At 66, I was flat on my back with nothing. At 70, I'm a Substack Bestseller living entirely from my art and writing. Your dream isn't gone. It's buried. And I'm going to help you find it.
I cried as I read this, because it’s like it was written for me. I watched your live video after it was all done, and it stirred things within me that I still haven’t defined. And now this morning, your words seem to have lifted off a piece of the armour that i still don’t know what’s underneath…but I feel like I want to discover it. Thank you for Being 🙏
I’m 70 as well. I’m a retired Ambulette driver. I drove patients to appointments and kidney dialysis for 25 years. I retired at 66, my husband of 50 years is a retired contractor. I literally not figuratively don’t remember. I believe my brain in its quest to protect me from breaking down has blocked most of my memories. I’ve had some trauma along the way, who doesn’t. I don’t remember too much of my life before the birth of my first child at 22. One thing I do remember, I sketched the Beatles faces, not free hand, from pictures. They were good, I still love art. That’s what I do when I want to rest my brain. I’ve been going through some trauma this past year. My husband almost died of a blood infection and my sister diagnosed with cancer. I’ve been helping her through this, she came to live with me during treatments. She’s doing well. Sorry for going on about all this. I’m tired mentally and physically so my memories are going to stay buried for a little longer. I don’t know if I’ll ever retrieve them But my art will help me recover. I watched your video, you are an inspiration to us all who want to reclaim our self. Thank you ❤️
Thank you for telling me all of this. And you don’t need to apologize for “going on.” What you shared is a life.
What I hear is not someone who has lost herself. I hear someone whose system learned how to protect her when life asked too much, for too long. Blocking memories isn’t failure. It’s intelligence. It’s how a body and mind keep going when stopping isn’t an option.
You carried people. Literally. Day after day. You showed up for strangers, for your husband, for your sister. That takes a kind of strength that often leaves little room for reflection or remembering. Of course you’re tired. Anyone would be.
I want to gently reflect something back to you. Even if memories are buried right now, your hands remember. Your love of art didn’t disappear. It waited. And the fact that you return to it when you need rest tells me it’s not about retrieving the past, it’s about giving yourself a place to land in the present.
Nothing here needs to be forced. Nothing needs to be excavated on a schedule. Recovery, remembering, reclaiming, they all have their own timing.
You are not behind. You are not broken. And you are not done.
I’m really glad you’re here. And I’m grateful you trusted me with this part of your story.
After watching your video yesterday, I signed up 🥰. And I started to write a little about my long ago dream/calling. I remember how it was squashed. And to be honest, I’m not sure I was ready to pursue my dream when I was young. I felt called to the ministry in my late teens. I went to see my pastor. He thought it was wonderful. He thought I would make a great church secretary. He deflated my dream like one pops a balloon with a pin.
In his mind, women didn’t minister. They didn’t speak Gods truth in a pulpit. My folks were divorced. I was damaged goods, not ministry material. I moved on. Tried business. That didn’t fit. Tried marriage and motherhood. I wasn’t trained well for it and I struggled, fell, and tried again. (I’m still married to the same fellow I married at 20, and my 3 girls are grown and we still talk. In my view now, I think I succeeded.). I admitted my struggles. I sought help. And the Lord showed me a way. Counselors helped. My husband believed in me. ❤️. I became an elementary school teacher. I taught. I ministered to kids and families and colleagues as best I could.
Then I got cancer and was laid low for a year at 63. No more teaching of children. My church enlisted my help…in womanly things, once I was better. I could teach the women. I could care for those with long-term illness. But when the church met huge struggles, I went to the Lord prayerfully and listened. He told me a path that was different from the plans the men made.
As I sat with my Spirit, I heard that we needed to be who we are right now. We are an old congregation. We have lots of gray hair and wisdom. And the Lord loves who we are. We are grandparents. We are retired teachers, lawyers, ministers, engineers, plumbers, nurses…you name it. “Don’t shove who you are aside, embrace the reality. Don’t long to be younger. Be who you are. Be real. Be. Gods beauty is in that. Trust in God, use the gifts you have. Be a people who listen.”
They are going their own way. I am going mine. But I’m not sure where I am going. I now have 4 little grandchildren who live 5 minutes away. They are 4, 2 1/2, and 3 month old twins. One of the twins has Down’s syndrome. I’m not done. I’m still learning. But I question whether I am a minister. I question whether I am worthy to be heard, or whether I just need to keep working in the shadows.
I wonder. Then I find your post. And I remember my dream. It just may take a little different shape, but it’s still alive! ❤️
Thank you for trusting me with something this tender.
