I’ve been reading The Let Them Theory by Mel Robbins — though, funny enough, I had “Let Them” tattooed on my skin long before I ever read her book.

There was a time when I felt invincible.From the ripe ages of forty to forty-six, I was in the gym six days a week — throwing weights, chasing PRs, feeling strong, lean, and in control. I often was chastised for not taking enough rest days.  CrossFit gave me something I hadn’t ever felt: power. It became my therapy, my identity, my proof that aging didn’t have to mean slowing down.

Two nights ago, I stood in a sea of people at a concert—thousands of bodies moving to the same rhythm, lights pulsing, energy alive. But as the music swelled, something in me shifted. It wasn’t about the crowd anymore. I wasn’t part of the noise. I felt… separate.

When your mother is a narcissist who lives as the eternal martyr, survival becomes an art form. For some daughters, it means endless appeasement — trying to soothe her storms, to win her love through understanding.But for me, it meant silence.

💙 When Soft meets Strong

There’s something disorienting about being in the middle of everything.Middle age. Middle path. Middle of change.