LIFE & MOTHERHOOD COACH FOR MAMAS IN MIDLIFE

Category: Relationships

  • I Cancelled the Alarm and Fell Back to Sleep

    New here? This post is adapted from my weekly newsletter, Rediscovery — sent every Monday to women over 50 finding their way back to themselves. Sign up to get the next one straight to your inbox.

    I Cancelled the Alarm and Fell Back to Sleep

    How are you? I hope you’re well. This morning we woke up at 8.30, not 7.30 like the plan. Charlie had school gates closing at 8.40. We’d watched the football final the night before – I’m not even that into football, but “It’s the world final, it only happens every four years, Mum!” so I gave in.

    Ten minutes. That’s what we had, from bed to school gate.

    There was a time I’d have panicked and snapped. A sharp voice before I’d even said good morning. Rushing round the kitchen narrating the disaster out loud – “we’re going to be late, oh my god, come on, come on” – as if saying it faster would somehow get us there faster. The day starting on the back foot for both of us, and staying there.

    This morning didn’t go that way. We laughed about sleeping in – I’d cancelled the alarm without realising and fallen straight back to sleep. We got dressed at speed, walked fast instead of panicking, and got there on time. Nothing about the situation was different. I was.

    Here’s what I’ve come to understand: power isn’t the loud version of yourself. It was never the version who could out-shout the chaos or control every variable so nothing ever went wrong. That’s not power, that’s running on empty and calling it coping. Real power is quieter and much less dramatic than that. It’s the half-second gap between realising something’s gone wrong and what you do next. It’s choosing the joke over the snap. Not because you don’t feel the stress – I felt it, standing in that kitchen – but because you’ve decided the stress doesn’t get to drive.

    Nobody hands you that gap. You build it, morning by ordinary morning, mostly in situations too small for anyone else to notice. Nobody’s writing about the school run or the missed alarm. But that’s exactly where it gets practised. Not in the big dramatic moments – in the ten minutes you didn’t have.

    I still don’t always get it right. Some mornings the old version shows up first, and I catch her halfway through a sentence. That’s not failure. That’s just the gap being a little smaller than the panic, some days. What’s changed isn’t that I’ve become a calm person. It’s that I now know calm is a decision I make in real time, not a personality I either have or don’t.

    This week, notice one moment where something goes sideways – small, ordinary, nothing dramatic. The kettle that won’t work. The message that lands wrong. The plan that changes without asking you.

    In that moment, before you react on autopilot, ask yourself one question: what response do I actually want to have here?

    Then choose it. Not perfectly. Just once, on purpose.

    Write down what happened afterwards, in one sentence. Not “I’m working on my reactions” – something real: “The oven timer went off at the worst moment and I didn’t snap. I just moved the pan.”

    Then build on it, one decision at a time.

    With love and best wishes always,
    Susy

    P.S. What’s one small moment this week where you chose your reaction instead of it choosing you? And if you’d like to talk properly about what’s underneath these moments, that’s exactly what a Connection Call is for – a real, free conversation, no pressure.

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    Susy Rosemary
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    New here? This post is adapted from my weekly newsletter, Rediscovery — sent every Monday to women over 50 finding their way back to themselves. Sign up to get the next one straight to your inbox. I Cancelled the Alarm and Fell Back to Sleep How are you? I hope you’re well. This morning we…

  • I Know What I Heard

    New here? This post is adapted from my weekly newsletter, Rediscovery — sent every Monday to women over 50 finding their way back to themselves. Sign upto get the next one straight to your inbox.

    I Know What I Heard

    This week we have the memorial service for my stepdad, and at the same time I’ve needed to declutter the house. When someone dies, there is so much to do…it feels like there needs to be a pause button in life, just to take those extra breaths and to take time to look back at our stories.

    What happens to us, the words that are said to us and how we take them in shapes our life. Validating them, knowing their truth or untruth, shapes our daily lives.

    I remember the exact sentence. I remember where I was when it was said to me. I remember thinking, even at the time: is this for real? I remember saying that out loud, because it mattered.

