When the Universe Says Yes

At 5 AM, in that blue-black hour before dawn, I sat alone with my coffee and read words that made something inside me ache with recognition.

Jane Duncan Rogers—a writer in Scotland whose work I’d been quietly following—was being celebrated. Honored for writing to older folks. For seeing them. For believing they’re not done yet.

I felt it in my chest first. That pull. That yes. The kind you feel when you see someone living a version of the life you’re trying to name for yourself.

I want to be part of something like that.

I thought it. Barely let myself feel it. Like admitting it too loudly might jinx it or reveal how much I wanted it. Then I closed the browser and moved into my messy, fog-brained day.

Hours later—after I’d discovered I’d sent an important email to only 50 people instead of 900, after I’d fixed it and sent it out properly, after I’d almost given up and gone to nap—an email arrived.

From Jane.

Not a polite reader note. A real one. Warm. Personal. I’ve been reading everything you write. I love your art. You’re special. Let’s talk.

I sat there, staring at the screen, my hands gone still on the keyboard.

Then I looked her up. Really looked.

Trained personally by Louise Hay. Thirty-five years as a counselor. Award-winning author of books about grief as transformation, about prosperity in spiritual work, about living fully before you go. A Woman of Inspiration, literally awarded for it.

She wasn’t just a reader. She was a mirror. Writing the same book I’m writing, from the other side of the ocean and the other side of experience.

And she’d been there all along. Opening my emails. Every single day. Watching. Waiting. And when I finally whispered what I wanted—I want to be part of this—she stepped forward.

Eight hours between wish and answer.

Eight hours.

The universe didn’t need me to build funnels or run Facebook ads or have my shit together. It needed me to tell the truth about what I wanted. To let myself feel it. To stop pretending I didn’t ache for recognition and connection and proof that this work matters.

All I did was admit it. Out loud to no one but myself.

And the answer came back across an ocean, from a woman I’d been reading in the dark, who’d been reading me right back.

This is what happens when you stop hiding what you want. When you write from the place that scares you. When you let yourself be seen by the people who are actually looking.

I’m writing a story right now—Becoming Clara—about a 68-year-old woman discovering she’s not done yet. About starting over when everyone expects you to be winding down. About transformation that doesn’t apologize for happening late.

And apparently, the universe is showing me I’m not just writing it. I’m living it.

If you want to be part of this—the messy, real, sometimes terrifying process of becoming—you can find your way here. Some chapters are free. Some go to paid subscribers. All of it is true, even when it’s fiction.

The question is: what are you whispering at 5 AM that you’re too afraid to say out loud?

Because I’m learning that the universe is listening. And it answers faster than you think.

What did you whisper at 5 AM?

What do you want so badly you’re afraid to say it out loud? What version of yourself are you trying to become when no one’s watching?

This is where that becomes real.

Paid subscribers aren’t just reading my story—they’re writing their own. They’re the women who decided that transformation doesn’t wait for retirement or permission or the perfect moment.

You get every chapter of Becoming Clara. Early access to art. The unfiltered truth about what it takes to become who you were always meant to be.

An annual subscription is just $60 — that’s $4.54 a month, less than your average Starbucks run and a whole lot more nourishing.

Because whispers only become real when you act on them.

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About Jane

Jane Duncan Rogers is the writer whose morning post sparked this entire synchronicity. She writes about grief as transformation, prosperity in spiritual work, and living fully before you go. Trained personally by Louise Hay, with 35+ years of counseling experience, Jane’s work reaches women who know they’re not done yet—just like you.

If my words resonated with you, hers will too. We’re writing the same book from different shores. Jane Duncan Rogers

No two days are ever the same.

Yeah, we have a tendency to wake up expecting more or less a repeat of yesterday. But in my life, nothing is ever the same.

The coffee’s familiar, but the energy never is.

Sure, I still get up and make my bed every morning. I still come to my desk, coffee in hand, ready to see what the day might bring. But wha…

Read more

She Found Her Life Again at 87

She said, “I had pretty much given up on life… until I discovered quite by accident that I had more to give.”

That line stopped me cold.

At 87, she sat down at a piano in a London mall and began composing music.
Curiosity brought her back to life.

And that’s the point, isn’t it?
When you get curious again — about anything — you reconnect with the pulse of your own soul.

