Month: October 2025

You promised yourself it wouldn’t happen again.
You’d stop answering those late-night calls.
You’d quit sending money you don’t have.
You’d stop fixing problems that aren’t yours to fix.

But then, the voice on the other end trembles – your adult child’s, or maybe your ex’s – and suddenly, you’re back in motion.

Heart racing. Breath shallow. Doing what you’ve always done: rescuing.

And afterward? The regret hits like a tidal wave. You feel drained, angry, and ashamed.
You whisper to yourself: Never again.

Until the next time.

That’s the rescue-and-regret cycle.
And it’s quietly stealing your peace, your energy, and your joy.

Why It Feels Like Love

It’s not stupidity or weakness. It’s love.
At least, that’s what we were taught.

For decades, we were the fixers – the glue that held everyone together. Someone cried, we comforted.

Someone failed, we made it better. Someone lashed out, we forgave and tried again.

Those instincts made us good mothers, good wives, good women.

But now, they’re keeping us trapped.

Because when we keep saving grown adults from their choices, we don’t help them grow – we keep them stuck.

And somewhere along the way, we start to disappear too.

You’re not wrong for wanting to help. You’re just overdue to help differently.

Real love supports growth.

Compulsive rescuing feeds dependence.

What It’s Doing to You

If you’ve been living this way for years, your body already knows the cost.

You might wake up tired even after sleep.

You feel wired but weary – waiting for the next crisis, the next call, the next emotional fire to put out.

You call it anxiety. Your body calls it survival.
It’s been trained to expect chaos.

And because you love deeply, you keep pushing through. You carry the emotional weight of everyone you love – as if their peace depends on your sacrifice.

But it doesn’t.

It never did.

That’s not love. That’s martyrdom disguised as devotion.

And it’s time to lay it down.

The 10-Second Shift

Breaking this cycle doesn’t begin with a fight. It begins with a pause.

The next time a loved one calls in crisis, stop for ten seconds.

Take one deep breath.

Notice what’s happening inside you – the tension, the panic, the guilt that says, You have to fix this.

You don’t.

That moment of stillness is where everything changes.

Because when you pause, you reclaim choice.

You can still help later – but from clarity, not compulsion.

What Happens When You Stop Rescuing

When you stop rushing in, something surprising happens.

Your loved ones start to rise.

They learn what they’re capable of.

And you start to remember who you are – not the fixer, not the hero, just a whole woman with a life of her own.

That’s not abandonment.
That’s healthy love.

You can care deeply and still choose calm. You can love fully and still say “no.”

And when you do, love feels lighter – more like freedom than obligation.

Your Next Step

If this spoke to you, you’ll love what I teach inside The Marriage and Motherhood Survivor Method – the 7-day process that helps women stop rescuing, start resting, and finally reclaim their peace.

Let’s Have a Conversation:

Have you rescued your child more than you’d like to? Does it feel like a never-ending cycle? Can you imagine a time in your life when you might break the cycle?

Recently, I attended a fundraiser for a friend running for state senate. As part of the event, everyone was asked to scan a QR code to reach the donation page. Simple enough. I pulled out my phone but could not find the actual paper with the QR code on it. So, I asked a staffer where that was so I could take a picture.

A well-meaning 20-something staffer swooped in and guided me to the paper. “Do you need help with that?” she asked gently, as if I’d just pulled a flip phone out of my pocket. I smiled. The truth is, I’m probably more tech-savvy than she is – I run multiple online platforms and stream music programs for older adults. But in that small moment, I saw something bigger at play: the quiet, often unintentional assumptions we make about age and ability.

That’s ageism in its most ordinary form – not malicious, not overt, but ever-present. As Ashton Applewhite, author of This Chair Rocks, reminds us: “Ageism is the last acceptable prejudice.” It shows up in job interviews, in healthcare, in media, and yes – even in something as harmless as a QR code moment at a fundraiser.

But if we’re going to dismantle ageism, it can’t just be older adults doing the talking. We need younger people in the conversation too. Because the truth is, ageism hurts everyone – it robs younger generations of models for aging well, and it makes older adults feel invisible long before they actually are.

So how do we fix this?

1. Start with Empathy, Not Assumption

Younger people often assume older adults are fragile, confused, or out of touch. But they rarely pause to ask what someone actually needs. A simple, “Would you like a hand?” instead of “Do you need help?” can make all the difference. It shifts the dynamic from pity to partnership.

2. Reclaim Curiosity as a Superpower

Older adults, on the other hand, can push back against stereotypes by staying curious – not to prove something, but to keep growing. Learn the new app. Try the AI tool. Ask questions. The best way to fight the “tech-illiterate senior” myth is to live outside it.

3. Call Out Casual Ageism – Kindly

That staffer meant no harm, but I could’ve easily let the moment pass. Instead, I smiled and said, “Thanks, I’ve got it.” Moments like that are teachable for both sides. Humor and grace go a long way in shifting perceptions.

