Doing Nothing Is a Choice. But So Is Doing Something.
From Panic to Power Moves, One Spiral at a Time.
If I’m honest, there are probably more times than I’d like to admit when I did … nothing. And at the time, I didn’t even register that as a choice.
In general, I live with an undercurrent of fear. There were times when it was very intense; other times, less so. But as a default, I’m wired to go straight to the worst-case scenario.
No detours. No slow windups. Straight into the deep.
And I don’t just casually glance at the gutter. I dive in, marinate in it, float there a while, and let it soak into my bones.
Only after I’ve mapped out every terrible outcome can I begin to swim to the surface, find my footing, and build a plan that brings me back to something resembling control.
This worry spiral isn’t new. I come from a long line of Olympic-level, Italian-blooded worriers. My Grandma? That woman was the queen. My mom? A close second. And me? I’m the unfortunate love child of their anxiety: a tidy little sum of both their stress levels.
Looking back, I realize my marriage became a time when I stopped showing up - did nothing - and that was unfair to both of us. It wasn’t just passive. It was wrong.
There were plenty of signs.
One showed up a few months after the wedding. Even before the kids, I had this quiet knowing: we were wired differently in ways I didn’t fully understand yet, but that would eventually matter.
So I did what many women do: I ignored the signs. And I didn’t just pause at the warning lights, I barreled right through them. I rationalized. I adjusted. I hoped. I kept going, determined to write the story I believed we could grow into. And I chose silence over disruption, over discord, over action, over a lot of things.
I wrote the story I wanted so badly to believe and live: about love, about marriage, about family, and about how I thought it was all supposed to look. And I clung to that story instead of facing what was actually happening, how I was living, and what it was doing to me.
Back then, doing nothing didn’t feel like a choice. Now, I see it for what it was: a form of denial. As if hoping hard enough would eventually will it all into reality.
For a long time, I didn’t speak up. And when I did, I’d unload like a dump truck. Then I’d question myself and wonder if maybe I was the problem. Maybe I just needed to try harder. Be easier. Be quieter.
I didn’t challenge the loneliness I felt. Fuck, I didn’t even acknowledge it. I refused to even give it a name.
Instead, I did what felt natural: I pushed it all down deep. I told myself, without using the words, that somehow this was as close as I’d get to the version of love I imagined. I accepted that things were as good as they could possibly be.
My silent, unspoken mantra became: Suck it up, buttercup.
And I did.
I leaned on my hustle and my preferred state of action: I just kept moving.
When my boys came along, I doubled down - on denying, avoiding, and evading all the truths that were present.
I convinced myself that keeping our family together was what mattered most, even if I slowly disappeared in the process. And to be clear, my boys’ dad loved those boys with his whole heart (still does) and gave them everything he could. We both did. We just couldn’t always reach each other.
The awareness didn’t hit me in a single moment. It wasn’t a lightbulb or a gut punch. It crept in - slow and silent.
I started losing the parts of myself that made me…well, me. Not all at once, but quietly, in tiny, daily sacrifices I told myself were noble and just part of being a good mom.
But over time, those pieces added up. One day, I realized I wasn’t me anymore. I was a version I barely recognized.
I held on so tightly to the notion of a “whole” home, to the idea that this was the single most important thing I had to give my boys, even if I vanished in the process.
I convinced myself they needed that illusion more than they needed a happy mom.
That was a lie.
A Low-Key Move with Loud-Ass Consequences
Approaching 55 has felt less like a birthday and more like a mile marker in the longest damn marathon. It’s not some gentle speed limit sign telling me to slow down; it’s a fucking flashing billboard screaming, “Time’s flying, babe. Bust a move.”
And that’s exactly what I’m doing. I’ve just stopped waiting for permission: to think, to feel, to act on what I know. This phase of life isn’t about maintaining pace; it’s about owning the fact that I’ve earned every step forward.
A subtle but powerful shift happened after my “un-retirement.” I realized how many stories I had let take up space in my head.
That I wasn’t strategic.
That I wasn’t visible enough.
That I was just an execution machine.
In some cases, other people ascribed those stories to me. Worse, I often repeated them to myself. And allowed myself to play smaller than I actually was.
But once I started consulting with and advising CMOs, CEOs, and executive teams, I saw the truth that was always there.
The advice I give? The strategies I develop? They come from deep, hard-earned knowledge, experience and instincts that are usually spot on.
I don’t need to prove anything to anyone. I already have everything I need.