Curiosity feeds passion.
Passion feeds vitality.
And vitality keeps us in love with living, no matter our age.

Watch this woman and remember:
You are not finished. You are becoming.

You are not finished. You are becoming.

What’s one small thing you’re curious about today?

https://youtube.com/clip/UgkxRsyL2OHg8dSESK0adv7QMvdl1LnA8ztr?si=JV3m1Jf2V0W_zux5

Eighty. Years. Old.

So the next time your mind whispers “I don’t know if I can…” remember her. She wasn’t waiting for perfect knees, perfect timing, or anyone’s permission. She just laced up and went.

If that doesn’t light a spark under your soul, I don’t know what will.
Here’s the link—watch it, feel it, and then ask yourself what trail your own soul’s been begging you to walk.

👇👇👇👇👇👇

We don’t retire. We rewire.

—Monica

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Autumn Fallin

Thirteen years ago, my sister, Melba Jean, walked into my home and changed my art forever.

A leaf painting hung prominently on the wall — the one I’d been so proud of. She stopped about four feet away, studying it in complete silence. I watched her take it in. Then, after a long pause, she whipped around and said,

“Monica Rose, you forgot the shadows. That painting needs shadows.”

I knew instantly what she meant. And why.

I took it down, set it on the easel, and added those shadows. Just beneath the leaves — small strokes, subtle shifts — and suddenly the whole painting came alive.

That was the defining moment of my art career.

The Enchanted Forest came next, born because Melba insisted I find my own style — my own process, my own spirit. She hovered like a coach, watching, nudging, sometimes bossing, always believing. And that’s when my art career truly began to breathe.

So much of what I create now carries her voice — gentle, insistent, forever whispering in my ear.

Melba lived her last years in a nursing home, her memory fading to mist. We hadn’t spoken for three years when she passed, one year ago today. Yet I still think of those two years we lived together — the laughter, the sisterhood, the ordinary moments that became treasures.

Today,I was thinking of her again — of our final goodbye — and realized it was almost exactly the same hour she left this world. Maybe that was her way of waving as she crossed over.

Now I know why purple keeps showing up in my paintings. It was her favorite color.

Rest easy, my dear Melba Jean.
You earned it.
And thank you — for teaching me that art, like life, only comes alive when we remember the shadows.

I wasn’t expecting a miracle that day.
But one showed up anyway.

About fifteen minutes after one of my two-and-a-half-minute breathing sessions — part of a rhythm I’d been keeping all day, once an hour, every hour — something shifted.

I was sitting at my desk. Behind me, across the room, my easel stood waiting — a blank canvas, no image in mind. Just stillness.

For months I’d been trying to make something happen — to force a spark.
Turns out, what I needed was stillness.

And then, it happened.

A wave of energy moved through me — so strong I had to stand up.
Before I could think, I was at my palette, mixing pinks, whites, and golds.
Within hours, she had poured out of me.

I didn’t paint her.
She happened through me.

I call her Pink Angel.

She carries a message that arrived as clearly as her color:
“Seek ye joy.”

She isn’t a perfect, polished angel — she’s alive, balanced in her own beautiful way.
Her face holds many tones because she represents all of us: every story, every skin, every heartbeat that’s dared to shine again.

For me, she’s proof.
Proof that the quiet inner work works.
Five rounds of breathing. Five small resets.
And then, a miracle.

Maybe your own Pink Angel is waiting too — the part of you that’s been trying to rise through the noise.

For one week only, she is available as a high-resolution digital print (8x10) — a limited-time invitation to bring her energy into your own space.

Every time you see her, may she remind you that joy appears the moment you finally let yourself breathe.

She’s $45 — because this isn’t a download. It’s art. It’s energy. It’s joy incarnate.

Once you download Pink Angel, she’s yours — completely.

You can print her, frame her, gift her, multiply her magic in whatever ways feel right.
Make a copy for your sister, your best friend, your daughter — anyone who could use a gentle reminder to seek joy.

You could decoupage her onto the cover of your favorite journal,
frame her beside your meditation chair or altar, or let her watch over a grandbaby from the nursery wall.

However you choose to use her, let her be what she was for me —
a bright reminder that joy is something we make space for, not something we chase.