    For a long time afterwards, I quietly ignored it and rewrote it in my own head. Told myself I’d probably overreacted. That it wasn’t really worth the feeling it had left me with, they didn’t mean in that way. That version – the smaller, more forgiving version – was easier for everyone, including me.

    It took me years to trust my own memory of it again. Years to say: no, actually, that really did matter and those words really did hurt. I know exactly what was said and how it felt, and I don’t need anyone’s agreement to know that.

    This is the thing I see now with women I speak with. Not that they’ve lost their voice – they speak perfectly well. It’s that somewhere along the way, someone convinced them their own memory needed a second opinion.

    “You’re too sensitive.” “It wasn’t that bad.” “That’s not what happened.” “You’re overreacting.”

    Repeated over enough years, that can leave you doubting the one witness who was there for your whole life. You. Until one day, you know in your bones that you were right all along.

    I know this pattern so well because I lived it before I ever coached a single woman through it. And I know exactly what it takes to come out the other side of it, because I’ve done it myself. It’s the moment a woman finally says something out loud that she’s been quietly doubting for years – and instead of it being rewritten for her, it’s simply witnessed. Yes, that happened. Yes, you’re allowed to feel what you felt about it. And yes, you can move forward from it.

    That’s most of what I actually do. I don’t fix anything. I hold space for the woman to find her own truth, her reality.

    Here’s the practice I use for myself, and offer to others. Whenever someone rewrites what happened to you, write down two things, side by side. Their version. Your reality. Not to argue with them – just so you have it, in your own words.

    Their version: “It wasn’t that big a deal.”
    Your reality: it was, because you’re the one who felt it.

    Their version: “You’re remembering it wrong.”
    Your reality: you were there. You know what you heard.

    You don’t need them to agree with you. That’s the actual shift – not winning the argument, just no longer needing to.

    This week’s practice:

    Think of one moment someone rewrote what happened. Write their version down, plainly. Then write yours, just as plainly, underneath.

    Read both back. Notice which one has more detail. Which one you can actually feel in your body. That’s the one that’s true.

    You don’t owe anyone the version that makes them comfortable. And if you’re ready to have someone in your corner who won’t let you talk yourself out of your own truth either – that’s exactly what I do, and exactly why I can help.

    With love and best wishes always,
    Susy

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    by

    Susy Rosemary
    in , , , , ,

    New here? This post is adapted from my weekly newsletter, Rediscovery — sent every Monday to women over 50 finding their way back to themselves. Sign upto get the next one straight to your inbox. I Know What I Heard This week we have the memorial service for my stepdad, and at the same time…

  • What Do You Actually Want? The Question Women Over 50 Stop Asking Themselves

    This was originally sent to my REDISCOVERY newsletter subscribers. If you’d like letters like this delivered to your inbox every Monday, you can sign up here on the side panel.

    How are you? I hope you’re well. It was big boy’s 21st birthday yesterday. We had lunch together — his dad and partner, their little one, my little one, one granny, one grandpa, and me. A separated family, still showing up together. There’s something quietly good about that. I’m so proud of my three children.

    I want to tell you about a question I asked myself a few years ago. And I’m asking it again today.

    It’s a question that appeared one morning, quietly, while I was standing at the kitchen sink.

    What do I actually want?

    What do I, Susy, actually want for the rest of my life?

    I have ideas. Vague but within my grasp.

    Life happens. Change happens — to you, or to others in ways that affect you. But underneath all of it, the question remains. What do I want? What do you want? Not for everyone else. For you.

    Here’s what I’ve learned before and I’m learning again.

    Identifying what you want isn’t selfish — it’s exciting. It’s an absolute necessity for your everyday life. You can’t build a life you love without knowing what that looks like. You can’t move forward without a direction.

    We’ve been needed — we still are needed. And there’s room for our own unique life too. It’s knowing what gives you that spark. It’s trying something new. It’s making headway toward that dream — once it’s formed, once you know what it actually is.

    The wanting is still there.

    I know this because the moment I asked myself the question — what do I actually want? — things started coming. Slowly at first. Then more clearly. France. Walking in the mountains. Writing. Building something that was mine, that I believe in. More honesty. More peace. More music. More adventure too. That’s the dream that is forming at the moment.

