Month: December 2025

They don’t tell you about this part of motherhood in the parenting books.

They don’t prepare you for the Christmas when your adult child doesn’t call. When the addiction has its hooks in so deep you don’t recognize them anymore. When mental illness has created a wall you can’t break through. When estrangement has turned your family gathering into a gaping absence that everyone pretends not to notice.

At 60-something, I thought I’d be in the grandmother-glory years by now. I thought Christmas would mean a full table, grandchildren, and the sweet satisfaction of watching my children become parents themselves.

Instead, I’m navigating a kind of grief that has no funeral, no casserole brigade, no clear path forward.

If that’s you too, I want to say: I see you. And I want to offer you something more valuable than false cheer – I want to offer you genuine hope.

The Particular Pain of the Christmas Season

There’s something about Christmas that amplifies the absence. Every carol, every Hallmark movie, every social media post seems designed to highlight what you don’t have. The cultural narrative screams “family togetherness,” and when your family is fractured, it can feel like personal failure.

It’s not.

Adult children make their own choices – some wise, some destructive, some that break our hearts into a million pieces. We can do everything “right” and still watch them struggle, suffer, or pull away. That’s not a reflection of your worth as a mother. It’s a reflection of the complexity of human free will and the brokenness of this world.

Things Are Hard Now, But They Won’t Always Be

I’m clinging to this truth: the current reality is not the permanent reality.

I’ve lived long enough to see impossible situations shift. I’ve watched prodigals come home. I’ve witnessed reconciliations that seemed beyond hope. I’ve seen people emerge from addiction, find treatment for mental illness, and soften hearts that seemed permanently hardened.

Not always. Not on our timeline. But often enough to know that God is still in the business of restoration.

Your situation feels impossible right now. I believe you. But impossible is exactly where God does His best work.

People CAN Change – Including Us

Here’s something that’s been convicting me lately: if I believe people can change, I have to include myself in that equation.

Maybe the change needed isn’t in my child – or not only in my child. Maybe I need to change how I respond, how I pray, how I hold hope, how I protect my own peace while staying open to reconciliation.

Maybe I need to change my expectations about what this season “should” look like and find ways to honor what is, without giving up on what could be.

Change is possible. For them. For us. For the relationship.

Reconciliation: God’s Specialty

Here’s what I’m learning to rest in: reconciliation is God’s work, not mine.

I can’t force healing. I can’t manufacture transformation. I can’t love hard enough or pray eloquently enough or manage the situation carefully enough to make everything right.

But God can. And He’s far more invested in my child’s wellbeing than I am – which is saying something, because I’d lay down my life for them in a heartbeat.

So I’m learning to pray different prayers. Not “God, change them,” but “God, do what only You can do. Work in ways I can’t see. Prepare both of us for reconciliation. Give me patience. Give me wisdom. Give me peace that doesn’t make sense given the circumstances.”

And then I’m learning to trust. To wait. To believe.

Never Abandon Hope; Always Seek Joy

This is my Christmas message to you, dear friend: don’t abandon hope.

Hope doesn’t require evidence. It doesn’t demand proof. It simply believes that God is good, that love matters, and that the story isn’t finished.

And while you’re hoping, actively seek out joy. Real joy, not performance joy. Find it in small moments: a meaningful conversation with a friend who understands, a beautiful sunset, a piece of music that moves you, a memory that makes you smile instead of cry.

Joy and grief aren’t mutually exclusive. You can hold both. You can ache for what isn’t while also appreciating what is.

This Season, This Suffering, This Hope

This Christmas might hurt. That’s okay. Feel it. Grieve it. Don’t pretend it away.

But also, believe. Believe that change is possible. Believe that God sees you and your child. Believe that love is stronger than hurt and hope is more powerful than despair.

Things are hard now. They won’t always be this hard.

Hold on to hope. Keep seeking joy. Trust the God who specializes in the impossible.

You’re not alone in this.

I warmly invite you to connect at www.realmomlife.com.

Let’s Discuss:

Is this Christmas hard for you? Would it help to share your story? A burden shared can lighten all loads.

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Originally posted at: Kyle Richards’ Gold Spiked Hoop Earrings

This past week marked a moment of profound significance: a symbolic passing of a crown, radiant in its beauty, from one generation to the next. The choice of the word “passed” is deliberate, reflecting that the crown was not simply handed over, but earned through enduring effort, abundant love, and unwavering resilience. The collective experience shared by all who were present during my aunt’s final month was powerful. United in the same place, we offered support and love to one another, cherishing the personal moments we were able to spend with her.

