There’s a song from the late 90s that refuses to die.
You know the one.
“I get knocked down, but I get up again.”
At twenty-two, it feels like a party chant.
At midlife, it feels like a biography.
Here’s what I’m learning about this season of life:
It is not a straight line. I know. Shocking.
Careers wobble.
Plans unravel.
Roles shift.
Confidence gets tested in places you thought were already secure. (Why, universe, why?)
Sometimes what knocks you down is loud and public.
Sometimes it’s private and quietly devastating.
Lately, I’ve been in one of those seasons.
A door I thought was open closed. Plans I felt steady about shifted. And for a minute, I questioned everything — my timing, my judgment, even my worth.
It wasn’t subtle. It was the kind of questioning that wakes you up at 2 a.m. and won’t let go. The kind that makes you wish someone would swoop in with an It’s a Wonderful Life montage to remind you that you matter. That you aren’t crazy. That you can and will be okay.
The day I finally humbled myself and asked my network for help, I cried into my iced Americano. Not because I was hopeless, but because I had to admit I couldn’t muscle through alone.
What happened next surprised me, even though it shouldn't have.
People showed up immediately — with sympathy, encouragement, and tangible options. The full spectrum of helping, hugging, and hearing.
That’s when I was reminded of something important:
Even when a plan collapses, not everything does.
This ain’t our first rodeo, ladies. Not even close.
But it can feel like it in the moment. Especially at this age. We think we should have it all figured out by now. We imagine we’re supposed to be heading into the sunset in our vintage convertible like the TV ads for AARP promised.
Instead, we’re recalibrating. Again.
Midlife rebuilding isn’t about starting over from scratch.
It’s about discovering what was load-bearing all along.
It’s about asking:
What held?
What in me did not collapse?
What am I no longer willing to carry forward?
What is the next brave thing?
Not the five-year reinvention.
Not the dramatic comeback story.
Just the next steady step.
The surprising thing about this season is that getting up looks different than it used to.
You don’t scramble as much.
You don’t perform resilience.
You don’t chase applause.
You stand up because you know yourself now. You have data. You’ve lived through every hard thing so far. This isn’t the one that takes you down.
And if you’re in the middle of rebuilding something — a career, a dream, your sense of identity — hear me:
You didn’t screw up your whole timeline.
You’re allowed to want another shot.
And being rattled doesn’t mean you’re done.
This is not the chapter where you disappear.
You are still standing.
And I am right next to you.
A Small Gift
I created a printable journal page called Still Standing for this exact season.
It’s a quiet place to name what knocked you down, what held, what you’re rebuilding differently, and the next brave inch you’re ready to take.
You can download it here:
[Download the Still Standing journal page]
No sign-up required. Just something gentle for wherever you are.
If it resonates, consider sharing it with a woman who might be quietly rebuilding something of her own.
With steadiness,
