It happened to my friend.
Could it happen to you?
Don’t call this a newsletter.
Call it a daily reminder that you’re not too late to begin again.
She Was 62 When It Happened.
Not a breakdown.
Not a breakdown.
A crack.
Just wide enough to let her own voice finally leak through.
She had spent her whole life being useful.
The steady one. The dependable one.
She didn’t say yes to everything—she just didn’t know how to say no.
Her name was Janet, but for decades she answered to
“Mom,”
“Honey, where’s my…?”
“Can you help me real quick?”
“You're so strong, we need you.”
And she was strong.
But the kind of strong that starts to calcify.
The kind of strong that makes it hard to feel anything but tired.
She used to want things.
She wanted to write stories. Not just thank-you notes or church bulletins—but actual stories.
She had this whole little girl inside her who dreamed of writing a novel about a woman who ran away to Italy and learned to paint.
She’d wake up from that dream in her twenties, her thirties, even her forties, and think, “One day…”
But “one day” never came.
Until she turned 62 and everything got quiet.
Her husband had died a few years earlier.
Her kids were busy with their own lives.
She was retired. The house was clean. The calendar, mostly empty.
She thought it would feel like freedom.
It didn’t.
It felt like the whole world had used her up and moved on.
She spent that first year trying to “stay busy.”
Volunteering. Helping the neighbors. Babysitting grandkids when needed.
But no one needed her the way they used to.
And that… was brutal.
Until one morning, she stood in her kitchen holding a lukewarm cup of coffee and said out loud:
“Is this it?”
That’s all it took.
That single question cracked something open.
She started… then stopped.
Then started again.
She took out her old notebook.
Wrote half a page.
Then felt stupid and threw it away.
She signed up for a memoir writing class at the community center—
Then skipped the first two sessions because she didn’t think she had anything worth saying.
She told her daughter she wanted to travel to the coast, maybe take a solo trip just for her.
Her daughter raised an eyebrow and said,
"Is that safe? That doesn't sound like you."
Which made her wonder: What does sound like me? Do I even know anymore?
She kept bumping into the same wall:
Guilt.
Who was she to want more at her age?
Wasn't that selfish?
Wasn’t it a little too late?
And yet… the pull never stopped.
And slowly, without permission, she gave herself to herself.
She went to the third writing class and sat in the back.
She wrote about her first kiss. Her mother’s apron.
She wept in the car after.
She bought a ticket to Charleston and stayed in a little inn by the water.
She didn’t tell anyone until the plane landed.
She started saying things like,
“Actually, I’m not available that day,”
and “I’m not explaining my dream to people who aren’t trying to remember theirs.”
Her son told her she was going through a phase.
Her sister told her she was being dramatic.
Her old friends at church said,
"I miss the old Janet."
But she didn’t.
She missed herself.
And now that she was finding her again—
She wasn’t letting go.
Janet never became famous.
She never finished the novel.
But she wrote every single day.
She hung her laundry in the sun.
She painted her kitchen pink.
She traveled alone.
And every time she chose herself,
the world got a little more beautiful.
Want to know the wildest part?
Janet’s not rare.
She’s just one of the few who said:
“Enough. It’s my turn now.”
So maybe you’re not Janet.
But maybe you’re at that crack-in-the-teacup moment.
And if you are—
then maybe this isn’t a story.
Maybe it’s an invitation.
Want to go deeper with this work?
If today’s note stirred something in you—if you’re feeling the nudge to do more than just read—here are two beautiful next steps:
☕ The Porch Session
A one-on-one call, just you and me. We talk, we untangle, we breathe. You’ll leave with clarity, direction, and a deeper connection to your dream.
👉 Book a Porch Session
📓 The Workbook: Reclaim Your Dream
This isn’t fluff. It’s 40+ years of truth, distilled. Thoughtfully designed to guide you back to the parts of yourself you forgot.
👉 Get the Workbook
I invite you to take your first step toward reclaiming your dream.
Join our community of women who are done waiting, done performing, and finally ready to remember who they really are.
You're not alone—and you're not too late.
Is it just me, or is there a growing trend of writers on Substack proudly declaring, “I hate monetization!”
Should I be the one to break the news?
Substack was literally founded on the idea that writers should get paid for their work. In 2017, Chris Best, Hamish McKenzie, and Jairaj Sethi built the platform to help writers ditch dying media and earn money directly from their readers.
Monetization isn’t some sneaky add-on. It’s the entire premise.
Hat tip to my Substack friend, Mike Searle. You can learn more about Mike here: Mike Searles
Hey thanks for restaking
Tears. 😭