Sticky Notes and Sanity: A Midlife Survival Tale

I don’t know where my keys are, but my pens are organized af!

Let’s get one thing straight: when I’m stressed, I don’t go for a walk or make a kale smoothie. I collect pens. And Post-its. In bulk. Like I’m preparing for a stationery apocalypse.

I don’t fully know when this started, but I suspect it dates back to my early days of learning to always be ready. Ready to act. Ready to react. Ready for the other damn shoe to drop, because we know it always does.

Somewhere along the way, “prepared” turned into 12 pens in my purse, 55 Post-its in every shade of neon, and a notebook army that could stage a coup. And from that came my intense, very real need to make lists…lists upon lists upon lists. I love a good list. And for me, if it’s not written down, it’s basically a rumor. A suggestion. A passing breeze. Lists are how I anchor my brain, manage the chaos, and feel like I’ve got one tiny corner of the world under control, even if everything else is on fire.

And yes, I am that girl who gets a rush from crossing things off her list. It’s not just productivity, it’s therapy.

My desk? It’s not “messy.” It’s strategic. Organized chaos with its own emotional architecture.

What’s on my desk right now:

• 2 notebooks (both half-full because I can’t commit)

• 5 pens + 2 highlighters (color-coded because duh)

• A big-ass keyboard with a number pad (my son thinks this is “retro,” and he’s wrong)

• A wireless mouse

• A pile of Post-its so tall it deserves its own zip code

• A couple of family photos, and…

• A recent ultrasound pic of my one lonely ovary, yes, I framed it. It’s my emotional support ovary. Don’t judge.

I hoard notebooks like they’re limited edition concert tees. Especially the kind I can only find at TJ Maxx (which I buy ten at a time, obviously). And don’t even think about touching my stuff. My piles are not “clutter”; they are sacred geographic formations that help me remember what the hell I was doing before menopause brain swooped in and stole my short-term memory.

Time for a quick Real Girls Reality Check. I will lose my glasses while they are literally on my head. Or tucked in the front of my shirt. Or in my hand. I recently spent two full hours driving back and forth to TJ Maxx thinking I lost my car key, only to realize I’d slipped it into the secret zipper pocket in my wallet that I never use. My car is push-to-start, so without the fob, I was one $500 freakout away from a full breakdown.

I forget what I’m saying mid-sentence full brain wipe, like someone pulled the plug mid-thought. And don’t ask me to recall my to-dos. My brain’s juggling 37 tabs, all glitching. Which tracks, since my browser’s got 75 open too: a trip I won’t take, supplements I won’t buy, and five versions of the same damn document I still can’t find.

This is midlife. This is what brain fog looks like when you're trying to be a functioning adult but can’t remember why you walked into the room.

So yeah, the piles stay.

Oh, and my notebooks? I stack them by vibe. You think I’m kidding.

Honestly, this system is what’s keeping me upright through hormone hurricanes, kid curveballs, and a bladder that’s clearly retiring to Florida without me.

Now it’s your turn: take our survey & tell me what’s on your desk right now!

Here are my answers:

1. Do you have a workspace that’s just yours?
My answer: Yep, but it’s also where I keep my Peloton, my coffee mugs, and my peace of mind.

2. What’s currently on your desk?
My answer: Two notebooks, five pens, two highlighters (the important shit trick), my computer, and a framed pic of my ovary. She’s the real MVP.

3. Are you a daily to-do list person?
My answer: FUCK yes. Daily. Even if it’s just: 1. Wake up. 2. Don’t cry. 3. Make coffee. (Check, check, check.)

4. Do people respect your piles?
My answer: Hell no they don’t. But they’ve learned my piles are not clutter, they’re strategy. Move one Post-it and I will find you.

Ready to Play?

Fill out our survey, share highlights in the comments or just send me a pic of your chaos! Bonus points if your desk also includes a rogue pad or tampon, an expired gift card, or a crystal you forgot the meaning of. (I may have 2 of 3 lurking on my own desk right now)!!

Subscribe for more midlife mayhem at realgirlsguide55.com! Because if we don’t laugh about this shit, we’ll end up crying into the sticky note reminding us to buy collagen.

Oh and PS - if you want a good read: A new Real Girl badass I met while writing my book introduced me to To-Do List: From Buying Milk to Finding a Soul Mate, What Our Lists Reveal About Us, and I devoured it like a leftover cupcake. It’s a hilarious, weirdly touching deep dive into the to-do lists of strangers. Total dopamine boost for the Post-it obsessed… though for some, it might feel a little too delightfully snoopy. You’ve been warned!

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We’ve earned every wrinkle. Might as well make more laugh lines together.
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