The Example of Auntie Mickie

Auntie Mickie was the embodiment of intentional living. Throughout her life, she faced many challenges and hardships, yet she greeted every day with a sense of purpose and steadfast determination. On the Thursday before her passing, I found myself together with my cousins, her daughters. We gathered in the state room, beginning our time in the kitchen, exchanging stories about our children and grandchildren and reveling in the joy they bring to our lives. Later, we reunited to focus on Auntie Mickie’s comfort and to allow me the opportunity to say my final goodbye.

The Sudden Shift to Matriarch

Days later, when my aunt passed, her two daughters were with her and the symbolic crown was passed to her oldest daughter, now the family’s matriarch. In recent years, I too have found myself stepping into the role of matriarch for both my immediate family, my husband and children, and our extended family. With Grandma Ella entering hospice care, the responsibility of guiding and supporting our combined family now weighs heavily on me.

The transition to becoming the family’s matriarch happened so quickly, it felt almost surreal. During grief and reflection, I found myself stepping into a role that was both an honor and a daunting responsibility. I realized that embracing this new title meant carrying forward the values, traditions, and love that our grandmother instilled in all of us.

Being matriarch isn’t just a new label; it’s about being the stabilizing force for loved ones as we all cope with significant loss and prepare to care for the next generation.

The Weight of Responsibility

Like many caregivers navigating the aftermath of loss, I feel a deep sense of duty to keep our family together. My commitment to this role has left little room to confront and process my own grief. The journey home is filled with tears. My heart is deeply aggrieved, feeling the true weight of our anticipatory grief with grandma. It is also scary in some respects to be the head of our family. I am finding that the best way for me to approach this role is to be intentional.

The Loss of a Support System

I have observed many colleagues assuming responsibilities as caregivers for their parents, while some, including myself, have had to adopt the role of family matriarch, often regardless of prior preparation. I appreciate those who actively pursue constructive methods to manage grief as they transition into this vital role with deliberation. Their example has facilitated my own adjustment to a position that, until recently, presented significant emotional challenges.

The Importance of Sharing Feelings

The depth of sorrow can sometimes make it difficult for the caregiver to confide in others. When someone appears unflappable or is complimented for their unwavering strength, it may mask the fact that they are struggling internally. People often wonder how someone manages to endure such hardship, not realizing that shutting down emotionally is a coping mechanism. Even with supportive family and friends nearby, the pain of grief can make it difficult to be around loved ones, as their presence serves as a reminder of loss.

Processing Grief in Your Own Way

Everyone processes feelings differently, and there is no single correct way to navigate grief. However, others cannot truly understand how you feel unless you choose to share your emotions. Opening up helps you heal and encourages real understanding and support from others.

Are You Prepared to Take on the Role of Matriarch?

Stepping into this position after caring for and eventually losing the family’s matriarch offers no clear guide. Everyone must find their own way as they adjust to life without the person who has long provided direction and wisdom.

As I continue to grow into this unexpected leadership role, I realize the importance of self-compassion and patience. The transition has not only challenged my sense of identity but also given me a deeper appreciation for the resilience required to guide a family through difficult times. With every step, I am learning to balance my responsibilities by honoring my own emotional needs.

For some, the weight of expectation may feel overwhelming, leading to withdrawal from the family. Others might discover empowerment in matriarchal responsibilities, helping their loved ones’ progress positively. Ultimately, your journey is yours to shape. If comforting others feels too demanding during this time, it’s essential to tend to your own emotions and allow yourself space to heal.

Let’s Have a Conversation:

Who is the matriarch of your family? If that’s you, how are you coping with the responsibility? Are you taking care of yourself in the midst of caring for loved ones’ needs?

I am a Board-Certified Health and Wellness Coach.

Saying that still feels surreal – not because I just found out, or because the board exam itself was easy (it wasn’t), but because of what this moment represents. Three years of focused study. Decades of lived experience. And a decision I made in my 60s to stop postponing a calling that had quietly followed me most of my adult life.

It made me ask a question maybe other women over 60 have asked themselves, especially at this time of year, when the Holidays invite reflection and the new year whispers possibility:

Who says reinvention has an expiration date?

This milestone didn’t arrive during a calm or orderly season of life. It came after everything familiar fell apart.

Three years ago, after a 20-year marriage ended, I found myself divorced and beginning again. Not long after, I moved into what I thought would be a fresh start – a new home that turned out to be mold-contaminated, something we didn’t know at the time. Over the course of eight months, my health began to suffer. And so did the health of my beloved dog, Sophie.

Sophie, Stability, Starting Over

Sophie was deeply bonded to my former husband, who returned to England after our divorce. She was a daddy’s girl. When her world changed so abruptly, something in her seemed to falter. While I’ll never claim to know exactly what caused what, I do know that not long after living in that house – and after losing her dad—Sophie was diagnosed with advanced congestive heart failure.

