I don’t know exactly how you’ve found your way here—but I’m glad you have. If you’re standing at the edge of mid-life wondering when everything got so quiet, or so loud inside your head, then I’m guessing we’ve got a few things in common.

This space—Letters from Mid-Life—was never meant to be a blog at first. It started as something simple: a way for me to write through the mess of it all. Not the dramatic kind of mess, just the slow, quiet unravelling that happens when the roles you’ve lived in start slipping off your shoulders. Mother. Career Woman. Fixer. Planner. Carer. The one who just keeps going.

And then suddenly… you stop.

Or maybe you don’t stop—but life does. The house gets quieter. The job changes. Your reflection stares back at you, softer or wearier or just unfamiliar. There’s no roadmap for this part of the journey, no neat label or next big goal. Just questions. Fog. And the strange, hopeful ache of becoming someone new, right in the middle of everything you thought was already decided.

So, I started writing letters. To myself, mostly. From the thick of it. From the tender spots. From the truth that was too quiet to hear when I was busy rushing and doing and fixing.

They’re not advice. And they’re not written as if I’ve got it all worked out. They’re just honest—sometimes raw, sometimes comforting, always real. They’re stories from my own experience: about (almost) empty nesting, menopause, career shifts, crying in the car/shower/whatever… softening in ways I didn’t expect, grieving identities I thought I’d always wear, and learning how to live a simpler, more meaningful life.

This space isn’t a guidebook. It’s a pause. A deep breath. A gentle reminder that mid-life doesn’t mean you’re fading—it means you’re unfolding.

If you need a place that feels like sitting with a friend who won’t judge you for being a little lost or a little undone, then pour a cup of tea and stay awhile. You’re welcome here—exactly as you are.

With heart,
Letters from Mid Life