👉 Bring Pink Angel into your home

Studios once told Betty White she wasn’t “photogenic.” So she built her own lane — first in radio, then in TV. In 1953 she didn’t just star; she produced her own sitcom (Life with Elizabeth) — a woman running the show in an era that told women to smile and sit pretty.

Yes, she was a rule-breaker and certainly unusual for her time. That’s a healthy reminder of our social history — but it’s not an excuse to shrug and say, “Well, she was Betty White. I’m not.”

In fact, I think Mrs. White would be appalled to know that any woman would shrink herself to fit a script handed down by someone else.

And when affiliates demanded she drop a Black performer in 1954, she said, “I’m sorry… live with it,” and gave him more airtime. Decades later? At 88, she hosted Saturday Night Live and took home an Emmy.

Betty’s gift wasn’t just comedy — it was agency. When doors didn’t open, she built a stage.

This morning I opened Facebook and the very first thing I saw was Barbra Streisand belting out “Don’t Rain on My Parade.” Talk about cosmic timing. That’s Betty White energy through and through — bold, cheeky, and absolutely unwilling to let someone else script her life.

Because here’s the truth: it’s never too late to begin. To reclaim. To discover. To reinvigorate. Right now is the time to break the damn rules!

Betty White didn’t let studios, censors, or age stop her. She just kept saying: live with it. And then she did the thing anyway.

She didn’t have anything “extra” or “special.” What she did have was a strong bond with herself — her intuition, her soul. That was her north star. And here’s the good news: that same bond is available to you. There’s no gatekeeper deciding who gets to have a relationship with their own soul. The only person holding you back from trusting your intuition is you. And you can change that.

That’s why I created my nifty little PDF, “Building Trust With Yourself.” I gift it to all new subscribers. All you have to do is ask, and I’ll shoot it over to you — measured steps and prompts to help you strengthen your bond with your intuition.

If you’ve ever been told you’re “too much,” “not enough,” or “too late,” take a page from Betty — and from Barbra too: don’t let anyone rain on your parade.

We’re not invisible. We’re not done. And we are sure as hell not here to shrink.

And with that, this Monday morning pep talk comes to a close. We now return to our regular “programming” — but make damn sure the programming is something you choose.

✨Inside my Substack circle, that’s exactly what we practice — agency, reinvention, and using our voices out loud. Daily notes, Voxer pep talks, Sunday Zoom circles. Come stand in your own spotlight, where it’s safe to be bold.

Yes, those are the tangible benefits of being a paid subscriber. But the real benefit? The one I can’t name? That’s the one you’ll give yourself… the moment you finally choose you.

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“I stand alone, but not in sorrow…”

Today’s message is not a message, exactly.
It’s a breath.
A hush.
A sacred shrinking into true.

This poem arrived quietly, like most of the truest things in life.
Not with fanfare, not with certainty — but with stillness.
And this image — a simple blue form — is what showed up on the canvas when I stopped trying to be anyone but the soul that I am.

I offer both to you today:
Not to explain.
Not to solve.
But to let you remember what it’s like to pause between breaths and simply be.

Between Breaths

I stand alone, but not in sorrow,
a small blue hush against the sky.
No noise, no rush.
Just this soft tomorrow
that waits where endings never die.

I am the breath that comes between,
the silent pause before the leap,
a soul stripped bare of what has been,
awake, yet rooted in the deep.

There is a courage in my smallness,
a sacred shrinking into true
for what remains when roles fall silent
is simply me, and simply you.

No face, no name, yet wholly human,
I am the question and the key.
The space around me holds becoming —
in stillness, I begin to be.

If this speaks to you, I’d love to know what you’re discovering in your “between” space.

Hit reply or whisper back through Voxer if you’re one of my paid subscribers — I’ll be listening.

Until then, take the breath.
You don’t have to earn it.

— Monica

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I took the advice of someone I deeply respected.

She had results. Numbers. Growth. A strategy that clearly worked. And I thought: maybe that’s what I need to finally break through. So I followed her model. Ten short notes a day. Minimal photos. Quick hits. Rinse and repeat.

And within 24 hours, something unexpected happened.

I was exhausted.

Not the good kind of tired, like after a long walk or a deep conversation.
But soul tired. Empty. Like I had poured myself out and missed the cup.

