This Is How Women Disappear
And How We Bring Ourselves Back
Don’t call this a newsletter.
Call it a daily reminder that you’re not too late to begin again.
Aunt Francis was my rock.
She stood between me and my mother during some of the hardest moments of my childhood. She never judged me. Never scolded. Just quietly loved me, exactly as I was.
She was also my favorite Friday night date.
I’d pick her up and take her to the local A&W drive-in for a root beer ice cream float. (Remember those?) We’d sit side by side, sipping slowly, letting the world spin without us for a while.
Many years later, I returned to my hometown and moved in with my dad.
He had a ten-piece band that played gigs at nearly every nursing home and retirement center in the area. At his peak—well into his 80s—he was performing up to ten times a month. I often tagged along as his roadie, helping set up the sound equipment and stage.
I had a habit of sitting behind the band, watching the faces in the audience instead of the musicians. I wanted to see the music land. I wanted to witness the stories tucked behind every set of eyes.
Each person in that crowd held a lifetime. And I loved hearing their stories when they offered them.
One of our most devoted fans was Aunt Francis. She lived in one of the retirement homes we visited monthly. Her whole face would light up when she saw us come through the door.
But there were times I caught something else—moments when she didn’t know I was looking. A quiet sadness. A kind of distant ache.
I’d study her face, trying to understand.
She followed every rule. She stayed in line. She made dinner, paid the bills, raised the kid, showed up the way she was told a "good woman" should.
And now? In a retirement home because that was convenient for the kid. She waits: for the next meal, for the next sing-along or for the next trip to the beauty parlor where, if she’s lucky, someone might ask her how she’s doing—and actually mean it.
Francis lived a life of devotion. But there were things she wanted. She wanted to write. She wanted to dance again. She wanted to travel, to laugh too loud, to feel beautiful. In fact for many years she sold Avon- the old fashioned way, knocking on doors in her neighborhood.
But somewhere along the way, she came to believe it was too late. That her chance had passed. Those dreams belonged to the young.
She was wrong.
And I don’t want you to follow that same storyline.
Because here’s the truth: Personal power doesn’t come from the past. It comes from a decision. And that decision can happen today. Even now. Even quietly.
You don’t need to reclaim the whole mountain all at once. You can start with one little hill. One part of the dream. One "yes" that belongs to you.
Because the saddest thing isn’t aging. It’s disappearing.
You, my love, are still here. You are not invisible. You are not behind. You are not too late.
But maybe you need to hear this too: Sometimes the dream doesn’t come first. Sometimes the dream is what wakes the soul up. And sometimes, the soul needs tending before it can hold the dream.
And then—if you still wonder what happens when you say yes? Let me tell you what showed up for me in the last ten days:
A full set of beautiful new furniture, gifted freely
A new friend to share Sunday drinks and easy laughter
Dinner on a rooftop with people who genuinely value my insight
A deeper sense of belonging in my own neighborhood
These weren’t prizes I chased. They arrived quietly, without a grind. Because I kept doing the work that felt good and true.
Sometimes, alignment feels like nothing. Like stillness. Like waiting. Until it doesn’t. Until it shows up, soft and powerful and real.
So if you're wondering whether all this soul work matters... It does. It really, really does.
What exactly is soul work?
Soul work is the sacred, often invisible labor of returning to yourself.
It’s the inner tending. The brave, slow turning inward. The choice to listen for your own voice beneath the noise of everyone else’s expectations.
It’s not about achieving. It’s about remembering.
It looks like:
🩵Sitting in silence long enough to hear what your spirit has been whispering for years.
🩵Peeling back layers of “shoulds” to find what you actually want.
🩵Learning to trust your own timing, even when it makes no sense to anyone else.
🩵Grieving the parts of you that disappeared in service to others—and welcoming them home.
🩵Choosing rest instead of guilt.
🩵Choosing truth instead of people-pleasing.
🩵Choosing beauty instead of hustle.
Soul work isn’t flashy. It doesn’t come with badges or paychecks or applause.
But it changes everything—because once you reconnect to your soul, every decision becomes clearer.
You begin creating from alignment, not performance. You speak from truth, not trauma. You stop chasing, and start receiving.
You begin to have faith in life.
But you can’t just think about the life you want. You have to choose it. And the moment you do, everything begins to move.
Ready for your deep dive? If you're feeling something stir, here are a few soft, loving next steps:
Build your faith muscle. Download my free guide to reconnect with your trust—in yourself and in life. Start there, gently. Building Believable Faith
Work through your dream, one page at a time. My Re-Claiming Dreams Workbook is the actual path I used to find myself again. Maybe it can guide you, too.
Come sit on the porch. If you need to talk it out, I offer Porch Convos—a soulful, no-pressure space to explore your next move.
This is a place for women who are done waiting. And if you’re still reading?
Then maybe, just maybe, it’s your time.
With love,
Monica Rose
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What a beautiful post. Thank you. All the best.
Thank you for resharing