I didn’t set out to write about women’s wellness after 40. Honestly, I didn’t think I needed to.
For most of my life, my body and I had a pretty easy relationship. I was always small-framed, always athletic. I played sports as a kid, stayed active through high school, and went through four pregnancies looking like I’d swallowed a basketball — and bounced right back each time. Weight was never part of my story.
And then quietly, gradually, it was.
I didn’t notice it happening at first. Life was full — kids, career, the constant motion of keeping everything running. I was functioning. I just wasn’t paying attention to how I actually felt. By the time I looked up, I barely recognized myself in the mirror.
This is the story of how I changed that.
COVID hit, the gym closed, and like most people, I gained weight. But what surprised me wasn’t the weight itself — it was how stubbornly it stayed once I tried to lose it. I was fifty, and my body had quietly rewritten the rules without telling me.
By the time I got serious about it, I was carrying an extra forty-five pounds. For someone who had been naturally slim her entire life, that number on the scale felt foreign. Wrong. Like I was living in someone else’s body.
The wake-up call came on a trip to Tennessee last March.
I was on vacation with my family, relaxed and happy, and when I saw the photos afterward I just stopped. I looked at them for a long time. That’s not how I see myself. That’s not who I am. It was one of those moments that’s quiet on the outside and loud on the inside.
I came home and decided something had to change.
Then fall arrived, and my relationship went through a rough patch — the kind that shakes you and makes you look hard at your life and what you want from it. I won’t go into details, but I will say this: sometimes the thing that hurts you is also the thing that lights a fire under you. I decided I was done waiting to feel good. I was going to feel great.
I want to be honest about what changed — because it wasn’t a program or a plan. It was a series of quiet decisions.
I changed the way I eat. Not a fad diet, not a monthly subscription box with a celebrity name on it. I just got deliberate and honest about what I was putting in my body every day.
I stopped drinking alcohol. I know that lands differently for different people. For me it wasn’t dramatic — it was just a decision I made and kept making. And the weight started moving.
Forty-five pounds. Gone in 6 months.
I was down to 111 pounds and for the first time in years I felt like myself again. But here’s what I didn’t expect — once I had that momentum, I didn’t want to stop. I started paying attention to my skin. My hair. I started buying clothes that actually fit and flattered me instead of just covering me up. Little by little I started making choices that said: I matter. How I feel matters.
Some people call that self-care. I call it finally being selfish in the right direction.
For a long time I put everyone else first. Kids, career, the house, the schedule — the endless list of things that needed doing before I could get to me. If you’ve done that for twenty-plus years, you know exactly what I mean. There’s a version of yourself that gets quietly set aside.
I also lost my job over the last several months. And while that’s been its own kind of hard, it gave me something I hadn’t had in years: time. Time to think about what I actually want. Time to stop living to work and start asking better questions.
One of those questions was: when did I stop taking care of myself, and why did I let that go on so long?
This pillar is my answer to that question — out loud, in public, where maybe it helps someone else ask the same thing.
The wellness posts you’ll find here are honest and personal. I’m not a nutritionist or a trainer or a doctor. I’m a woman in her fifties who figured some things out the hard way and wants to share what actually worked.
You’ll find:
The kitchen garden weaves in here too. There’s something about getting your hands in the soil, stepping outside first thing in the morning, watching something you planted actually grow — it does something for your nervous system that’s hard to explain but easy to feel.
| ✨ Sage Note: I still have the photos from that Tennessee trip. I don’t look at them to be hard on myself. I look at them sometimes to remember what it felt like to make a decision and actually follow through on it. If you’re sitting somewhere right now thinking “I need to do something” — that thought is the beginning. You don’t need a plan yet. You just need to decide. |
If any part of this sounds familiar — the weight that crept up, the years of putting everyone else first, the slow process of deciding you’re worth the effort — you’re in exactly the right place.
This isn’t about being perfect. It’s about paying attention.
Pull up a chair. I’ll share with you what I am using if you want to explore for yourself. I’m glad you’re here.
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