I always thought midlife crises were something men had, you know, the cliché: the sports car, the sudden gym membership, the “finding themselves” phase. I never imagined I’d hit that point myself. But here I am, right in the middle of it… and honestly? I’m not mad about it.

For so long, I’ve been “Mom.” Twenty-plus years of loving, caring, organizing, providing, showing up, for everyone else. I’ve lived in survival mode for so long that I forgot what it felt like to just live.

But something shifted. Maybe it was the kids growing up and finding their own lanes. Maybe it was the mirror staring back at me asking, “So, what about you?” Or maybe it was just time, time to rediscover the woman behind the titles.

Now, I’m asking myself real questions:

Who am I beyond motherhood? What makes me feel alive? What do I love, not what’s convenient, not what’s expected, but what truly lights me up?

And the beautiful thing? I’m figuring it out. Slowly, messily, joyfully.

It’s freeing, stepping into a season where I get to say yes to myself without guilt. I’m learning that when your kids see you chasing joy, peace, and authenticity, they learn it’s okay to do the same. The best thing I can give them isn’t a spotless house or a perfect plan, it’s an example of what it looks like to live fully.

I’m not breaking down. I’m breaking open.

Life is too short to keep waiting for “one day.” This is the day. This is the season. And this is the woman I’m becoming unapologetic, curious, and finally, gloriously alive.