I sat at my desk and listed what I had accomplished: posts written, metrics tracked, boxes checked.
Then I went and took a nap.

That nap turned into clarity.

The advice wasn’t bad.
It just wasn’t meant for me.

I don’t write to win at strategy.
I write from my soul.
I’m not here to master the algorithm.
I’m here to stir something sacred in women who are finally ready to discover what else life could hold.

I’m not here for the numbers.
I’m here for the nudges—the ones that tell you there is more, even if you can’t name it yet.

Yes, a shiny strategy pulled me off course.
Yes, I got tired trying to make it fit.

But fatigue isn’t failure.
It’s a message. A mirror.
And sometimes, a nap and some quiet are all it takes to come back to center.

This is me, coming back.

Back to trusting that the women who need this space will find it.
Back to believing that soul-based work draws soul-led women.
Back to creating not to attract the masses—but to awaken the few who are ready.

I’m not chasing numbes anymore.
I’m holding a lantern to light your path.

If you’re here, reading this, I trust that something in you is stirring.
And I’m here for that.
Not to rush you.
But to remind you that even a whisper within you deserves to be followed.

This is the reset.
And the joy is already coming back.

Blue Fear was born out of the fear of being unseen. I found myself yet again painting a sterile landscape—one of countless depictions of the Blue Ridge Mountains—and in that repetition, the fear grew sharper: that my voice, my vision, would vanish into the crowd.

So I broke the pattern. From beneath the background swirls of earth and sky, this creature emerged—fierce, fluid, defiant. Its feathers slice across the canvas, refusing invisibility.

As it is not yet listed on any of my art platforms interested parties may reach me via monica@monirosesoul.com and via direct message here on Substack

As always I dearly appreicate your interest and support.

At first, the canvas was only turbulence: wild sweeps of ochre and sienna circling without center, chaos without shape. Then, layer by layer, something began to push through the storm. A form appeared—sharp, winged, electric blue. The bird.

Each stage brought a new revelation. What began as raw, unshaped fear became a presence with feathers like blades and eyes that dared to be noticed. The background remained wild, the atmosphere of fear itself—but the figure grew stronger, clearer, undeniable.

Blue Fear is not fear frozen in place. It is fear transformed into flight. It is the moment when invisibility cracks and what was once hidden becomes radiant.

This painting carries both the fear and the freedom that comes from choosing to be seen.

On an ordinary afternoon, I stood in my apartment, blue paint smeared across both hands like ink-stained proof of a life still being rewritten.

I just threw down my brush.

Not in defeat—but in a fury so holy it could have shattered glass.

I was, at the time, “sick of the script.” Tired of hoping the meditation was enough. Tired of convincing myself that breathwork and blue hydrangeas and helping women through their midlife chaos was somehow filling the chasm of being unseen.

I realized I was doing it again. Trying to be the lighthouse for everybody else while the tide in me was rising higher than I could breathe through.

I had built a life from scratch—again and again. After three marriages. After three divorces. After disappointment showed up in a suit and called itself love. I made art. I write essays. I mentor women who whisper their fears into my inbox at 2 a.m.

Yet again I had learned how to survive in the shadows.
But I had never learned how to be witnessed.

So on that afternoon I wondered aloud — to the empty air in my apartment and the blue paint on my skin — What if I disappeared? What if I just stopped?

No more emails.
No more posts.
No more proof-of-life.

“Would anybody even notice?”Iasked.

But then something strange happened.

I didn’t spiral.
I didn’t crumble.
I didn’t go dark.

Instead, I stood up — still in my paint-covered sweatpants — and walked to the easel. I didn’t try to finish the landscape that had left me uninspired. I didn’t try to be graceful or perfect or profound.

I just moved the color.

Something primal. Abstract. Fierce.

“I stopped trying to say something,” she said. “And I just let my body be the message.”

What emerged was a canvas not of scenery, but of soul: resurrected in blue jagged cobalt arcs, barn red thunder, a white burst like breath breaking through sorrow.

But that wasn’t the surprise.

The surprise came the next morning, when I opened my inbox and found a message from a woman I didn't know. One of many it would turn out.

“I don’t know how I found you.
But your words reminded me I’m still here.
And that maybe… that’s enough. For now.”

