A Mid-Life Success

A journey of personal growth for one single mom leads her down paths she never expected, to the happiness she always wanted.

By Dennise Sellers, Syracuse, New York

As appeared in

Another Saturday night, and the restaurant where I waitressed was packed. I waved hello to a few of our regulars, tied on my apron, grabbed a pen and pad and headed to my first table of the night: a gray-haired woman and her four grown children. I hadn’t seen them in here before.

“Welcome. My name is Dennise, and I’ll be your server,” I said, launching into my new-customer spiel. The woman and I chatted about the weather and the Syracuse Orange, whose uniforms and banners hung from the walls. “You’ll love our chicken tenders,” I said to one of her sons. I took their order and brought it to the kitchen.

I’d started waitressing 20 years earlier. Back then it was the perfect job. I was a young newlywed and I liked the hustle and bustle—juggle 13 tables? no problem—and the flexible hours. When my husband and I had our daughter, Holly, I switched to the night shift so I could pick her up from school and spend time with her in the afternoon.

Now I was 42, divorced and Holly was finishing high school. I was grateful to God for having a job, especially a job I liked. But lately I’d been feeling restless. Like I needed a change.

I guess you could say I caught the bug when three of my coworkers enrolled in nursing school a few months earlier. They’d come into the restaurant beaming, going on and on about their classes. Their excitement was contagious. I’d once dreamed of going to college. I never had a career in mind, but I knew I wanted to help people, to have a lasting impact on their lives. The more I listened to my coworkers, the more I thought of becoming a nurse myself.

Sometimes, between customers, my mind would drift. Instead of khakis and an apron, I imagined myself in scrubs, with a stethoscope draped around my neck, tending to patients. I’d check vitals and administer life-saving medications to people instead of just serving them chicken wings and fries.

Then I’d catch myself. Who am I kidding? My coworkers were young, not much older than my daughter—they were at a time of life when you’re supposed to be finding your path. Not me. I was middle-aged. I should’ve found my path by now. And if I hadn’t, wasn’t it too late to start over?

Besides, I didn’t even know if any nursing school would accept me. I’d fallen in with a questionable crowd in high school and dropped out. I straightened up and got my GED, but I didn’t exactly have a stellar academic record. And what did I know about nursing? The only time I’d been in the hospital was when I’d had Holly. Suppose I spent the money and effort on nursing school only to discover that I fainted at the sight of blood?

I cleared off a few tables, then walked back to the kitchen. “Hi, just checking on those five orders I placed. How much longer?” I asked one of our cooks.

“Comin’ up, Dennise,” he said. “Wait right here.”

It felt good to stand still, if only for a minute. I was constantly on the go. I worked the night shift at the restaurant, plus 20 hours a week as sexton at my church. Was it humanly possible to fit in a full course load on top of all that? I’d been asking God for guidance. Lord, I feel like there’s something more out there for me, maybe even a new career. Please point me in the right direction.

I’d even talked to Holly about it one day. We’re really close, and I knew I could count on her for an honest opinion. “Hol, what do you think about me changing careers?” I asked.

“Like, doing what, Mom?” she asked.