Tan Lines, Bad Decisions, and the Girls Who Get You Back to Yourself.

Ditch the bras. Cue the music. Call it therapy.

Let’s talk about the sacred, overdue, gloriously chaotic rise of the midlife girls trip.

Not the “moms weekend away” where we pretend to rest but end up FaceTiming home every six minutes.

Not the corporate retreat with a charcuterie board and a mandatory trust fall.

I’m talking about real-deal girl time: sandy toes, stiff drinks, loud laughs, and zero apologies for snoring, sweating, or skipping the group hike.

​​And let’s be clear: the trip doesn’t have to cost a ton, involve connecting flights, or include some fancy-ass hotel with cold towels and overpriced cocktails. It can be a sleepover at your bestie's place with wine and takeout. It can be your cousin’s cabin that smells like cedar and childhood. It can be “meet you halfway at a Days Inn with a pool” energy. The location is optional. The exhale is not.

I’ve only done two legit girls trips in my life. TWO.

One was for our 30th birthdays, when a group of my ride-or-dies from elementary and middle school rallied.

The other? Just last year with two incredible women I met through work - aka the friends who remind you of who you are when you forget.

And both times? I came back a little more alive. A little more me.

So why the hell did I let myself believe that lunch every six months or a quick holiday dinner (in the years we could actually make it) was enough?

I spent my 30s and 40s in survival mode: raising kids, keeping the house semi-clean, doing all the emotional labor, trying not to fall apart in a Walgreens parking lot.

Connection? That felt like a luxury.

But now, looking back, I realize: I was starved for it.

I didn’t need another load of laundry. I needed three women in pajamas, passing the wine bottle, laughing so hard one of us peed a little.

These days, I’m seeing midlife girls trips blow up all over my feed:
- Friends in Tulum drinking from coconuts
- Goddesses in Greece channeling their inner Mamma Mia
- Badasses on a boat in matching caftans

Some are bougie as hell (love that for you), others are messy, local, and equally as magical.

Here’s the truth: These trips aren’t just “vacation.”

They fix what a group chat can’t.

They’re emotional rehab.

They’re where we exhale, unclench, and remember who the hell we are outside of our roles - where we let someone else figure out what’s for dinner - and maybe also what day it is.

Because midlife isn’t just hot flashes and hormone charts. It’s career pivots, empty nests, aging parents, broken hearts, new beginnings.

And these trips? They’re the pause button in the middle of the chaos, where we belly-laugh through the grief, unpack the baggage (mental and actual), and pass the chips to the woman who gets it without you saying a word.

You’re off the clock. Off duty. And finally, the damn priority.

So yeah, I’m making space for more. I'm prioritizing catch-ups that don't involve scheduling around dentist appointments, endless chauffeuring shifts, or adult children who still call mid-meltdown. I'm adding a few more girls trips to my body count list (and yes, I know that’s not how the phrase works, but you get it).

Because we’ve earned this. The big laughs. The beach reads. The “I forgot how fun I am” vibes.

This is our era. And we’re packing light… but loud.

So tell me this: Where’s your dream girls trip and who’s coming with you? Drop it in the comments. Let’s manifest these midlife getaways and make our group chats jealous.

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