The reply from me came later in the day. I could feel the importance of savoring such a moment.

So, I just sat quietly, hands folded, staring at the painting drying in the corner.

Then I grinned.

Turns out, someone had noticed.

Turns out,I wasn’t invisible.

Turns out, disappearing was never my real fear.

Being forgotten was.

But I never had been.

Not by the women watching in silence.
Not by the universe that still had plans. And not by herself.

In the end, the valley didn’t swallow her.

It handed her a brush.
And said, Go. Begin again.

I’m going to be really honest with you: I have zero interest in creating a big online course, running a webinar, or teaching in the traditional sense. It’s just not my thing.

But what is my thing? Listening deeply. Responding personally. Offering grounded, soulful feedback right when someone needs it—not three weeks later in a group Q&A.

That’s why I created this voice messaging tool. It lets you send me a private question, reflection, or moment of “stuckness” as you work through one of my guides or PDFs—and I get to respond with insight, care, and real attention. I love this format. It’s flexible, it’s personal, and it creates something beautiful in both directions.

So if you’ve felt isolated or invisible in this stage of life, if you’ve wanted someone to walk beside you while you reinvigorate, reimagine, or reclaim a dream—I built this for you. You don’t need a course. You need connection.

And I’m right here.

Subscribe now

✨ I Think This Is What Contentment Feels Like…

I didn’t even recognize it at first.
It wasn’t loud. It didn’t come with fanfare.
It wasn’t joy. Or bliss. Or even relief.

It was just… stillness.
And something inside me whispered,
“This is contentment.”

It surprised me.
Because I’ve lived a lot of decades and I don’t think I’ve ever known it—not like this.
Not the kind where nothing needs to be fixed or chased or improved.

But here’s what’s even more surprising:
I still want more.
Not because I’m lacking.
But because I’m clear.

I want to discover more of what’s possible—not to escape my life, but to deepen it.
I want to go further—not out of desperation, but devotion.

This season of life isn’t about chasing down dreams like some last-minute checklist.
It’s about opening the doors I never knew were mine to walk through.

And from this place of contentment, the world feels both grounded and expansive.
I can rest.
And reach.
At the same time.

So if you’ve been afraid that slowing down would mean giving up on growth…
Just know this:
Sometimes the deepest expansion comes after the striving ends.

That’s where I am now.
And it feels so incredibly good.

If this spoke to you…
and you’re craving someone who will really listen—not fix, not coach, just hear you—I offer something called Voice-to-Vox.

It’s a voice messaging support space through the free Voxer app.
You send me a message when something’s on your heart—especially if you’re working through one of my guides or just need a sounding board—and I’ll respond with care, clarity, and presence.

✨ $22/month
📬 Monday–Friday
🕖 7–9am ET

It’s a quiet window of time where you can be fully heard.

If it feels aligned for you, here’s the link to join:
👉 VOICE TO VOXER

You don’t have to figure everything out alone. 💛

Let’s be honest.

Sometimes the hardest part of changing your life… is what happens after you say yes.

You download the guide. You light the candle. You read the first page.
And then something happens.

You pause.
You swirl.
You wonder if you’re doing it “right.”
You mean to come back to it… but you never do.

Not because you’re lazy.
Not because you don’t want change.
But because you’ve never had someone walk through it with you.

That’s what I’m offering now.

Most women over 60 were never taught to ask for what they need.
We were taught to figure it out alone.
To be grateful.
To not be a burden.
To never say, “I need help.”

But here’s the truth:
Reclaiming your soul shouldn’t feel like homework.
You shouldn’t have to sit in silence, wondering if you’re getting it right.
You deserve someone in your corner. Someone who’s lived it. Someone who sees you.

So that’s what I’m offering:
A private voice thread. Just me and you.
On an app called Voxer.
You leave me a message—your question, your frustration, your “I got stuck on step three”—and I respond with support, clarity, encouragement, and maybe a nudge.
You don’t have to schedule a call. You don’t have to perform.
You just talk. And I’ll talk back.

🌀 Here’s how it works:

• You purchase access on Gumroad (link below)

• You download the free Voxer app (there’s a how-to guide included)

• You message me Monday through Friday between 7–9 a.m. ET

• We talk. We process. We move your life forward.

