I get it.

I’ve always loved museums. It took me over 10 years of working in the field to realize they didn’t love me back. At least not in the way that I wanted them to. 

As a kid I would beg my parents to take me to one of the many museums in Chicago. I would spend hours wandering the galleries and admiring the art, riding the coal cart (iykyk), or imagining myself as an ancient egyptian. Then I learned that I could work in a museum. That someone would pay me to hang out there all day!

So began my entry into the world of museums and cultural nonprofits. I would spend 10+ years and lots of money to earn the privilege to work in the hallowed halls I held so dear. I would get to work at some very cool places, see amazing artifacts up close, hear the lions roar during zoo sleepovers, and have the coolest job at the cocktail party. 

Like many aspiring museum professionals, I was told I needed a masters degree if I wanted to continue my career. A life long learner, I jumped at the chance and headed out to graduate school, ready to embark on the next leg of my museum career. And trust me, I loved every second of it. Every day I felt like that excited kid in the museum, ready to see the next treasure, learn the next fact, and witness a piece of our collective human history. 

Then graduation happened and I was working 5 jobs (Yes, 5. 3 museum contract jobs, babysitting, and a gig at a pottery studio) to pay the bills. This hustle was alluded to by alums and older students in my grad program, but no one really spelled it out like this (and it certainly wasn’t advertised on the glossy brochure next to the alum holding the original “Kermit the Frog” puppet). I was applying to job after job, networking, taking unpaid or underpaid opportunities to boost my resume, but it got me nowhere. My first turning point was when I saw entry level job after entry level job preferring (or requiring) a PhD. “This is nuts! The market is oversaturated!” I thought, and decided to relocate. 

I relocated and wanted to stay in the field, so I got the only museum job I could find, working the front desk at a children's museum. I was a freshly minted masters degree holder with some of the world's top institutions on my resume and selling admission at the front desk. Talk about humbling. Thankfully I soon landed another role that more aligned with my skills. 

This was it, my dream! I was working in museum education! With an amazing team! And a beautiful collection in an area that was new to me (more learning! yay!). But then reality came crashing in. I was having panic attacks overnight at least once a month (then realized they were always the night before board meetings). My nights and weekends rarely belonged to me. There was no room for advancement within the organization. When I got pregnant with my first child I knew something had to give. I loved museums, but I realized they weren’t loving me back. 

I did some soul searching and took stock of what was working and what wasn’t. My priorities shifted towards my young family and I entered a phase of life where I just wanted to show up to work, do my thing, and leave. I wanted to spend nights and weekends with my family. I didn’t want to be surprised by abusive emails coming into my inbox at all hours of the night. I wanted a job where my salary wasn’t tied to grant funding and I had opportunities to move up if I wanted. I still wanted to feel passionate about my work, but knew it needed to look different to preserve my sanity and well-being. 

Towards the end of my time in the museum world, my favorite part of my job became career coaching our student staff. I loved learning about their goals and career aspirations and then getting tactical on how to make them a reality. 

So, after 10+ years in the field, lots of money invested, and a treasure trove of priceless memories and experiences, I decided to leave the museum world. It was like ending a long-term toxic relationship. 

Was it hard? Absolutely. 

Was it necessary, also yes. 

Do I still love museums and visit every chance I get? Duh. 

Did you find yourself saying “omg, me too!” at any point of my story? You’re not alone. The more museum pros I talk to, the more I realize the common threads of our career struggles. The overwork, underpay, toxic cultures. But also the bright side: the fulfillment of a childhood dream, working with incredible collections, making a difference. 

If you’ve been considering making a change, now’s the time.

You don’t have to figure it out alone—I’m here to help. I know how overwhelming it can feel to navigate what’s next, to wonder if leaving the field means leaving behind your passion or identity. But I’m proof that you can take your skills, your love for museums, and your dreams for a better future, and build something that works for you.

Let’s chat. Whether you’re just starting to think about leaving, actively planning your exit, or already on the other side and feeling a little lost, I’d love to help you write your next chapter.

Because you deserve a career (and life!) that loves you back.