Dear Me,

You didn’t expect it to feel like this, did you?

You thought by now, things would have settled. The house is quieter, the lists are shorter, and for the first time in years, you’re not rushing between everyone else’s needs. But instead of peace, what arrived was a strange, empty ache. A kind of disorientation. You stood still for the first time in decades and realised you didn’t quite recognise yourself.

You’ve spent so many years caring, helping, holding space for others—through jobs that asked for your heart, your time, your energy. You earned pieces of paper that told the world you were capable. You built routines, identities, roles. But somewhere in the giving, you forgot to ask yourself what you wanted.

You were too busy to listen to the whispers.

Until now.

Now there’s space. Not just in the calendar, but in your mind. In your body. There’s the soft light of early mornings, and a quieter voice inside that says: It’s okay to want something more. Or less. Or different. And that voice, once buried, is getting louder.

You’ve felt the physical shifts, too—the way your body is changing, asking to be treated with more care, more gentleness. You’ve stood in front of the mirror and searched your own eyes for the girl who used to dream. You’ve cried without knowing exactly why, and then laughed the next minute at the absurdity of it all. You’re learning that this is what transformation feels like—messy, hormonal, holy.

You’ve begun the tender work of looking inward. Questioning the pace you’ve kept. Unpacking the old stories. Asking: What do I need now? What truly matters?

You don’t want noise anymore. Or chaos, or busyness for the sake of it. You want slowness. Honesty. Maybe even space to create something just for you. You’re learning to stop performing and start listening. To stop proving and start becoming.

And you’re beginning to see that there’s no right way to do this next chapter. There’s just your way.

This space—this letter, really—is a witness to that unfolding. A way of saying: I see you. Not the polished version, but the real one. The woman in mid-life who is still learning, still softening, still uncovering what feels true.

And though you haven’t figured it all out—and probably never will—you’re closer now than you’ve ever been.

To the woman I was: thank you for holding everything together, even when it was heavy.

To the woman I’m becoming: keep going. Keep asking. Keep choosing yourself.

And to the quiet voice inside me—the one I ignored for far too long—I’m listening now.

With heart,
Me