In 2023, I had the realisation that I was transgender. After thirty-three years’ of living a life that didn’t fit, I finally gave myself grace to step into the world authentically.
It was the most important decision I have ever made, but it also came with a consequence I had considered, but was not fully prepared for: it effectively reset ten years of professional momentum.
When we talk about careers, we usually talk about them as a linear climb: a steady accumulation of titles, connections, and social proof that you can do the things you say.
We’re told that if we put in the work, the momentum will carry us. But what happens when the person who built that momentum no longer exists (in the eyes of the market)?
Bravery, or Necessity?
People often tell me how brave I am for transitioning. While I appreciate the sentiment, I’ve always viewed it through a more practical lens:
I often describe it like being in a burning building.
If you’re standing in a room consumed by flames, leaping out of the window isn’t wholly an act of courage; it is a matter of survival. You jump because staying where you are is no longer an option.
For me, the metaphorical building was the thirty-odd years I had lived in one form, as well as the entirety of my professional career. I had a reputation, a brand, a strong network of connections, and a level of comfort.
But, of course, I had to jump. Not only because I needed to become the woman I am today, but also because I was tired. I spent a huge amount of energy every single day performing a version of masculinity that felt alien to me. I monitored my voice, my posture, and my reactions to ensure I was fulfilling the role I thought I was supposed to play.
I hated taking up space. Because I wasn’t comfortable in my own skin, I wanted to be smaller. I would hesitate to speak up in meetings or assert my expertise because occupying space felt like an imposition. I was an expert, but one who was constantly trying to minimise their own presence. I had intentionally placed a limit on myself.
Reset Reality
When I transitioned, that limiter was erased. For the first time, I could direct 100% of my energy into my work. I found myself sharper, more authentic, and more capable than I had ever been. But as I reclaimed my internal energy, I realised that the shape of my external network was wildly different.
Professional momentum is largely built on trust, and that trust is built on history.
For most senior professionals, their network are all “warm leads”: people know your face, your wins, and your reliability.
But since transitioning, people don’t connect my face to my wins and reliability. They were earned by a different person.
On LinkedIn, I looked like a stranger to my own network. My years of experience were still there on paper, but it was untethered from the trust that usually comes with it .
This was a hard pill to swallow. There is a real friction when a market can’t easily connect your past to your present. My home city of Brisbane is so often touted as “a relationship market”, and I was suddenly starting from scratch.
However, there are also benefits to starting again. I have built a network of people who met this new-and-improved version of me first. They see me for who I am, giving and being by 100%. They value the impact of my work today, rather than the history of who I was yesterday.
Change is a Universal Experience
While my reset was triggered by my transition, change in our careers and (more broadly, life) is a universal experience. I am far from the only person who has had to rebuild themselves mid-career, we see these experiences everywhere:
- The expert returning from parental leave. They have the same skills from before they left (heck, usually a few new ones too); but the market is so quick to treat them as if they’ve forgotten how to work.
- The migrant professional. They have decades of overseas expertise, but are ignored because they lack “local” experience (that and some amount of cultural racism, I’m sure).
- The career-changer. They move from one industry to another, and find that their past achievements don’t translate to their new peers; despite bringing a wealth of varied experience and knowledge.
We are taught that careers are a linear climb, but for most of us, it’s anything but.
Restarting can be powerful and transformational, but it requires us to move past the comfort and safety of our previous momentum and find that bravery to make the jump into the unknown.
Restarting Momentum
So, if you’re reading this and thinking about a change, or if you’re currently in the middle of a career reset (in whatever form that takes) it’s important to remember that you aren’t starting from nothing. You’re starting without momentum, sure, but not without experience.
I want to use my experience through this, to share how I am navigating the process:
- Refuse to discount your tenure
Whether you’ve been raising a child, moving across the world, or transitioning, your years of expertise don’t vanish the moment you stepped away or changed your name. Your toolkit is still chock-full of the things that got you this far. Don’t act like a junior just because your current context is new. You are an expert in a fresh chapter, not a beginner. - Treat rejection as a data point, not a personal verdict
When you lack “recent”, or “local” social proof, your rejection rate for opportunities will be higher. And this absolutely sucks. But, this is a mathematical reality, not a reflection of your talent. If the local market or your old industry is blind to your value, stop trying to convince them. Increase your application volume and pivot toward areas that value skill over history. - Stop mimicking the past
We can often waste an immense amount of energy trying to mimic a version of us that no longer exists. You’re different now, you’re better, so stop hiding. Whether that’s trying to hide a career gap or performing a personality that isn’t yours, that energy is better spent elsewhere. - Claim your space
There is a massive temptation when you are restarting to act grateful for any opportunity, no matter how irrelevant or beneath your level. Don’t negotiate away your years of hard-won experience just because your circumstances have changed. You aren’t there to fill a seat; you are there to provide a perspective that no one else in the room has.
It’s Never Too Late
Transitioning, Restarting, Emigrating, whatever it is: Change like this is an exercise in grit.
It forces you to be comfortable with the deafening silence that comes before the new momentum kicks in. But know that there is a freedom in it.
When you commit to your journey, what you build on the other side is real, honest, and completely yours.
It’s never too late.
Thanks for reading.
Jen