A few weeks ago, I asked an accomplished client who is feeling stuck in her current job, “What are your dreams for your life?” “That’s the problem,” she said. “I just don’t know.”

Recently another client explained that she didn’t have a clear sense of her next career move. This client is also quite accomplished. Throughout her career, she has taken the right steps to move forward—the right degrees, the right jobs, the right decisions for her family. But somewhere along the way, she has lost the ability to hear that inner voice that whispers her personal dreams.

I have some sense of how these clients feel. A few years ago, I felt the same way. In the spring of 2011, as I was preparing for a year-long sabbatical from my college teaching job, a friend sent me a gift. It was an exquisite pottery “dream catcher” jar. “You can put all your dreams for your sabbatical in here,” my friend wrote.

Her note drew me up short. DREAMS for my sabbatical? What dreams? I had a number of projects lined up for the coming year—a major journal article, a contract for a book on the American Revolution in the South, and grants to fund archival research on women’s experiences of aging. I had plenty to do on my sabbatical, but nothing that felt remotely like a dream. Several times that spring I found myself staring at the dream catcher jar on my desk, wracking my brain, but I couldn’t think of a single dream for my sabbatical—at least not one that I would allow myself to dream.

And that got me thinking. I was 49 years old. I had achieved many of my most cherished dreams for my life, but like my clients, for many years, I had been ticking off all the boxes, taking the right “next step,” and somewhere along the way, I had lost touch with my ability to hear my own hopes and dreams.

That sabbatical year and the teaching years that followed marked a mid-life crisis for me. I struggled mightily to make my career and my life feel like it still fit. I took on new projects and new leadership roles. I revamped courses and plugged away at my research. But my career didn’t fit anymore, and I couldn’t seem to figure out what to do next. I felt stuck.

With time, I began to slow down and turn inward. I wish I could say that I did this consciously, but really, I turned inward out of sheer exhaustion. I journaled some. I took more walks. I read more poetry and novels. I did more yoga. And gradually I began to hear my “inner mentor.” That’s what writer Tara Mohr calls “an imagined version of an older wiser you,” a more authentic version of yourself. Mohr says that the inner mentor is “a voice that can remind us about our own right paths.” Gradually I heard that voice and I found the right next steps for myself.

I encouraged both those clients—those accomplished and frustrated women—to find a way to slow down and turn inward so that they can hear the voice of their own inner mentors. Maybe the key is journaling. Maybe it’s taking long hikes in the mountains or long walks on the beach. Maybe it’s meditation or maybe it’s gardening. Maybe it’s just sitting in the backyard and listening to the birds sing. If you’re feeling stuck, I hope you’ll give yourself permission to embrace whatever combination of actions or non-actions that help you slow down and turn inward. With a little time and patience, I’m pretty sure you’ll begin to hear that voice that can remind you about your own right path.