That was the question my doctor asked me at my annual check-up.
I had just turned 55. I expected the usual—height, weight, blood pressure, labs. Maybe a few questions about diet or sleep. But that question? “What are your hobbies?”
My mind went blank.
“My hobbies?” I repeated. It felt like a trick question. Was this a backdoor mental health screening? Was I overthinking this? If I didn’t have hobbies, does that mean something’s wrong?
“I can’t think of any,” I finally blurted, “but I am working on my business!”
That was the best I could do in the moment. But the question stuck with me. For days.
It bothered me more than I expected. Why couldn’t I name anything? What have I been doing for me?
I’m a mom. A wife. I have a grown son out of the house and two teen boys still at home, 13 and 14. My time is full. Lately, my husband and I have started squeezing in date nights again, which feels like a win. But when I really looked back at the last decade of my life, it hit me: I’ve spent so much time being someone for everyone else—wife, mom, employee—I stopped being someone to myself.
Truthfully, I haven’t felt quite right for a while now. Probably the last 10 years.
When I was 43, I was laid off. Around the same time, I was diagnosed with breast cancer. Five months later, I turned 44 and was preparing for radiation when my mom passed away suddenly. I pushed through treatment. My body started falling apart. I developed symptoms of fibromyalgia, lost a lot of weight, and was dealing with two toddler boys and a husband who was supportive but scared. I was prescribed Tamoxifen, which sent me into early menopause.
At 45, I went back to work. Between the commute, the job, the kids, and trying to maintain a marriage, life was a blur. I was exhausted, stressed, and gaining weight steadily. My drinking crept up too—not out of control, but more than it should’ve been.
Then came 2020. I turned 50 right before COVID hit. I didn’t take it well.
I used to love big milestone birthdays. But 50 hit different. I felt heavy. Older. My confidence dropped. I didn’t feel cute anymore. My go-to style had turned into oversized t-shirts and mom jeans (and not the trendy kind). I was constantly irritated. My fuse was short. Everyone got on my nerves—including me.
COVID only deepened the disconnect.
By late 2024, at 54, I knew I needed something to change. I wasn’t in crisis, but something wasn’t right. I started therapy. I told my therapist: I’m not hearing voices or suicidal, but I just feel...off.
Now, at 55, I finally see the full picture. I never processed my mom’s death. I weathered a cancer diagnosis, early menopause, a pandemic, parenting, career changes—and never truly paused to catch my breath. It all added up. And somewhere along the way, I lost sight of me.
But now that I understand what’s been happening, I’m ready to do something about it.
I want that old spark back. Not to be 35 again—but to reclaim the mindset I had at 35. That free-spirited, confident, sexy energy. The version of me that felt unstoppable.
So I’m making this official: I’m on a six-month mission to get my sexy back.
I’m going to treat it like a real project (hello, PMP!). I’m putting myself on the calendar. By the end of August, I won’t just feel like I used to—I’ll feel better than I did back then.
Hobbies? Let’s start with me!
#MidlifeGlowUp #MommytoMami