4. Build Intergenerational Bridges

Workplaces, neighborhoods, and even friend groups thrive when people of different ages collaborate. Older adults bring experience and pattern recognition; younger people bring fresh perspectives and energy. When those forces mix, innovation happens.

5. Watch Your Language

When we say things like “I’m having a senior moment” or “You look good for your age,” we reinforce the very bias we claim to reject. Age is not a flaw. It’s a data point. And it’s one we all share, if we’re lucky.

Back at that fundraiser, I found the QR code and made my donation and had a great conversation with that same staffer later on. She told me she wished her grandparents were “more like me” – engaged, confident, and online. I told her they probably are, just not in the ways she expects.

That’s the beauty of aging when we shed the stereotypes: it becomes less about decline and more about evolution.

And next time someone assumes you can’t handle a QR code?

Smile, tap “Done,” and show them what experience really looks like.

Let’s Have a Conversation:

Have you had an “ageism moment” you’d like to share? How did you handle it?

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Originally posted at: Tamra Judge’s Cargo Jeans and Leather Jacket

The campaign, starring Lila Moss, showcases signature Puma pieces with a Madhappy twist.

Ladies Who Lift: That’s the inspired name of the group of newbie weight-lifters at my local gym. And I’m the one who knows least of all about the topic. Which, frankly, is fantastic. It’s a chance to learn a whole new vocabulary, meet people whose paths I might never have crossed, and find out what my body can actually do.

The Youth Within

At 56, I still feel like a teenager inside. Starting this course almost felt like older me taking teenage me to the gym to show her how it’s done now. Stay with me on this.

My younger self – lithe, fit, and buzzing with the effortless energy we take for granted when we’re young – would have shrunk from this world of Lycra-clad bodies who seem to understand the puzzle of weights: which one to pick up, where to hold it, and, crucially, why. The weights area sits in the far corner of the gym, past all the machines. To her, that square of carpet would have felt like a red-hot bed of coals – dangerous, intimidating, and guaranteed to turn her face scarlet with embarrassment at not knowing what to do with a dumb-bell.

But luckily for her, I’m here too – the older me – and we’re surrounded by normal people with normal bodies who simply want to learn something new because we’ve heard it might be good for us.

In midlife, there’s real joy in being a beginner again.

The Afterglow

What surprised me most wasn’t the class itself – it was the afterglow. That quiet, almost childlike satisfaction that hums through you once you’ve done something you weren’t sure you could do. It’s a subtle kind of joy, not the adrenaline rush of achievement but a slower warmth that comes from realising you’ve stretched the boundaries of who you are, even slightly.

There’s a lightness that follows. You walk out of the gym – or the classroom, or the art studio – taller somehow. You start noticing the world again with curious eyes. And maybe that’s the secret. The joy of being a beginner isn’t in the fumbling first steps; it’s in the glow that comes afterwards, when you realise you’re capable of more than you thought.

Revisiting, Not Starting Over

At this age, starting out doesn’t feel like starting from scratch. It feels more like revisiting – building on what life has already taught us. We know what it’s like to persevere, to ask good questions, to make peace with imperfection. We’ve been beginners before and it didn’t kill us; in fact, it probably made us who we are.

That’s the difference perspective brings. We’re no longer trying to prove ourselves; we’re simply curious about what else might be possible.

And in my work at The French Room, I’m seeing that same confidence take root in people learning French later in life. There’s a growing belief – an expectation, even – that mastering a second language is within reach.

A few years ago, the bar was often set low. People would arrive setting modest goals: being able to say a six-word sentence or order a coffee without embarrassment. But now, learners come with a quiet self-belief that they will get there. They see fluency not as a fantasy but as a spectrum – something that grows in proportion to the hours and heart they’re willing to put in.

And that’s the gift of experience. When you’ve built a career, raised a family, or navigated the detours of life, you understand effort. You know what sustained attention looks like. So when that energy gets channelled into something new – a language, a hobby, a set of weights in the gym – it’s no longer daunting. It’s deeply satisfying.

The Real Joy of Beginning Again

Perhaps that’s the real joy of being a beginner. It’s not about reclaiming youth or proving anything; it’s about being willing to enter a room – or a gym, or a French class – not yet knowing how it all works, but trusting that you’ll find your way. The first few steps might feel awkward, but the afterglow that follows reminds you that your edges haven’t hardened. You’re still expanding.

And at this stage of life, that’s a precious feeling. Because starting out isn’t starting over – it’s building on everything you’ve already lived and learnt. All the patience, humour, resilience, and self-knowledge that once took years to earn become the scaffolding that holds you steady as you explore new ground.

Every time we let ourselves be a beginner, we loosen our grip on certainty and open the door to possibility. It’s a quiet kind of renewal, and it doesn’t wear off quickly.

Reflect and Begin Again:

When was the last time you felt that afterglow of doing something new? What might you build next with everything you already know?