An Ode to 45

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, hidden 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.

I don’t know when I decided I needed permission to take care of myself—but 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 was the one who made the schedules, followed them, rearranged them, and handed them out to everyone else. Now, I had to do that for myself. 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, easier to carry—once I finally relinquished control. When I let go, I noticed something else too:

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, enjoying the quiet, honoring the comfort and luxury I’ve built within my home.

I didn’t know how I would come out on the other side of this healing hibernation. I only knew I had to go through it.

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, reassess, 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.

Welcome to the Quiet Middle

This is the Living Room.

It’s where I come to sit with my life as it is —
unfiltered, unfolding, sometimes unfinished.

Here, I write about the everyday moments that shape us quietly.
Love, friendship, healing, faith, grief, becoming.
The thoughts that arrive while washing dishes.
The realizations that come late at night.
The seasons we don’t rush through because they’re doing important work.

This space isn’t curated for performance.
It’s held with care.

Some entries will feel like essays.
Some will read like reflections I needed to write out loud.
Others may simply be me checking in with myself — and inviting you to do the same.

If you’re looking for certainty, this may not be that place.
But if you’re learning how to live gently, honestly, and in rhythm with your own becoming — you’re welcome here.

Pull up a chair.
There’s room for you.

—

With love, always — La O.

Turn Intention Into Action

Confidence doesn’t always arrive with a bold entrance. Sometimes, it builds quietly, step by step, as we show up for ourselves day after day. It grows when we choose to try, even when we’re unsure of the outcome. Every time you take action despite self-doubt, you reinforce the belief that you’re capable. Confidence isn’t about having all the answers — it’s about trusting that you can figure it out along the way.

The key to making things happen isn’t waiting for the perfect moment; it’s starting with what you have, where you are. Big goals can feel overwhelming when viewed all at once, but momentum builds through small, consistent action. Whether you’re working toward a personal milestone or a professional dream, progress comes from showing up — not perfectly, but persistently. Action creates clarity, and over time, those steps forward add up to something real.

You don’t need to be fearless to reach your goals, you just need to be willing. Willing to try, willing to learn, and willing to believe that you’re capable of more than you know. The road may not always be smooth, but growth rarely is. What matters most is that you keep going, keep learning, and keep believing in the version of yourself you’re becoming.

Make Room for Growth

Confidence doesn’t always arrive with a bold entrance. Sometimes, it builds quietly, step by step, as we show up for ourselves day after day. It grows when we choose to try, even when we’re unsure of the outcome. Every time you take action despite self-doubt, you reinforce the belief that you’re capable. Confidence isn’t about having all the answers — it’s about trusting that you can figure it out along the way.

The key to making things happen isn’t waiting for the perfect moment; it’s starting with what you have, where you are. Big goals can feel overwhelming when viewed all at once, but momentum builds through small, consistent action. Whether you’re working toward a personal milestone or a professional dream, progress comes from showing up — not perfectly, but persistently. Action creates clarity, and over time, those steps forward add up to something real.

You don’t need to be fearless to reach your goals, you just need to be willing. Willing to try, willing to learn, and willing to believe that you’re capable of more than you know. The road may not always be smooth, but growth rarely is. What matters most is that you keep going, keep learning, and keep believing in the version of yourself you’re becoming.