    It’s not that I’d forgotten what I wanted. It’s that life evolves. It changes, and when you do live one dream, you’re ready for the next one to take shape. And oh, that’s exciting. You’ve got to let yourself dream a little to let it all happen. You’ve got to give yourself that space.

    This week’s practice:

    Sit somewhere quiet – even five minutes – and ask yourself honestly:

    • What really is my dream? Without limits?
    • What have I kept putting off until “later”?
    • What do I want more of?

    Don’t edit your answers before you write them. Don’t make them reasonable. Just let them be true. Have fun with it.

    That list is yours. Let it evolve.

    If reading this stirred something — if that question landed somewhere — that’s the starting point. That’s exactly where we begin in coaching. Six sessions, just us, working through what you actually want and what’s been getting in the way. £397. If it feels right, just hit reply.

    Not ready for that yet? The REDISCOVERY Workbook lets you start in your own time, at your own pace. £27. [Details here.]

    With love and best wishes always, Susy

    P.S. What’s one thing you want that you feel excited about? Hit reply – I read every single one. And if your answer surprises you, that’s often where we start.

    💌 If this resonated with you, it might resonate with someone you know. Feel free to forward it.

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    by

    Susy Rosemary
    in , , , , , , ,

    This was originally sent to my REDISCOVERY newsletter subscribers. If you’d like letters like this delivered to your inbox every Monday, you can sign up here on the side panel. How are you? I hope you’re well. It was big boy’s 21st birthday yesterday. We had lunch together — his dad and partner, their little…

  • When You Change, Not Everyone Will Be Glad — The Truth About Growing After 50

    Nobody warns you about this part.

    They tell you to grow. Find yourself. Choose your own life. Be brave. And all of that is true and worth hearing. But what they don’t tell you is what happens to some of your relationships when you actually do it.

    When you change, not everyone will be glad.

    Not because they’re bad in any way. But because the version of you that was quiet and accommodating and reliably easy to manage – she worked for them. And this new version, the one with clearer limits and a stronger sense of her own value? She can be disorienting. Even threatening. To people who benefited from your smallness, your growth can look like a problem.

    I’ve felt this. The surprise on someone’s face when I didn’t say, Sure, that’s fine… The comment that landed like: you’ve changed. Said not as a compliment.

    I have changed. And I’m not going back.

    In my Motherhood Studies training, the Fish Tank Model describes the invisible system that surrounds women – the social norms, family expectations, relationship patterns that define what’s acceptable. When you exist quietly within the system, everything feels fine. The moment you start to shift, the system pushes back. It needs you where you were.

    It’s not personal. It feels personal – intensely, sometimes painfully personal. But it’s systemic. You are bumping up against a structure that was designed to keep women compliant and in their place.

    The people who genuinely love you, and who are capable of growing themselves, will adjust. Some will need time. Some will surprise you. And some – this is the part that nobody tells you – may not be able to come with you.

    That is one of the harder truths of real change. Not everyone will celebrate who you’re becoming. Some of them were comfortable in your previous version.

    But here is what I know, from my own life and from other women I’ve spoken with:

    You cannot grow and simultaneously stay small for everyone’s comfort. Those two things cannot coexist. And now that you’ve seen the tank – now that you know what you’ve been swimming in – you cannot unsee it.

    The discomfort of growing is temporary. The cost of shrinking back is permanent.

    Choose growth.

    This week’s practice:

    Think of someone in your life who may be uncomfortable with who you’re becoming.

    Now think of the last thing you almost said to them – and didn’t. The sentence you edited.

    Write the unedited version. The thing you actually wanted to say. You don’t have to send it, share it, or do anything with it. Just write it without softening it for once.

    Notice how that feels. Not reckless. Not unkind. Just true.

    That gap – between what you said and what you wrote just now — that’s the distance you’re closing. That’s what becoming looks like.

    It takes practice. But you’re already doing it.

    With love and best wishes always,
    Susy 

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    by

    Susy Rosemary
    in , , ,

    Nobody warns you about this part. They tell you to grow. Find yourself. Choose your own life. Be brave. And all of that is true and worth hearing. But what they don’t tell you is what happens to some of your relationships when you actually do it. When you change, not everyone will be glad.…