For the first time in years, I’m able to sit in my writing nook with a hot cup of coffee, free of interruptions. There’s no elderly dog at my feet getting up to wander every ten minutes, no need for me to follow behind and keep him safe. Our beloved Jack had canine dementia, bless his heart. We loved him dearly, but caring for him was like having an infant that needed constant supervision.
Now, a month after our tearful goodbye, I’m discovering something I’d almost forgotten—what it feels like to have solitude and time to let my creativity flow.
For over two decades, I’ve held space for others. Whether working as a Controller managing offices, balancing books, training and coaching staff, or being a mom to a demanding child with ADHD, my plate was always full. When our son struggled in elementary school, I transitioned to a stay at home, homeschooling mom. It was a different job but required the same dedication to making sure everything ran smoothly for everyone else. I was good at it, found purpose in it, but somewhere along the way I lost the creative spark that I’d hoped to nurture during these years.
It was around 2010 that I discovered I have a passion for writing. I enrolled in the UCLA Extension Creative Writing Certificate program and that’s when I knew I wanted to focus more of my time as a writer. Stories and characters came alive in my imagination, demanding to be put on a page. I was excited and felt the optimism of youth and untold possibilities opening pathways to a new future.
But life had other priorities. There were businesses to run, a child to raise, responsibilities that needed my full attention. Three years ago, my aging parents, both with stage 4 cancer, moved in with us. My father needed home hospice care, and my mother has remained part of our family since. The writing happened in stolen moments—early mornings before the day began, or too late nights while everyone slept. It felt selfish to want more than that.
Now with my son grown and beginning his own adventures, I’m discovering what many of us learn in midlife: that wanting creative fulfillment isn’t selfish at all. It’s necessary. All those years of managing, facilitating, and nurturing others weren’t preparation for retirement—they were preparation for a new chapter.
This is where “Midlife Rewrite” begins. You’ll find personal essays here about navigating this strange and wonderful phase of life where we finally get to ask, “What do I want?” without feeling guilty about the answer. You’ll also find short fiction—some of it inspired by my own life’s journey, some purely imagined, and all of it filtered through the perspective of someone who’s lived long enough to know that the most interesting stories are often the messiest.
I’m writing for anyone else who’s ever felt caught between who they’ve been and who they want to be. Anyone who’s looking around at their beautifully constructed life and wondered, “Now What?” Anyone who’s discovered that midlife isn’t a crisis, it’s a gift. The gift of finally having the experience, the confidence, and the freedom to write your own story.
So, here’s to new chapters. To quiet houses and loud dreams. To finally reclaiming the space we’ve held for others, the space we’ve earned.
Welcome to my rewrite. I hope you’ll join me for the journey.
What about you? Are you in your own rewrite phase? I’d love to hear about it in the comments below.