The Messy Middle Is the Door

It was a hot afternoon in Arizona when I opened a laptop. I did not know where I was going in life and lifestyle. I did know I was curious. I did know I am a creator. So even though I had no idea what I was doing, I got curious and began again — a new learning skill, new thoughts, new tools. Anthropic and Claude. Curating conversation and questions.

Was I excited? No. And yet I said to myself over and over: "I GET TO." This fostered appreciation in self and in my abilities as I fought through fatigue and fuzzy brain. Yes, there have been many days when I started and had to stop and rest my body. I simply wasn't doing myself any good, and I had to honor her to heal.

I had been up and down and awake for months — literally flushed with menopause. Yes, so exhausted and uninterested in anything. My body was still healing from Hashimoto's, grief, and trauma — carrying the weight of losses. My heart was carrying the loss of family both living and in death. The life I created in my family. The kind of grief that does not announce itself politely. The loss of living family members. The betrayal of family. The death and betrayal of my mother, who raised me.

I did not really have a plan. I did not have a marketing degree or a tech background or a body of work to lean on.

I had pure, authentic curiosity. And I had the fact that I was still here. My conscious choice: I am worth fighting for. I GET TO. Not toxic positivity. I gave myself grace and honored her when it was time to rest and rejuvenate.

What I Learned From the Rebuilding

"I have to" became "I GET TO."

In the beginning, every task was a have to. I have to figure out the website. I have to learn this tool. I have to keep going. The exhaustion of have to was its own kind of guilt.

I walk my own talk — the phrase shifted. I get to. I get to build something honest. I get to use the loss for something other than grief. I get to be the woman creating again.

Stop abandoning yourself.

For most of my life, kindness meant putting myself last — and the takers in my life loved it, until I no longer did. The illness was the moment my body refused to participate in the abandoning anymore. She was done, and she needed healing. The trauma was the moment my soul refused. Grief was the final teacher that said: you are not allowed to keep leaving yourself.

I would check in with the Divine and ask, "When can I start again? What can I do now?" I was so used to the doing. Divine response: Heal.

Recovering people-pleaser here. The rebuild was, at its center, the practice of un-abandoning. Of learning self-love. Of creating and understanding who I was. Of speaking my truth — figuring out what that even was. Of her boundaries, her distance, her self-love, her forgiveness, and her respect.

What I Want the Woman Reading This to Hear

If you are in the messy middle right now — at the kitchen table, in the parking lot, in the bathroom you locked yourself in for one quiet minute — I am not here to remind you it will all make sense.

I am here to remind you: the messy middle is a doorway, not the detour.

You are not late. You are not behind. You are not too broken. You are at the threshold most women never cross, because they decide too soon that the door is the wall. That wall could be built with fears, doubts, and the sticky stuff we create in our lives.

Begin with curiosity. Not certainty. Curiosity is the only credential you actually need. This is not toxic positivity — take a breath, take a break, take a nap, walk in nature, fuel your mind, body, and soul up, then begin again.

Find one thing — one — that lights you up. Even a flicker. "That squeaky wheel."

Take the next small step. Just one. Then, by compounding those small steps, you create a solid foundation. And you keep learning. And you keep building.