I had to get myself, two dogs, and a cat out of that house – fast. I tapped out my savings doing so. For the first time in my life, I found myself in debt – in my 60s – starting over again, without any financial footing.

What followed was a long, difficult, and expensive fight to manage her condition. Six months of medications, complementary treatment, vet visits, hope, fear, and fierce devotion. Yet, one early morning, her heart just gave out, and Sophie died in my arms. Anyone who has loved an animal that deeply understands that this kind of loss doesn’t simply pass. It cuts deep and can even reshape you.

The Quiet Reality of Reinvention After 60

This is the side of reinvention we rarely see reflected back to us. Not the glossy, aspirational version – but the quiet, unsteady kind. The kind where you keep going not because you feel brave, but because stopping would cost you more.

And yet, even at that time, one thing became very clear: the work that had been calling me for most of my life.

Long before I became a health coach, I was drawn to natural healing. Decades ago, as a young mother, I stood in a library aisle with my three-year-old daughter playing at my feet and picked up a beginner’s guide to homeopathy. Something clicked.

That curiosity never left me. It simply waited while I lived other chapters – raising a child, building a career in public relations, reinventing myself creatively, caring deeply for animals, and navigating the inevitable losses and reckonings that come with a long life.

Returning to Purpose, Not Retiring

When I eventually left my PR career, people assumed I was retiring. I wasn’t. As a Type-A New Yorker, I was always doing something. A few explorations into fashion (another passion) and the pet space eventually led me here.

I went back to school. Then back again. And finally, I committed to becoming board certified. If I was going to guide others – people and pets alike – I wanted to do so with depth of knowledge and responsibility.

There were moments during those three years when quitting would have made perfect sense. Studying while rebuilding a life. Sitting for a national board exam while working a part-time job, seeing clients, still navigating grief and financial uncertainty. Doing all of this in a culture that quietly suggests women over 60 should be scaling back, not leaning in.

But reinvention, I’ve learned, isn’t necessarily about starting from scratch. It’s about listening – especially when life removes what no longer fits.

Reinvention Isn’t About Starting Over

Many of us reach this stage of life having done everything we were “supposed” to do. Built careers. Raised families. Held things together. And still, something tugs at us. A curiosity. A pull. A sense that there’s more.

The holidays and the start of a new year tend to bring that feeling into sharper focus. We take stock. We notice what feels heavy, what feels unfinished, and what still quietly asks for our attention.

What Reinvention After 60 Has Taught Me

If my journey has taught me anything, it’s this: age is not the barrier we think it is. Fatigue is. Fear is. The belief that it’s “too late” is.

Reinvention doesn’t require a perfect plan. It requires honesty. Courage. And a willingness to take the next step before the whole path is visible.

Becoming board certified didn’t magically resolve every challenge in my life. But it did confirm something essential: growth is still available to us. Learning is still possible. Purpose doesn’t retire unless we tell it to.

A Gentle Invitation to Begin Again

Another thing I’ve learned is that meaningful change rarely happens in isolation. It has taken a village to get here. Yet I still see coaching framed as a luxury, when in reality, it’s often the missing piece – especially for women navigating chronic stress, disrupted sleep, fatigue, brain fog, or a sense that nothing they try seems to stick.

We’re living in a time of constant environmental and emotional pressure. Our bodies are working harder than ever, and many women I speak with feel worn down, anxious, and unsure how to regain their footing – despite having tried “all the right things.”

With the holidays here and a new year approaching, I wanted to make the kind of support I offer more accessible to more people. For a limited time, I’m offering 20% savings on my coaching programs for those who qualify, through January. My work focuses on gut rebalancing, mind mastery, and strengthening the immune system – three foundations that, together, can create real and lasting change.

If any part of this story resonates with you, or if you’ve been feeling that quiet nudge to finally address your health in a deeper way, I invite you to reach out.

Reinvention doesn’t always announce itself loudly. Sometimes it simply waits – until we’re ready to say yes. I used to tell my daughter, when she was growing up and facing something she didn’t want to do, to feel the feeling and do it anyway. In my own life, that lesson holds true. Feeling the fear and uncertainty – and choosing to move forward anyway (as I write in my book, THINK AND GROW YOUNG: The Life-Changing Program To Reverse Aging, Live Vibrantly and Reclaim Your Youth) – became the source of my resilience and, ultimately, my success.

Let’s Have a Conversation:

Where are you headed this year? What life change are you committed to make? What areas of your life are suffering from neglect?

Photo: @bravowwhl

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Originally posted at: Erika Girardi’s Silver Crystal Embellished Dress on WWHL