What you described was not a failure of calling. It was a failure of imagination on the part of the people who were supposed to listen. Your dream wasn’t squashed because it was wrong. It was squashed because it didn’t fit inside the narrow structures that existed at the time.
I want to say this gently and clearly: I hear a woman who has been ministering her entire life. Through children. Through families. Through classrooms. Through illness. Through listening. Through discernment. Through presence. Those are not shadows. That is service.
It makes sense to question yourself when your voice was dismissed early and often. That kind of dismissal leaves a mark. But worthiness is not granted by a pulpit or withheld by a pastor. It’s revealed over time by how faithfully you show up to what’s been placed in front of you.
You don’t have to decide what shape your calling takes right now. Wondering is not weakness. It’s a living place. And the fact that something stirred when you read the post tells me the dream was never gone. It was waiting for a safer season.
I’m really glad you found your way here. And I’m especially glad you remembered.
Oh Monica.. I cried too whilst reading this. I’m the woman who said that, and to actually have someone voice the exact way you’re feeling is everything! All your words describe my life which like the rest of us has been a journey that you sometimes wonder how you got here, filled with a young marriage, motherhood, grandparenting, trauma, loss, a late menopause that really threw me for a loop in so many ways.. then one day you do wake up and you say now what!?! There are no quick fixes, I’ve tried them all I think. I love how gentle your approach is and I am signing up and looking forward to discovering what will come. Thank you for recognizing us. Thank you for caring. Thank you for understanding!
Thank you for coming back and saying this. And I’m really glad you spoke up.
What you named is exactly it. A life fully lived, layered with love, responsibility, loss, and endurance. And then that quiet moment where the question finally has room to surface: now what? Not from drama, but from honesty.
You’re right. There are no quick fixes. And I’m not interested in offering any. What matters to me is creating a space that doesn’t rush you past what’s real or demand that you reinvent yourself into something unrecognizable.
The gentleness you felt is intentional. After decades of holding everything together, force is the last thing most of us need.
I’m grateful you’re here. And I’m glad you let yourself be seen in this moment. That, in itself, is already a beginning.
I cried as I read this, because it’s like it was written for me. I watched your live video after it was all done, and it stirred things within me that I still haven’t defined. And now this morning, your words seem to have lifted off a piece of the armour that i still don’t know what’s underneath…but I feel like I want to discover it. Thank you for Being 🙏
Thank you for trusting me with this. Truly.
You don’t have to define what stirred yet. You don’t have to know what’s underneath the armor. The wanting to discover it is enough for now.
Sometimes the work isn’t uncovering anything new, it’s just letting one small piece of protection loosen so we can breathe again.
I’m glad you’re here. And I’m grateful you let yourself feel this. That matters more than answers ever will.
I’m 70 as well. I’m a retired Ambulette driver. I drove patients to appointments and kidney dialysis for 25 years. I retired at 66, my husband of 50 years is a retired contractor. I literally not figuratively don’t remember. I believe my brain in its quest to protect me from breaking down has blocked most of my memories. I’ve had some trauma along the way, who doesn’t. I don’t remember too much of my life before the birth of my first child at 22. One thing I do remember, I sketched the Beatles faces, not free hand, from pictures. They were good, I still love art. That’s what I do when I want to rest my brain. I’ve been going through some trauma this past year. My husband almost died of a blood infection and my sister diagnosed with cancer. I’ve been helping her through this, she came to live with me during treatments. She’s doing well. Sorry for going on about all this. I’m tired mentally and physically so my memories are going to stay buried for a little longer. I don’t know if I’ll ever retrieve them But my art will help me recover. I watched your video, you are an inspiration to us all who want to reclaim our self. Thank you ❤️
Thank you for telling me all of this. And you don’t need to apologize for “going on.” What you shared is a life.
What I hear is not someone who has lost herself. I hear someone whose system learned how to protect her when life asked too much, for too long. Blocking memories isn’t failure. It’s intelligence. It’s how a body and mind keep going when stopping isn’t an option.
You carried people. Literally. Day after day. You showed up for strangers, for your husband, for your sister. That takes a kind of strength that often leaves little room for reflection or remembering. Of course you’re tired. Anyone would be.
I want to gently reflect something back to you. Even if memories are buried right now, your hands remember. Your love of art didn’t disappear. It waited. And the fact that you return to it when you need rest tells me it’s not about retrieving the past, it’s about giving yourself a place to land in the present.
