The Wine She Never Tasted
She didn’t choose a small life. She just never realized she was allowed to want more.
She poured the wine—but never drank it.
That’s the image I can’t shake.
A woman sitting in front of something beautiful, something meant for her… untouched.
Last night, I rewatched Shirley Valentine. Not for the first time.
But this time, I saw it differently.
If you’ve never seen it, the story follows a middle-aged English housewife who’s been all but erased by the routines of domestic life. She talks to the wall because no one else is listening. And then one day, she says yes to something wild: a solo trip to Greece. It’s not a love story. It’s a remembering. A slow return to the self she buried under duty, silence, and making sure everyone else was okay.
This time, I didn’t just see Shirley.
I remembered her. Because I was her.
That tired posture, the overdone hair, the clothes from a life that stopped being hers a long time ago—I knew every bit of it. But it wasn’t her appearance that broke me open. It was her absence. Her quiet, constant service. Her invisibility in her own life.
There’s a scene where two women walk into a restaurant and see her standing there, not doing anything in particular. They assume she works there and ask for coffee. And she fetches it—not because she works there, but because she doesn’t know how to say:
“I don’t owe you anything.”
That’s when I remembered my own expereince with mistaken idenity.
Years ago, I went to a ministry gathering with my then-husband, the preacher. It was supposed to be a party—a time to connect, to belong. But I hadn’t gone to seminary. I didn’t share their language or their bond. So I did what I had always done.I made myself useful.
I stood behind the bar.Refilled snacks. Poured drinks. Smiled. I stayed busy so I wouldn’t feel how painfully out of place I really was.
No one asked me to. No one stopped me.
Because I was doing what so many women do—making ourselves indispensable so we don’t have to admit we feel invisible. That’s the ache we rarely name.The one that doesn’t scream.
The one that quietly rewrites a life until we forget we were ever allowed to want anything at all.
And if you know that ache—if you’ve ever stood behind the metaphorical bar at your own party—then this story isn’t just mine.
It’s yours, too.
We were raised in a world that rewarded helpfulness, not wholeness.
That praised sacrifice and silence more than voice or vision. So we poured the drinks, fetched the coffee, held the peace. And maybe no one noticed that we stopped tasting our own lives.
There’s a line in the film—so soft it almost slips by:
“She got lost in all this unused life.”
That’s the one that got me.
Not because of her marriage.Not because of the man she left behind. But because she poured herself a glass of something beautiful… and never took a sip.
That’s how it happens, isn’t it?
Not with explosions. But with small, daily silences. With the unspoken, the unfelt, the unfollowed. With the glass that stays full on the table. We don’t always choose a small life. Sometimes we just don’t realize we’re allowed to want a bigger one.
And if that’s where you are—if you're still filling glasses for everyone else while your own sits waiting—then hear me when I say this:
You’re not too late.
Not too far gone.
Not too much, and not too old.
There’s a turning point that lives in every quiet ache. Not a grand gesture. Not a life overhaul. Just one brave, clear moment where you say:
This isn’t who I want to be anymore.
That’s where I found myself. Not with fireworks or fanfare. Just a quiet, sacred yes.
These days, I sip the wine. I name what’s over. I sit at the table.
And when someone tries to hand me a role I’ve outgrown, I smile—then let it go.
Because the life I want doesn’t require me to prove my worth. It asks me to live it.
And if you’re ready—really ready—to taste the life that’s waiting for you, I’ve made something to help you begin. Not to fix you. But to guide you back to yourself.
We can start over, right here.
There’s still time to taste what you’ve been pouring for everyone else.
The wine is waiting.
And this time, it’s for you.
Breakthrough isn’t about becoming someone new.
It’s about remembering who you are.
If you’re ready, I’ll meet you there.
Sponsorship inquiries welcome.
I’ll be opening select opportunities soon for values-aligned brands and organizations that support women in midlife and beyond as they reclaim their voice, power, and purpose. To explore a potential partnership, reach out via email: Monica Hebert