navigate or follow a map. So again. Utterly USELESS on a road trip. Thirdly, my eldest hates her (he came with me on this adventure to Guatemala) so again. She was a waste of space, her only contribution was fucking up the overall vibes. Fourthly, scared to death of everything and her own shadow. Every highway, every hotel, every mountain I drove was met with negative comments. Her fear caused her to lash out irrationally. We had so many arguments on the drive I am shocked I did not lose it and run the car off the road over a cliff on a mountain pass road. 

My son put it best when he figured that her issue with Latin America(ns) and, in particular, Guatemala(ns) is her internalized racism. 

I am so proud to have raised such a smart young man. Lol. We had a good discussion about her internalized racism. Which totally explained my experience with her as a mother. And the devaluation of our relationship as she progresses swiftly into embittered old age. It also gave me the clarity and patience to endure her. Endure her as she refused to return to the US after her business concluded. Control issues much? Like she couldn’t fathom that I would survive on my own.

That is the longest I have spent around my mother since I was in college, and I was MISERABLE. Stress levels through the roof, she was disrupting everything, including my cycle for fucks sake. Even the cats were disquieted by her presence. The two-month cycle will have its own upcoming series as there is so much to unpack there that I cannot contain it to myself. 

Managing the midlife crisis

So here I am, in Guatemala. My mother finally left a month ago, and it has taken me that long to purge and reset from that experience. Regain my footing and motivation after being demotivated and low-key depressed in her presence. I am incapable of being myself around her, for so many reasons. But it took daily effort to wait her out until she finally left. So much time wasted. New Years was a complete washout. I was so emotionally spent after her departure that I had no desire to celebrate, nor stay up until midnight. 

However, I am hopeful. I find my calm has returned. I am quite comfortable and settled into my childhood home. Guatemala is not the horrorscape she makes it out to be. As I experienced five years ago, it is a land trying to emerge to join the rest of the world in the future. It is inspiring to witness. 

And I feel safer here than I did when I was in the United States, which will have to be unpacked separately on its own. Whether it’s in my mind or reality, I am going to take advantage of any peace I can find while I am here. 

I know I am lucky to have this chance. Sabbatical or not, I am going to take advantage of my time here. To find myself. To write. To really figure out who I am as I enter middle age. Good grief. My birthday is around the bend and I am not mentally prepared for that milestone. It is hurtling towards me so I’d better get ready. Who knows what 2026 has in store for me? I am hopeful that it can’t be any worse than the years before. Fingers crossed.