I’m addicted to my favorite creative practice, Twitter. And I’ve been guided to take a 100 day break. Meanwhile, many of you are also stepping into a new version of life—one you may not have chosen. This offers some things to consider as you walk the scary path and learn how to be radically honest with yourself.

We all have pain. Every damn one of us. We all have had our hearts trampled, our bodies broken, our belief systems crushed.

It’s a given in this human experience.

So why do some of us thrive and some of us struggle?

Are the thrivers “stronger” than others?

Possibly.

Are the thrivers built differently?

Perhaps.

Is this the hard and fast answer?

Absofuckinglutely not.

Evidenced-based methods for healing trauma, beyond traditional therapy

I thought it was a hangover. Doctors thought it was lupus. All I knew is that I was sick. Life-altering sick. Which sent me on a 10-year quest to heal my shit. This is where my story starts.

There was no need to be good. No need to have fun. No need to think or say or do or move anything but my marker along the white spaces of a blank page.

My thinking brain sank into quiet, noticing only the sound of Sharpies grinding against rough paper.

The uncomfortable feeling that plagued me all day, at some point, left the room. I didn’t notice when; I was simply captivated by the sense of flow.

I am Clark Griswold. Though I’ve never sawed off the newel post, I have ruined holiday family photos by flipping everyone off. Which is why this year, I’m gonna prioritize my REST. I am going to stop my nervous system into freaking out when things go wrong, and I’m going to relax into the holidays as they come. This is my plan.

You might not recognize your heart the first time you hear it. It’s quiet. It’s soft. It loves you so much that it would never say something you’re not ready to hear.

You don’t just hear your heart in your mind: you feel it in your body. Your body will literally relax. Messages from your heart feel big—suddenly life becomes more exciting, less mundane—expansive. It’s beautiful. You lose touch with your pain.

Anyway, people have been asking me why I decided to start this one-minute cold shower thing. It was entirely unplanned. In truth, I was drinking my morning coffee with my friend, Instagram. I saw a post of Wim Hoff doing his ice-bath breathing. I saw a post by my friend Marco, who has challenged me to try new things in the past. I checked in with the part of me that held so much resistance to cold water and decided I wanted to prove that version of me wrong.

My poems are parables. They are real but they are not true. The writer braids true stories experienced in linear time into a singular moment. She also leaves room for fantasy—fictitious flirtations with moments yet to come. And projections into what might have been.

I’m used to Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer cracking my heart, with her poetry and general beingness. But during my interview with her on Tuesday, she surprised me with a one-two punch of sheer logic.

First, with her daily commitment to her creative practice.

Second, with her admission of her own All Or Nothing behavior.

Oh, hello, MIRROR.

Then Rosemerry. Sweet, kind Rosemerry, shares with vulnerability a tendency to want to leave the moment, to wish for a different experience. For others and for herself.

She shares with me these words.

“Yes. Sometimes it’s like that.”

Oh, sweet permission.

I need more reasons to put my phone down. A MiddleAgedLadyShit book club feels like a good excuse to Read more; Scroll less.

Rules of Middleagedladyshit Book Club

1. You read a book.

2. Repeat # 1.

It’s a weird thing to get competitive with a 17-year-old. But that’s exactly where I’m at in my middle-aged life.

My friend’s 17-year-old son triggered the ef outta me.

Because in a day filled with triggers of my own design, the conversation with him is the only thing that really bothered me. He triggered my competitiveness. My self-judgment. My fear of my writing never being enough. The fear of being middle-aged and never quite living up to my potential.

Have I forgotten what I love?

You’re about to see a whole lot of relationships come to a sudden end.

There are many small reasons. One reason is really big.

Humanity has reached a choice point.

Evolve or repeat.

From this point on, we have no other choice.

Your story matters. We’re all collectively facing shit right now. Sharing your story can and will help others. (You can stay anonymous if you’d like!)

And.

At a minimum.

You’ll be saving me from a day without human connection (freelancing can be hard for us introverted extroverts, okay???).

Send me a DM. Comment below. Text me. Call me. Stop by and chill with me and Leo on the front porch.

The more I disconnect from the noise, the more I hear my own internal guidance system. The more I know: there was never anything wrong with me. The toxicity I pushed into the world was never who I was. It was a version of me created and influenced by a toxic world.

I am so ready to own my truth. I am so ready to stand next to my middle-aged lady peers who are doing the work to heal from a world that rewards impossible standards disguised as beauty and change how shit gets done around here.