Whether you're stuck on a prompt from Refoundation, swirling after Soul-Led Scavenger Hunt, or just feeling like you don’t know what the next right step is—this is for you.

You don’t need another workbook.
You need someone who hears the things you’re not saying yet—and helps you say them.

✨ Ready to keep going?

🔗 Click here to get private Voxer access for soul-based support.

(You’ll also get the PDF setup guide when you purchase.)

This is your space. This is your voice.
Let’s get her done.

—MoniRose 💋

But only if you let yourself.

For years I tried to prove I was still useful. Still needed. Still relevant.
And then I realized… I was measuring myself with someone else’s tape.

Now?
I live for joy.
I protect my peace like a pearl.
And I only do what feels aligned with my soul—not my obligations.

So I recorded this short video for the women like me.
Women who are over 65, still here, still vibrant—and ready to start living like they mean it.
In this clip, I share 5 small but mighty shifts that helped me reclaim my power and start savoring my life instead of surviving it.

Then scroll down for one more tool I created that pairs beautifully with this video—a short, powerful PDF called “Five Things NOT to Do After 60.”

You’re not here to fade quietly into the background.
You’re here to expand—with joy, wit, soul, and unapologetic self-worth.

Let me know in the comments which tip hit home the most—or what you'd add to the list. I read them all.

With love and fire,
Monica Rose

The Motorcycle and the Memory

Two days ago, I found myself looking at little step-through motorcycles online. Not for anyone else. Not for utility. Not because I needed one. Just because it stirred something ancient and true in me.

And I realized: this isn't random.
This comes from a memory I've carried quietly for decades.

50 or so years I was folding laundry in the living room of the home I shared with my children’s father, watching a movie—Ann-Margret was in it. I can’t recall the whole plot, but the last scene is burned into me:

She was leaving.
On her own.
Riding a motorcycle into the sunset with a look on her face that said freedom, peace, and something deeper—I did this. I chose this. No one told me to. No one had to approve.

She was doing what women didn’t do at the time.
And I remember thinking, I could never have that.
Not in the life I was in.
I was too young, too silenced, too obligated.

Nobody asked me if I wanted any of the roles I was in.
I just played them. Because that’s what good women did.

But now? I’m days away from turning 70.
And you know what I might do for my birthday?

I might buy myself that little motorcycle.
I may not keep it for more than 30 days.
Or I may keep it forever.

But the idea that I can even do it? That I can want something, claim it, explore it—not explain it—feels like the truest kind of YES I’ve ever known.

We live most of our lives answering to rules we never actually agreed to.

Rules about what’s reasonable.
What’s respectable.
What’s appropriate for a woman your age.

But I want to ask you something today—and I mean it for real:

Do you even know what you want?
Or do you only know what you were allowed to want?

I don’t mean the polite list.
Not the Pinterest board or the gratitude journal.
I mean the thing that makes your chest ache when you see someone else have it.
The thing you imagine in flashes when you're driving or falling asleep.
The thing you've never said out loud because you were raised to be “reasonable” and “grateful” and “quiet.”

You know what I’m talking about.

And if you don’t?
That’s not your fault.
You’ve just been trained out of your own desire.

⚠️ Trained Out of Desire

Most women over 60 were conditioned not to ask what do I want?
We were taught to ask:

• What’s the right thing to do?

• What’s expected of me?

• What keeps the peace?

• What would make me a good mom, wife, daughter, citizen, church member, volunteer, friend?

And we got very good at fulfilling those roles.
So good, in fact, that when someone asks us, “But what do YOU want?”—we freeze.
We’re not sure if it’s a trick question.

💥 Here's the truth bomb:

Your life has room for the thing you actually want.

But you’ll never find it if you're only shopping from the shelf marked “approved dreams.”

You’ve got to walk to the back of the store.
To the dusty aisle labeled “Too much.”
Or maybe even the forbidden section marked “Selfish.”

Because that’s where the juicy stuff is.

🪞 You Are Allowed to Want What You Want

Even if it’s not “practical.”
Even if you can’t explain it.
Even if no one else understands.

You’re not here to manage everyone else’s comfort.
You’re here to reclaim your own clarity, creativity, and courage.

