44: On Time, Grace, and the Courage to Reinvent

Today, I am turning 44.

Standing at this milestone, I find myself deep in reflection, looking back at the map of this past year. If I’m being completely honest, it has been a year of massive, heavy transition. Divorce has a way of doing that—it can leave you feeling deeply insecure, disoriented, and face-to-face with a terrifying amount of unknowns. I started this process carrying a crushing weight of anxiety.But today, reflecting on the past year, I feel a quiet sense of security finally taking root within my soul. I am, at long last, at peace.

It wasn't a smooth ride to get here. I found myself in some situations that simply weren't good for me. But looking back today, I feel an overwhelming sense of pride because I chose to walk away—and I did it with absolutely zero fucks given. (Apologies for my mouth, but let’s be real: sometimes healing requires a little profanity!) I am finally learning to trust my own instincts.

That newfound trust has completely transformed how I navigate connections. Right now, I’m experiencing what I can only call a "healthy situation-ship." I don’t need to share every little detail, but I call it healthy because I have never been with someone who is so entirely honest. There are no heavy expectations. For the first time in my life, stepping back from actively seeking a relationship has been a superpower.

Choosing to intentionally stand on my own has been a complete game-changer. It forced me to get quiet enough to actually get to know myself again. This season has allowed me to become entirely intentional with my own heart, protecting my energy and creating a sacred space where I can finally just be me.

On top of that growth, this year gifted me a two-week journey to Italy—a trip that filled my heart with endless gratitude. My best friend planned the entire thing, and I am so blessed I got to experience it with her. We actually met when we were just 15 years old on a trip our parents sent us on. Now, finding ourselves both single again, we took on Italy together. Along the way, we discovered we aren't quite as similar as we were when we were teenagers (shocking, I know!), but that only made the bond sweeter. The trip reassured me of how incredibly blessed I am to have a sister in my life who, no matter how many years pass, understands my heart. I hope she always knows how deeply loved she is. More than anything, that trip was a beautiful, resounding reminder: I have to keep loving and living my life entirely on my own terms.

And yet, despite all this peace, travel, and gratitude, the closer I got to today—to this birthday—the more my mind kept looping back to one specific concept: time.

For years, I have repeated the old cliche over and over again: Time is the one thing we can never recover. But what does that really mean? Lately, watching two people very close to me navigate the raw, physical grief of losing someone they love has triggered something deeply existential in me. In my work, I talk about grief every single day with mothers, because I truly believe that motherhood comes with a massive process of grieving our old selves. And if I'm being brutally honest, as I mentioned in my previous blog post, I spent a very long time grieving my marriage—trapped in the painful, quiet lie that maybe nobody wanted me.But as I looked at my friends' losses, I realized I haven't yet experienced a deep, physical, personal death of someone in my immediate circle (and thank God for that). Yet, standing here at 44, I couldn't help but let my mind wander into that heavy, vulnerable space. Somehow, a thought about time turned into a full-blown existential crisis about me (classic human brain, right?). A frantic, quiet voice inside me started asking: Am I running out of time?

Thankfully, the universe has blessed me with incredible friends. The exact minute I voiced this fear, one of them stopped me in my tracks with a reply that shifted my entire perspective: "Running out of time? To do what? What is actually on your to-do list? What seems impossible right now?" Those questions were the exact wake-up call I needed. They reminded me that the fear of running out of time usually just means we are afraid of missing the life that is happening right now. I had to sit down and answer them honestly. And when I did, the fog cleared.

Running out of time to do what?

I realized my deepest fear isn't about running out of time to achieve, produce, or hit professional goals. My "to-do list" is simply filled with life. It’s about my capacity to show up for the person who matters most: my daughter. She is growing up so incredibly fast, right before my eyes, and this sweet season of her childhood is precious. My priority is to stay physically and mentally healthy for her. We are going to keep traveling, exploring the world together, and creating a safe, stable home for her that is overflowing with peace and love.

What seems impossible right now?

Co-parenting. If I am being fully transparent, just when I feel like I can finally catch my breath, the weight of it pulls me back under. It can feel like an endless loop—a shadow that lingers even as I try to step into my new light.

But acknowledging that "impossible" thing actually gave me a strange sense of freedom. Yes, the process is dragging. Yes, the unknown used to paralyze me. But look at what else is true: In the middle of that heavy, dragging reality, I still managed to travel to Italy. I still cultivated deep inner security. I am still building a peaceful sanctuary for my daughter.

Finally, I am learning that time isn’t something we are running out of; it’s something we have to claim. We can’t recover the past, but we can completely control the energy we bring to the present moment.To get to this place of clarity, I also had to intentionally work on my relationship with God. For the longest time, I'll admit, I was upset with Him for a lot of reasons. But once I got quiet, began to pray again, and truly listened to His word, a profound truth washed over me: I have to trust that He will never let what I lost be the best I will ever have.

Even when it doesn't feel that way—especially when it was something I prayed for so hard, something I was so excited about—I choose to believe that God is a God of abundance. There is always going to be better. He never runs out of options. Sometimes, He removes things because He sees options you cannot see yet. He sees the full picture when you only see what feels right in the moment.

This is the very heartbeat of Reinventing Healing. Healing isn't a destination where the hard stuff disappears; it is the continuous, daily choice to live in love and reinvent yourself through the transitions. It is about building the muscle to trust your gut, honor your boundaries, and believe that your story isn't over just because a chapter ended.

So, 44, here I am.

Today, the message I want to share is an invitation for you to choose to walk in love, too. As I step into this new year, I am holding onto this prayer as my anchor:

If it is Your will, let my connections grow in a peace that feels like home. I surrender the heavy burden of forcing outcomes out of anxiety and fear. Instead, I choose to love, resting in the quiet security that what is truly meant for me will find me. As I walk in Your light, remind me that Your love is ALWAYS.

With all the love!