A Woman in Her Prime Is Not Past Her Peak

This week’s reflection is inspired by Week One of the Return to Light Gathering we held last night.

Week One is called The Roles I’ve Played, and it’s where we begin gently — not with fixing, not with goals, but with awareness.

What follows is an expanded reflection drawn from that conversation. Take your time with it. Read what resonates. Leave the rest.

 

She’s stepping into awareness — and remembering what’s true.

A woman in her prime is not past her peak.

She’s not defined by her age.
She’s defined by her awareness.

By her experiences.
By her spirit.
By that subtle sense of ending that doesn’t mean decline — it means discernment.
By the fire that still flickers beneath the surface, waiting for breath.
By the ache that whispers, “There’s more.”

She has likely raised children, built careers, carried generations on her back.
She has played roles, made peace, endured seasons, succeeded by many definitions…

…and sometimes lost herself along the way.

But here she is.

Standing at a threshold — not of decline, but of discovery.

Because something begins to happen in this season:
She starts to realize the roles she’s mastered are not who she is.

They’re roles.
They’re chapters.
They’re lived experiences.

But they are not the whole story.

And Week One of Return to Light begins right there.

 

Week One: The Roles I’ve Played

If you’re doing this work with me — whether you’re in a gathering or reading the book on your own — I want you to know something important:

We don’t rush through the beginning.

We honor where you are.

Because women in their prime have often spent decades being what was needed:
The dependable one.
The capable one.
The steady one.
The one who holds everything together.

And when those roles begin to shift — kids growing up, careers changing, relationships evolving, bodies aging, identities loosening — it can feel like the floor moves.

Not because you’re failing…
but because you’re waking up.

So here’s the practice for Week One:

Not fixing.
Not reinventing.
Not forcing clarity.

Just seeing.

 

A simple inventory that can change everything

I want you to take a piece of paper and put ME or SELF in the center.

And then, surrounding it, write down every role you’ve played.

As many as you can name.

Mother. Daughter. Partner. Leader. Caregiver. Professional. Volunteer. Helper. Fixer. Peacemaker. Achiever. Protector. Survivor. Friend.

Include the roles you loved.
And include the roles you performed while disappearing.

Then choose one role — just one — that feels especially aligned, or charged, or meaningful.

And here’s the question that came to me this morning as I prepared:

Pick a role you feel connected to… and tell me how you think I would see you in that role.

Not how you want to be seen.
Not how you think you should be seen.

But how you think you come across.

This is where it gets real — and where it gets liberating.

Because most of us have never been invited to explore ourselves through multiple lenses without judgment.

These kinds of questions can feel like a gut punch…
and they can also feel like freedom.

 

Why this might feel tender (and why that’s okay)

If you’re early in this work, I don’t expect you to drop into brutal honesty right away.

Not because you’re dishonest — but because you’re human.

A part of you may want to protect yourself.
To stay palatable.
To stay likable.
To avoid being seen in a way that feels uncomfortable.

So let me say this clearly:

I’m not above you.

I’m not here to diagnose you, label you, or fix you.

I’m a woman walking beside you — with lived experience… and with deep respect for what it takes to become.

I’ve been haunted by my own past.

I’ve carried the memories of choices I made and pain I caused.
I’ve let those ghosts remind me of the horrors I lived… and the horrors I participated in.

And in the midst of that, I’ve had to learn forgiveness — not as a cute concept, but as a life requirement.

I’ve had to learn that I can know, without a doubt:

If I were the woman I am today, I would not make the same mistakes.

And also…
I don’t know that I could be the woman I am today without having made them.

That doesn’t excuse harm.

It simply tells the truth about how transformation works.

We don’t become whole by pretending we’ve never broken anything.
We become whole by telling the truth, feeling the remorse, learning the lesson — and choosing differently.

If you can receive that… I believe it becomes a soft place for many women to land.

A place where peace is possible.
Or at least hope.

 

The shift that changes everything: recovery as a role, not an identity

I’ve worked with hundreds of women over the years.

And I’ve watched something powerful happen when the focus shifts from “fixing the behavior” to becoming whole.

Because alcohol — and food, and shopping, and scrolling, and numbing in all its forms — is often the symptom.

Not the cause.

And when we fixate on the symptom, women stay stuck in shame.
They stay trapped in labels.
They stay afraid of “failing.”

But when we begin with self-love, self-observation, and self-exploration…
something else becomes possible.

A woman can step into recovery as a role — a process — not an identity.

Not a life sentence.
Not a definition.
Not a box.