Ready to Reclaim That Wanting?

I made something for women exactly like us.
It’s part soul-mirror, part permission slip.

✨ It’s called “Rebuild, Reclaim, Reinvent.”
What you’ll get:

1.) Five simple practices to help you come back to yourself, even in a busy life.

2.) A clarity tool to help you name what’s still alive in you—and what’s ready to go.

3.) Five Things NOT to Do Right Now

🔗 Click here to grab it now

Or browse the full collection if your soul’s whispering something different today:
🛒 See all my soulful PDFs here: Monica’s Library

❤️ Before You Go…

If this email stirred something, hit reply and tell me what it was.
What dream snuck into your chest when you read this?
I read every single note.

We are not too old.
We are not too late.
We are not finished.

Let’s go get what we actually want.

With love and fire,
Monica

PS: I am excited about our upcoming Sunday Night Zoom Call. We are going to begin with the first module of REFOUNDATION. Become a paid subscriber today, I’ll be sure to send you the zoom link!

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“I don’t feel it—and I’m not doing it.”

I was sitting here pondering whether or not I should start my own podcast. You know, that whole inner monologue:
Should I?
Would it help my work?
Would people expect it from me?
Would it look good?

But the truth floated up, clear and grounded:
I just don’t feel it.
And that’s enough of a reason not to do it.

Because here’s what I know now:

I no longer do things out of obligation.

And when I said that out loud, it stopped me in my tracks.
Because the truth is, obligation ran my life for decades.

Not passion.
Not joy.
Not inspiration.
Obligation.

I said yes to keep the peace.

To be polite.
To keep the wheels turning.
To quiet the tears.
To avoid the silent treatment.
To meet the unspoken expectation.
To fulfill some role I was never actually aligned with.

I’ve been the homeroom mother I didn’t want to be.
I’ve kept friendships I should’ve released.
I’ve stayed in rooms I should’ve left.
I’ve signed up, shown up, cleaned up, and followed up—out of nothing more than internalized guilt and deeply embedded programming that said:

A good woman doesn’t quit.
A good woman doesn’t cause conflict.
A good woman just… keeps going.

But I am no longer that woman.
And if you’re over 60, maybe it’s time you aren’t either.

We are not here to be obligated into living someone else’s life.

I used to think I had to paint because I was “given the talent,” like it came with divine strings attached.
Not anymore.
I paint because it feels damn good to paint.

If someone else loves it? Beautiful.
If it brings in income? Wonderful.
But it starts with desire, not duty.

I don’t owe anyone my energy.

I don't owe an explanation for what I decline.
I don’t owe the world content I don’t want to make.
I don’t owe my children the performance of a perfect mother.
I don’t owe God some lifelong hustle to prove I’m grateful.

All I owe—if we’re going to use that word at all—is to keep my channel to my soul clear.
And that’s not even an obligation.
That’s a choice I love making.

So let me ask you:
Where is obligation still quietly running your life?
Where are you saying yes when your soul is softly whispering no?
What would you stop doing if you believed that your peace mattered more than your performance?

It might be time to stop sacrificing your alignment for someone else’s approval.
Because you’re not here to be a good girl.
You’re here to be free.

🖤 Monica

Stop saying yes when your soul is screaming no.
This $2.99 mini-manual will unhook you from guilt, people-pleasing, and performative obligations—so you can reclaim your time, your voice, and your peace.

👉🏽 Download “Obligation Detox” now and start clearing space for the life you actually want

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A friend of mine works as an advocate for older adults. She teaches workshops on dementia and end-of-life planning, and she recently wrote a post about how many people my age are living alone with no plan for what happens when life takes a turn.

That post stirred a whole conversation: What are your plans? Who’s going to take care of you? Do you have your paperwork lined up?

And let me tell you something: I don’t want a plan for decline. I don’t even want to give that thought a minute of oxygen. The minute someone starts telling me I should—get your power of attorney, get your will, get your ducks in a row—I feel like they’re already lowering me into the coffin.

Here’s What I Am Doing

I’m working my ass off to put money aside so my daughter Shannon won’t have to bear the cost of my final expenses. That matters to me. I’m taking responsibility for what I can take responsibility for.

Do I think I’m going to end up in a nursing home? No. I don’t believe that’s in my future. I don’t even carry that vision.