For too long, I told myself that I’d chosen flexibility and motherhood over big titles or spotlight moments, like I couldn’t possibly have both. I made decisions rooted in survival, in keeping the ship afloat. But now? I’m choosing from a different place. I’m doing things because I can, because I want to, and because I’ve earned the right to.
I’m great at fixing what’s broken, building what’s missing, diagnosing problems at their core.
My favorite thing, though? Seeing what’s coming around the curves. That instinct has saved a lot of people a lot of time, money, and chaos.
I’m done hiding. The badass was always there. She’s just stopped waiting for permission.
Thirty years of hustle, scars, and wins isn’t experience. It’s fucking firepower. And now, I’m using every ounce of it.
Anxiety Called. I Let Her Go to Voicemail.
For decades, a voice inside me took over when I felt stuck.
She was scared.
She obsessed over every decision, not for her own sake, but for the sake of others who might be affected by it.
She replayed conversations on loop, dissected every word in case she’d hurt someone’s feelings.
She second-guessed herself constantly. She held back her feelings, her wants, her assessment of what she deserved. She didn’t fully trust her own instincts. She stayed quiet when she should’ve spoken up. She always wondered if what she saw or felt was actually “real enough” or “right enough” to call out.
I’m not going to lie: Even now, that voice is still around. But these days, she’s getting drowned out by a new one.
My new inner voice doesn’t hesitate. She trusts her gut. She speaks up, clearly and unapologetically. She doesn’t filter herself to make others comfortable: She says what’s true.
And instead of pushing people away, that boldness draws them in.
She’s helping me parent better. I am setting boundaries and not bending to guilt. (I’m not perfect, but I’m getting better!).
She’s making my relationship stronger because now, “I’m fine” isn’t code for “I’m struggling.” I call things out and name what’s wrong, I hash it out, and I move forward.
She’s changing the way I show up in my work, too. I’m more confident, more direct, more assured, and more powerful than I’ve ever been.
I won’t pretend the old voice is “gone” gone. I still hear her whispering doubts, raising questions.
But now, I listen just long enough to catch any slivers of truth. Then, I move on.
Toward the voice that’s louder. Braver. And all mine.
Midlife’s Actually Not a Marathon. It’s a Power Play and I’m in Charge.
I don’t owe the world motion. But I’m moving anyway, because I want to move. For myself, because of myself, by myself.
I’m finally seeing the version of me who was always there, buried deep, the one I ignored. The version who spent years pleasing others, keeping the peace, smoothing over chaos. She was always bracing for the other shoe to drop because, let’s be real, it usually did. Her job, as she saw it, was to keep everyone else safe, stable, and blissfully unaware of what was really happening behind the curtain.
She wanted to build the life she didn’t have growing up; not that hers was terrible, but it left gaps.
She constantly questioned whether her feelings were normal, OK, even allowed. As if she needed permission to experience life in her own damn skin. She didn’t want to rock the boat. She didn’t want to cause pain. She just wanted to make the people she loved proud of her.
Working hard, demonstrating grit, and willing things into existence was the formula. Or so she believed. Once she bulldozed through the fear, she believed she'd land in a place of control.
But that girl? She’s flipped the entire fucking script.
Now, she’s unapologetic. She trusts her gut. She makes the calls, takes the risks, and leads with confidence because she knows exactly where she’s going…and why. She’s done making choices out of duty or fear. She’s making them out of desire. The only person she’s proving anything to now is herself.
Because the legacy she’s leaving isn’t about waiting, watching, or marinating in fear. It’s about doing. Owning it. Moving through life with swagger.
And yes, I know I’ve said this before, but it’s worth repeating. I come back to it again and again, because it still stops me in my tracks. One of my boys recently said, “Getting older isn’t a flaw, Mom. It’s a flex.”
She is me.
The Realest Ask You'll Get Today!! Doing nothing is a choice. But…if this piece made you think, cry, or feel a little seen, please share it. Drop a comment. Forward it to the friend who’s stuck, spinning, or finally ready to just start. DM or email your own story at realgirlsguide55@gmail.com. I am here for it all!
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We’ve earned every wrinkle. Might as well make more laugh lines together.
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“She’s done making choices out of duty or fear. She’s making them out of desire. The only person she’s proving anything to now is herself.” Oof, I love it!! You are speaking to my soul! 💕
Oh yes! I have lived your words and walked your walk. You are on the right track. Keep moving in this direction with confidence.
🥰