An Ode to 45

 Honoring the journey of recovery, self-discovery, and becoming at midlife.

Looking back over this past year, I am in awe of myself — truly.

And I say that with a bit of surprise, because when I zoom out and look at the last eight to ten years, I don’t just see growth. I see recovery. I see a woman returning home to herself.

On the outside, I’ve always looked like the bubbly one — put together, quick with humor, the social butterfly. But on the inside, my inner child was still fighting for space. Fighting to be seen. Fighting to be heard.

Forty-five taught me how to heal her without asking for permission, without seeking approval, without over-explaining. Those three things freed me more than I ever imagined.

Somewhere between healing and hibernating, I realized I wasn’t disappearing. I was being preserved.

I healed parts of myself I didn’t even know were still hurting — places that had gone dormant beneath performance and responsibility. At some point, I took a real sabbatical: mentally, emotionally, spiritually.

Not because of one incident.
But because of obedience.

It was preservation.
It was courage.
It was God.

For years, I felt pressure to perform — to be a good parent, a good partner, a good friend… a good, well-rounded person. But there was no outlet deep enough for what I needed. No conversation or coping strategy that could reach it.

I needed something higher.
Stronger.
A different kind of peace.

I needed God — and I found Him. Unapologetically.

I didn’t ask permission.
I didn’t over-explain.
I didn’t provide a reason.
I simply stopped.

Everything went quiet, like someone flipped a light switch. I knew I needed less of me and more of Him — just to preserve what was left. I had been pouring from an empty vessel, and forty-five became my saving grace.

Forty-five was my call to action.

It became a year of self-discovery — learning who I was, who I am, and who I am becoming. I learned how to be free. And that still feels strange to say, coming from someone who has spent her life being everything to everybody.

One day I looked up and realized my family was grown, living their own lives.

And here I was. Thriving… but alone.

I never imagined it would be this hard to take care of one person.

I had to build an entire ecosystem from the ground up — a soft place to land, a life that felt like home.

The hardest part of forty-five was learning how to return.
Return to myself.
Return to God.
Return to softness.

I thought living solo in my forties would be brunch and bold lipstick. Turns out it’s more like silence… and God.

And yet, this was exactly what I needed.

Toward the end, forty-five softened. It became gentler once I relinquished control. And when I let go, I noticed something else:

I didn’t lose people.
I released what couldn’t follow me into peace.

The conversations, connections, and expectations that no longer suited me fell away without regret. I spent more time with myself — refining my space, honoring the comfort and luxury I’ve built within my home.

I couldn’t go left.
I couldn’t go right.
I couldn’t go back.
I could only go forward.

And on the other side, I found relief. Familiarity without heaviness. A home without excess baggage.

So I thank God for His kindness.
I thank my family for their love.
I thank my friends for understanding that sometimes you have to step back and be honest — really honest — about your life.

Change will come.
Some people will be left behind.
Some will walk with you for a season, but not into the next.

And you have to be okay with that.

At times, forty-five felt like the upside down. But I am grateful to be stepping into the light — and grateful for those still standing with me.

So thank you, forty-five.
It’s been real.

With love, always — La O.