I didn’t expect midlife to feel like a wrecking ball, but that’s exactly how it hit. Not with gentle whispers or subtle nudges, but with a full-body jolt and reset that is shaking the foundation of everything I thought I knew about who I was meant to be.

It wasn’t a crisis, although at times it felt like one. It was a reckoning…a sacred, necessary undoing. Somewhere between holding everything together and slowly falling apart, I realized I had been living in a house built on everyone else’s expectations. Every room was shaped by my ability to say yes when I wanted to say no. Every wall was covered with the need to please, smooth things over, or overextend myself to maintain peace or the illusion of it.

And I was drained… bone-deep and emotionally exhausted. Not just physically, but spiritually depleted from carrying burdens that weren’t mine, from shrinking myself to make others more comfortable, from giving away pieces of myself like party favors in hopes that someone would return a sense of worth. So, I stopped, albeit slowly, and felt the repercussions and loneliness.

Or perhaps I should say, life stopped me. Something cracked open, which I believe involved multiple moments; a difficult conversation, the end of a relationship, leaving situations that felt empty, or a moment in the mirror when I didn’t recognize the woman staring back. But I knew I couldn’t keep living the same cycle of self-abandonment disguised as love. I needed to clear the rubble and meet the version of myself that had been patiently waiting beneath it all.

That’s what this midlife reset has meant for me—a profound upheaval, the removal of old structures, that sharp turn that midlife brings, a pivot tuning into my own rhythm, not the roles I played, but rather a rebuilding of self.

I’ve learned to say, “hell no” and truly mean it, with love, clarity, and without needing to justify. I’ve realized that boundaries are not acts of betrayal; they are a way of coming back. Each one has become an act of choosing myself, not out of spite, but out of respect for me.

There was grief, yes. Letting go of roles and relationships built on my silence and the foundation of people-pleasing wasn’t easy. Some people preferred the version of me that bent, softened, and over-functioned. But I no longer judge my worth by how little I ask for or how much I give away.

And now? I’m entering a season that feels as unfamiliar as it is exciting.

Today, I’m flying to Paris for forty-five days of solo wandering, writing, and whatever else might come up. I’ve planned a few things…some writing projects I’m eager to dive into, attempting “fiction”…maybe a few glasses of white wine in hidden corners of Montmartre, but mostly, I’m leaving space… for curiosity… for spontaneity… for pleasure… and most importantly, for the woman I’ve become to rediscover herself in a city that knows something about beauty through reinvention.

I have no idea what will happen in the City of Love, whether I’m on the left or right bank, and that’s the point. I may find myself along the quai near the Jardin des Plantes, drawn toward the evening dancing, perhaps even dare to join in. For the first time in a long while, I don’t need a perfect plan. I only need to arrive as I am, show up, and trust my instincts. To let myself be changed by the moment instead of micromanaging it. This isn’t just a reawakening; it’s coming home.

So, if you find yourself in your own rubble, wondering what happened to the life you built, I hope you realize this: you’re not broken. You’re becoming. The demolition is divine. And beyond all that, falling apart is the truest version of you…radiant, rooted, and free.

I didn’t lose myself in midlife. I found her. And this time, I’m taking her to Paris.