May 17, 2025
I turned 43 this year — and somewhere in between diaper changes, school drop-offs, and work deadlines, I realized something: I had lost myself.
I used to be bold. The kind of woman who walked into a room with confidence. I was a leader, a speaker, someone who lifted other women up when life knocked them down. I used to tell stories about strength, independence, and bouncing back from life’s hardest moments. I believed every word of it.
But then… life happened.
I became a mother. And while my child is my absolute everything, slowly, without even realizing it, I started to disappear. First, it was the heels and the red lipstick. Then, I stopped writing in my journal. My days became a blur of laundry, school runs, tantrums, and cleaning up snack crumbs. And somewhere in all that noise, I forgot who I was.

Then came the fog — not just tiredness, but that thick, heavy kind of mental fog no one really talks about. I felt slower, smaller, unsure of myself. I didn’t feel like “me” anymore.
At first, I thought I was just burned out. Maybe I needed a break. But deep down, I knew something deeper was happening. My body was changing. My emotions were up and down. I started wondering: Is this what perimenopause feels like? Or is this just what happens when you carry so much for so long?
Whatever it was, I knew I couldn’t let it win. I didn’t want to stay stuck in that fog any longer.
So, I decided to do something wild for my 43rd birthday: I jumped out of a plane.
Yep. I went skydiving.
Not because I love danger. Not because I’m a thrill-seeker. But because I was sick of fear running the show. Fear was getting too loud — whispering that I was too old, too tired, too far gone. And I was done listening.
Why Skydiving?
Because I needed to feel alive again.
Because I needed to remember who I was before I became a mom.
Because I wanted my child to see that moms can still be brave.
Because fear had been stealing my joy — and I wanted it back.
The night before the jump, I was so nervous I barely slept. That little voice in my head kept chirping: What if something goes wrong? You’re not young anymore. You’re not in shape. You’re not that woman anymore.
But the next morning, as I stood at the edge of the plane, heart pounding and wind blasting my face, I told that voice to be quiet.
And then... I jumped.
The Freefall
There’s really no way to describe what it feels like to fall through the sky unless you’ve done it. It’s a mix of fear, excitement, freedom — like everything that had been weighing me down just slipped away for a few seconds.
All the guilt, the brain fog, the self-doubt, the constant worry — it disappeared. It didn’t matter what I used to look like, how many nights I’d cried from exhaustion, or how long it had been since I felt like myself.
At that moment, I was free.
When the parachute opened, I laughed and cried at the same time. I looked out at the sky, wide and open, and I felt like I had come home — not to a place, but to myself.
This Was More Than a Birthday Present
That jump wasn’t just a fun adventure. It was me taking my power back.
I may be 43. My body is changing. My mind doesn’t always feel sharp. I’m juggling motherhood, work, aging — all of it. But I’m not done. I’m not invisible. I’m not broken.
I’m a new version of me — deeper, wiser, stronger.
This year, I didn’t want cake and candles. I wanted courage. And I found it.
For Every Woman Who Feels Lost
If you’re reading this while your kid is crying, or your inbox is overflowing, or you’re staring at yourself in the mirror wondering who you even are anymore — this is for you.
You’re not alone.
You’re not failing.
You’re just in a season — maybe a hard one, maybe a quiet one, maybe a confusing one — but it won’t last forever.
There is still fire in you.
You don’t need to be the woman you were at 25. Maybe that version of you needed to go so this newer, braver one could take her place. You are still fierce. Still powerful. Still worthy of being seen.
And maybe you don’t need to jump out of a plane to find yourself again. Maybe your moment is something else: taking a solo trip, writing that book, going back to school, leaving a job, starting that side hustle, saying yes to something you’ve always wanted — or no to something that’s been draining you.
Whatever it is, let it scare you just enough to wake you up.
Because fear is part of the journey — but it doesn’t get to be in charge anymore.
What Comes Next?
Honestly? I’m still figuring that out. I’m still learning how to balance hormones, motherhood, healing, and everything else life throws at me.
But one thing I do know: I’ve started my comeback.
And I’m not coming back alone — I’m bringing other women with me.
So here’s to 43.
Here’s to being scared — and doing it anyway.
Here’s to skydiving, or whatever your version of that is.
Here’s to finding yourself again, one brave moment at a time.
Because you’re not gone. You’re just waiting for the sky to call your name.
And when you’re ready?
Jump!
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