Just Monica Was More Than Enough

I put it off for two years. Not because it was hard. But because it meant becoming someone I'd never been before. Just Monica. And I didn't know if I knew how to be her yet.

Last summer, I walked into a courthouse and did something I’d been putting off for two years. I legally changed my name from Monica Hebert-Dawson back to Monica Hebert.

I thought I’d feel free immediately. Lighter. Celebratory. Like I’d just shed a weight I’d been carrying for decades.

Instead, I sat on the courthouse steps and cried.

Not because I regretted it. But because I finally understood what courage actually feels like.

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It doesn’t feel like freedom at first. It feels like finality.

When I signed those papers, something shifted. I will never again carry a married name. I will never again be legally tied to anyone in that way. I will never again belong to someone—not on paper, not in name, not in the way society told me I should.

For the first time in my adult life, I was fully, completely, legally... just me.

And that didn’t feel like a beginning. It felt like an ending. The ending of a version of myself I’d been holding onto—not because I loved her, but because I didn’t know who I’d be without her.

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I kept asking myself: why did I wait so long? The paperwork wasn’t hard. The process wasn’t complicated. So why did it take me two years to finally do it?

And then I realized: I wasn’t avoiding the paperwork. I was avoiding becoming someone I’d never been before.

Someone who didn’t define herself by who she was married to. Someone who didn’t carry someone else’s name as proof of her worth. Someone who was just... Monica.

And I didn’t know if I knew how to be her yet.

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A week later, I was standing in front of my easel and it hit me. No one was going to interfere in my work, asking “ what’s for dinner?”. No one was going to make a comment about my art.

No one was going to say anything at all.

It was just me, in my own silence. No performance. No translation. No one to explain myself to.

And that’s when I knew: I wasn’t just free. I was unobserved. And it felt like peace.

For the first time, I wasn’t being reflected through someone else’s gaze. I wasn’t being shaped by what he thought, what he needed, what he lacked, or what he wanted me to become. I was being shaped by something else entirely.

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And from that peace? Power.

Since I reclaimed my name, I’ve built a life and a business out of thin air and soul fire. I’ve written and published over 500 essays. I’ve painted my own heartbreak onto canvas and sold it. I’ve taught others how to breathe through their fear while I breathed through mine. I’ve made money, saved money, spent money—and not once asked permission. I’ve built a rhythm, a brand, a body of work, and a peace that is mine.

And I did all of it without a man by my side. No boyfriend. No husband. No one sharing the bills or the bed or the story.

And I don’t miss it.

I don’t miss being a side character in someone else’s narrative. I don’t miss managing another person’s emotional weather. I don’t miss being Monica plus someone.

Because just Monica turned out to be more than enough.

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I live alone now. I eat when I’m hungry and sleep when I’m tired. I cry when something cracks me open and laugh like hell when I realize how good I’ve got it. I wear what I want. I speak when I want. I don’t answer to anybody but my own soul.

This isn’t loneliness. This is ownership.

This is what happens when you stop performing for belonging and start building from truth.

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That name change wasn’t a formality. It was a funeral. It was a doorway. It was a declaration.

Not “I’m done with him.” But “I’m done with disappearing.”

Not “I’m starting over.” But “I’m finally starting from me.”

And I’ll never go back.

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So if you’ve been putting something off—not because it’s hard, but because it means becoming someone you’ve never been before—I want you to know something.

You’re not alone. And you’re not crazy for feeling scared.

Because transformation doesn’t feel like freedom at first. It feels like finality. It feels like grief. It feels like standing on courthouse steps wondering who the hell you’re going to be now.

But on the other side of that finality? There’s a version of you who’s been waiting.

She’s not louder. She’s not more polished. She’s just more yours.

And when you finally meet her? You’ll wonder why you waited so long.

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I walked into that courthouse, signed those papers, and became just Monica again.

And it was the best decision I ever made.

Not because my life suddenly became perfect. But because I finally became mine.

So don’t wait. Don’t wait until you feel ready. Don’t wait until it feels safe. Don’t wait until someone gives you permission.

Just decide.

Decide that the version of you who’s been waiting? She’s worth meeting.

And then take one step. Not the SAME step I took—YOUR step. The one that’s been whispering to you.

Maybe it’s changing your name. Maybe it’s NOT. Maybe it’s:

• Finally having the conversation you’ve been avoiding

• Setting a boundary you’ve been too afraid to voice

• Reclaiming a dream you set aside decades ago

• Starting the business, the book, the art practice you’ve been putting off

• Saying no to an obligation that’s been draining you

• Saying YES to something that lights you up

• Clearing out the physical or emotional clutter that’s been weighing you down

• Stepping into a version of yourself you’ve never allowed before

Whatever it is you’ve been putting off—not because it’s impossible, but because it asks you to become someone you’ve never been—do it.

Not because you have to do it alone. Not because partnership is wrong. But because YOU deserve to be whole—with or without anyone else.

Because just you? Just you is more than enough.

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An Invitation

If these words landed for you—if you’ve been carrying something that isn’t yours, or avoiding something because it means becoming someone new—you’re not alone in this.

This space? It’s for women who are done shrinking. Done performing. Done waiting for permission to want more.

We don’t retire. We rewire.

And we do it together—through daily essays like this one, monthly soul-based guides, live sessions where we practice the work, and a community of women who refuse to believe it’s too late.

Through January 17th, annual subscriptions are 30% off + you’ll receive a “We Don’t Retire, We Rewire” mug—because this life you’re building deserves to sit at your table, too.

What you’ll get:

✨ Daily essays that help you see where you’re still performing—and how to stop
✨ Monthly guides at no extra cost (Joy Ledger, “Building Trust with Yourself,” “Reclaim. Reinvent. Restore.”)
✨ Live sessions where we breathe, reflect, and rewire together
✨ Access to a community of women reclaiming themselves—one choice at a time

This isn’t about leaving anyone or anything behind.

It’s about becoming MORE yourself—with or without anyone else.

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Join us here—30% off ends January 17th

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You don’t have to do this alone.

And you don’t have to wait until you feel ready.

Just decide. We’ll be here.