A pathway.

A way to live her best life.

And the outcome isn’t “be perfect forever.”

The outcome is clarity:

Who do I want to be?
How do I want to live?
What kind of woman am I becoming?

This is where a woman begins shedding the shoulds and the outdated scripts.

She stops living by the expectations written by family, culture, and old belief systems — including her own.

She becomes less interested in being palatable, likable, and quiet.

A woman in her prime is not always loud.
But she is clear.

She is not always certain.
But she is curious.

She is not always fearless.
But she is done letting fear decide.

She’s no longer looking for permission to live.
She’s looking for truth.
For meaning.
For herself.

And when she finds herself again… she becomes the flame that lights up everyone around her.

 

The Lie of Living: when we perform so well, we forget to live

This is where the deeper ache often lives:

You’ve played the roles perfectly.

You’ve been the daughter, the partner, the parent, the employee, the volunteer, the caregiver, the friend.

You checked the boxes.
You tried to do it all right.
You even succeeded by the world’s standards.

But quietly, a question has been forming:

Is this all there is?

It shows up after your to-do list is done.
In the silence when everyone else is sleeping.
In the ache you can’t name.
In the craving that isn’t for food or drink… but for something deeper.

This is the lie of living:

We perform so well we forget to live.

We become characters in a story written by expectations — and no one taught us we can write a story that actually feels like ours.

So when the performance starts to feel unbearable…

We numb.
We distract.
We detach.
We say we’re fine.

We survive the day hoping tomorrow feels different.

Waiting for some magical inspiration.

But you weren’t made to simply survive the day.

You were made to radiate.
To express.
To rise.
To feel alive.

And aliveness won’t be found in checking off more boxes.

It begins when you decide to stop performing… and start reconnecting.

 

A pause: When was the last time you felt grateful to be alive?

Let’s stop here for a moment.

When was the last time you felt deeply appreciative to be alive?

Not because everything is perfect…
but because you could breathe.

Because you could walk.
Because you could see.
Because you could feel the cold and the rain — and know you’re here.

Most mornings, when I walk my girls in the field down the street at o-dark-thirty, I thank the trees and the stars and the moon.

If I’m blessed to see the moon, I’m grateful.

That kind of gratitude doesn’t come from performance.

It comes from presence.

From not trying to figure anything out.

From not forcing inspiration.

From simply letting it be true:

I am here.

And then you move on.
You do the next thing.
And you keep living.

And when you least expect it, you find yourself looking at something differently.
Curious about something new.
Inspired — not because you forced it… but because you gave yourself space.

Don’t always fight the stillness.
Don’t always try to make something happen.

There is a time to be still.
And there is a time to play.

 

Permission to play: try on a life that fits

Here’s one of the clearest truths I can offer:

You don’t have to get hung up on who you’re “supposed” to be.

In the last five years alone, I’ve been many things — and I’m okay with that.

And I want you to have that same permission.

Guiltless acceptance.

Not all experiments are meant to “be it.”
Some are meant to show you something.

Try something that takes you out of your normal pattern and see what rises.

Look into being a writer.
Take a dance class.
Try improv.
Volunteer.
Do something new — anything you want.

It doesn’t have to click.
It doesn’t have to stick.

It can simply give you a glimpse into something else.

A new role.
A new version.
A new possibility.

And yes — I’m going to say this, too:

Make more connections with real human beings in real life.

If you want tips on how to do that, ask me. I’ll happily share.

 

The Week One question to carry with you

As you move through this week, keep returning to these questions:

• What roles have I been performing that no longer serve me?
• What parts of my life feel empty, even if they look good on paper?
• What am I truly craving when I feel the pull to numb?

And here’s your guided reflection question for Week One:

Where does my life no longer fit who I’m becoming?

No fixing.
No scrambling for answers.

Just witnessing.

Just noticing.

Because I don’t fix.

And I don’t want you to try to fix yourself, either.

I want you to become whole.

 

A closing invitation

This is your moment.

A moment to stop living the lie… and start lighting the way back to you.

This week, notice your roles.

How you see yourself in them.
How you think others see you.
How you wanted to be seen.

Notice what you love.
Notice what you don’t.

Notice what “juices you up.”
What made you feel powerful.
Connected.
Excited to be alive.

Those are clues.

And if you want, you can share them with me — I truly love hearing how you’re doing.

Until next time…

Be good to yourself.

Because I’m awfully fond of you.

And you are so loved. 🕯️✨

If this reflection resonates, future Return to Light Gatherings will be shared here when they’re scheduled.