Do I ignore risk? No. I’ve made choices to lower it. I don’t drive a car anymore, which means my chances of an accident drop way down. In my apartment, I’ve got handles in the bathroom to steady myself. I do daily exercises to keep my balance strong. I’m thoughtful about how I move through my space.

That’s not denial. That’s sovereignty.

Why Should Turning Seventy Change Anything?

Here’s the thing that gets me: the number 70. Why should that number suddenly mean decline? Why should it mean I have to start drafting worst-case scenarios?

Why can’t it mean strength? Or freedom? Or a wide-open bench facing the Blue Ridge Mountains, where I sit and breathe and know I’m not done yet?

I don’t feel like turning 70 means I have to crumble. And that alone should be enough.

The Script I Refuse

The culture around aging wants us to bow our heads and prepare for collapse. To shrink our lives down into “plans” and “arrangements” and “precautions.”

But here’s what I know: when you live with that story in your head, you’re already rehearsing your own disappearance.

I refuse. I will not plan for decline. I will plan for living.

I will plan for walks. For dumbbells in my hands. For balance exercises that make me steady. For meditation that brings me into alignment. For art and words that light me up.

I will plan for joy.

The Invitation

You don’t have to swallow the script that tells you your age is a countdown. You get to write your own.

So here’s the question I’ll leave you with:

👉 Instead of planning for decline, how will you plan for more life in your next chapter?

✨ PS: If you’re ready to start planning for living instead of decline, join me and my paid subscribers this Sunday as we begin walking through my REFOUNDATION workbook together. One module at a time, one week at a time, we’re going to rebuild the life that can hold us now. If you don’t have your copy yet, grab it here for $5.99 - REFOUNDATION

Let’s begin.

Subscribe now

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✨ When a Painting Is Finished ✨

The moment I say a painting is done is always bittersweet.

It feels like giving birth and sending a child off to graduation—all in the same breath. There’s joy, there’s ache, and there’s the unknown of where this creation will eventually land, whose walls it will call home.

What soothes me is this: I see each painting as a silent conversation. A wink between me and the person who will one day hang it in their dining room, bedroom, or living room. Every time their eyes meet the canvas, it’s as if we share a collective knowing—that quiet reminder that we’re all part of something bigger.

Through my hands, the soul-part of me comes alive on canvas, carrying a message of subtle, rooted beauty. Not fleeting, but steady. Not loud, but enduring.

And once the painting is finished, it no longer belongs only to me. It belongs to the one who sees their own truth reflected in it.

This original is available—if you’re interested, send me a DM. I’ll also be releasing a limited print run soon for those who’d love to have a piece of this season in their home.

Women Over 60 Shopping My Substack: Just a Friendly Nudge From the Sales Clerk

Think of me like the friendly sales clerk strolling through Bloomingdale’s—soft shoes, kind eyes, coffee in hand. I’m not following you. I’m not chasing you.

But I see you.

You’ve picked up the metaphorical sweater—maybe more than once.

You read a Note.
You hovered over that “Subscribe” button.
You put it down. Wandered off. Came back again.
Looked. Scrolled. Nodded.
Hovered again.

It’s okay. We all do it.

But since you’re here (again), I just wanted to let you know:

That sweater you keep circling back to? It just went on sale.

For $50, you get a whole year of everything I create here.

Let me be clear:
This isn’t a clearance bin.
This is one of those quiet, no-flash moments where you realize you’re getting something beautiful, soulful, and meant for you—without the full sticker shock.

Here’s what that $50/year includes:

✨ Every Note, essay, and real-life moment I share
✨ Invitations to our private Sunday Zoom porch visits
✨ Behind-the-scenes glimpses of my art and what’s coming next
✨ A steady voice reminding you that you’re not too late, not too old, and not too much

You can subscribe monthly at $10 if that’s more your rhythm.
But $50/year? That’s the shopper’s special.

The smart, satisfying kind—the one you mention to your best friend later over coffee and say,

“I’m so glad I said yes to that.”

So this is me, just walking by.
Noticing you noticing.

If now feels like your moment to go all in?

And if not? That’s okay too.
I’ll keep sharing stories.
The porch light stays on.

But between us? That sweater looks really good on you.