Nothing here needs to be forced. Nothing needs to be excavated on a schedule. Recovery, remembering, reclaiming, they all have their own timing.
You are not behind. You are not broken. And you are not done.
I’m really glad you’re here. And I’m grateful you trusted me with this part of your story.
After watching your video yesterday, I signed up 🥰. And I started to write a little about my long ago dream/calling. I remember how it was squashed. And to be honest, I’m not sure I was ready to pursue my dream when I was young. I felt called to the ministry in my late teens. I went to see my pastor. He thought it was wonderful. He thought I would make a great church secretary. He deflated my dream like one pops a balloon with a pin.
In his mind, women didn’t minister. They didn’t speak Gods truth in a pulpit. My folks were divorced. I was damaged goods, not ministry material. I moved on. Tried business. That didn’t fit. Tried marriage and motherhood. I wasn’t trained well for it and I struggled, fell, and tried again. (I’m still married to the same fellow I married at 20, and my 3 girls are grown and we still talk. In my view now, I think I succeeded.). I admitted my struggles. I sought help. And the Lord showed me a way. Counselors helped. My husband believed in me. ❤️. I became an elementary school teacher. I taught. I ministered to kids and families and colleagues as best I could.
Then I got cancer and was laid low for a year at 63. No more teaching of children. My church enlisted my help…in womanly things, once I was better. I could teach the women. I could care for those with long-term illness. But when the church met huge struggles, I went to the Lord prayerfully and listened. He told me a path that was different from the plans the men made.
As I sat with my Spirit, I heard that we needed to be who we are right now. We are an old congregation. We have lots of gray hair and wisdom. And the Lord loves who we are. We are grandparents. We are retired teachers, lawyers, ministers, engineers, plumbers, nurses…you name it. “Don’t shove who you are aside, embrace the reality. Don’t long to be younger. Be who you are. Be real. Be. Gods beauty is in that. Trust in God, use the gifts you have. Be a people who listen.”
They are going their own way. I am going mine. But I’m not sure where I am going. I now have 4 little grandchildren who live 5 minutes away. They are 4, 2 1/2, and 3 month old twins. One of the twins has Down’s syndrome. I’m not done. I’m still learning. But I question whether I am a minister. I question whether I am worthy to be heard, or whether I just need to keep working in the shadows.
I wonder. Then I find your post. And I remember my dream. It just may take a little different shape, but it’s still alive! ❤️
No one listened, at least not to me.
Thank you for trusting me with something this tender.
What you described was not a failure of calling. It was a failure of imagination on the part of the people who were supposed to listen. Your dream wasn’t squashed because it was wrong. It was squashed because it didn’t fit inside the narrow structures that existed at the time.
I want to say this gently and clearly: I hear a woman who has been ministering her entire life. Through children. Through families. Through classrooms. Through illness. Through listening. Through discernment. Through presence. Those are not shadows. That is service.
It makes sense to question yourself when your voice was dismissed early and often. That kind of dismissal leaves a mark. But worthiness is not granted by a pulpit or withheld by a pastor. It’s revealed over time by how faithfully you show up to what’s been placed in front of you.
You don’t have to decide what shape your calling takes right now. Wondering is not weakness. It’s a living place. And the fact that something stirred when you read the post tells me the dream was never gone. It was waiting for a safer season.
I’m really glad you found your way here. And I’m especially glad you remembered.
Oh Monica.. I cried too whilst reading this. I’m the woman who said that, and to actually have someone voice the exact way you’re feeling is everything! All your words describe my life which like the rest of us has been a journey that you sometimes wonder how you got here, filled with a young marriage, motherhood, grandparenting, trauma, loss, a late menopause that really threw me for a loop in so many ways.. then one day you do wake up and you say now what!?! There are no quick fixes, I’ve tried them all I think. I love how gentle your approach is and I am signing up and looking forward to discovering what will come. Thank you for recognizing us. Thank you for caring. Thank you for understanding!
Thank you for coming back and saying this. And I’m really glad you spoke up.
What you named is exactly it. A life fully lived, layered with love, responsibility, loss, and endurance. And then that quiet moment where the question finally has room to surface: now what? Not from drama, but from honesty.
You’re right. There are no quick fixes. And I’m not interested in offering any. What matters to me is creating a space that doesn’t rush you past what’s real or demand that you reinvent yourself into something unrecognizable.
The gentleness you felt is intentional. After decades of holding everything together, force is the last thing most of us need.
I’m grateful you’re here. And I’m glad you let yourself be seen in this moment. That, in itself, is already a beginning.