LIFE & MOTHERHOOD COACH FOR MAMAS IN MIDLIFE

Category: Self-Trust

  • Peace Didn’t Wait

    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.

    Peace Didn’t Wait

    How are you? I hope you’re well. This week, I sat at our table in the sitting room with a coffee in my favourite mug, “relaxing guitar music” playing quietly on Alexa, and I felt beautifully at peace. Charlie was outside on the bench in the garden, waiting for his blue hair dye to take hold, sun on his face.

    Nothing was happening. Nothing needed to happen. And it was one of the loveliest feelings I’ve had in a long time.

    I made a vow there and then: whatever happens in life, I’m keeping hold of that feeling. That sense of peace is my anchor now.

    Because life can be tricky, can’t it – for all of us, no matter how fortunate we are. There will always be moments of upset, challenge, and stress; we’re either in one now, waiting for one, or just come out the other side of one. But if we can hold onto that feeling of peace underneath it all, it doesn’t stop the difficult things happening – it just means we have somewhere steady to stand while they do.

    For me, this particular moment of peace came at a complicated time. My stepdad’s memorial service was two weeks ago. He would have been so proud of all that was said about him and I miss him. It’s left a quiet, hollow kind of absence in our family that I’m still getting used to. Grief has been sitting alongside me these past weeks, quietly, in the background of everything. And then, in the middle of all that, came this: a coffee, some guitar music, my son and his blue hair in the sunshine.

    Peace didn’t wait for the grief to finish. It just arrived, right in the middle of it, and asked to stay. That’s something I’m learning slowly: peace and hard things can exist in the same room together. You don’t need one to be over before you’re allowed the other. Peace can be interrupted too – by the people and situations around us. Unresolved tension, things left unsaid, small frictions that don’t get sorted – they have a way of quietly chipping away at whatever calm you’ve built. I notice it much faster than I used to now.

    I notice when something outside me is pulling at my peace, and I ask myself: is this mine to fix, mine to release, or mine to simply let pass through?

    This week’s action

    Notice when you feel at peace, and notice what you were doing when it arrived. It’s rarely the big, planned moments – usually it’s something small and ordinary. If you can’t remember the last time you felt it, that’s alright. It doesn’t mean it’s out of reach for you.

    Sit somewhere quiet, on your own. Close your eyes. Breathe in, and be aware of that breath filling your lungs. That’s often where peace starts – not in a grand gesture, but in one honest breath.

    Find out what your personal, unique anchor is. For me, right now, it’s gentle guitar music. For you it might be birdsong, a walk, a craft. Experiment with what is yours.

    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 up to get the next one straight to your inbox. Peace Didn’t Wait How are you? I hope you’re well. This week, I sat at our table in the…

  • 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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    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 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…

  • The Cups on the Shelf: Why You’re Allowed to Feel Two Things at Once

    How are you? I hope you’re well — or if you’re not, I hope you’re being kind to yourself about that.

    I’ve been thinking about something this week, in between boxes and bin bags and cups of coffee and lemsip too.

    I’m clearing my mum and stepdad’s house — it’s also where I live until we sell the house.

    And I want to tell you what it actually feels like, because I think you might recognise it. Not just from grief, but from all of it. From life.

    Yesterday I was going through cards that my mum and Chris gave each other over the years. Birthday cards, anniversary cards, reused and recycled. Full of love, humour and tenderness — the kind that accumulates quietly over decades without anyone outside noticing.

    I felt joy reading them. Joy that they had that love between them.

    And then I went to wash up their two cups — the ones they always used — and I put them on the shelf behind the door. The shelf that we don’t really use.

    And I stood there for a moment, because no one else will use those cups.

    That’s when the sadness came. Right behind the joy. Not instead of it. But right alongside it.

    When Joy and Grief Arrive Together

    I’ve been a neonatal nurse for many years. I’ve congratulated a parent on the birth of their beautiful baby and in the same sentence I’ve said I’m sorry they are here in the neonatal unit, but they are in the right place. They are happy for the birth of their baby but they are shocked and fearful for not being where they were expecting to be.

    I watch my little boy, Charlie, playing. Happily, noisily, completely absorbed in whatever eight-year-olds absorb themselves in. And I feel such joy watching him and laughing with him.

    And then he goes to school, and the house goes quiet, and I feel the peace of that too. Both true. Both real.

    I’m clearing out things that haven’t been used in twenty years — and the house feels fresher for it, lighter. And it’s also sad. Because those things belonged to people who are gone now.

    You Are Allowed to Feel More Than One Thing at a Time

    We were taught — most of us, for most of our lives — to present a single, consistent feeling. To be happy or sad, grateful or grieving, at peace or struggling. As if feelings take turns. As if life is that tidy.

    It isn’t.

    Real life happens in tandem. Joy and grief arrive together. Relief and guilt share the same moment. You can love someone and feel free without them. You can be building something new and still mourn what you’re leaving behind. You can be bone tired and completely certain you’re on the right path.

    All of it is true. All of it at once.

    This isn’t confusion, or you failing to “process” something properly.

    It’s honesty. It’s what it actually feels like to be alive.

    And I think — for women like us, women who spent so long managing how we appeared, keeping things smooth, presenting the version of ourselves that made everyone comfortable — allowing this kind of honesty is freeing.

    Not performing, not rushing through one to get to the next. Just letting them both be there, named and real and true, without having to choose.

    The cups are on the shelf. They are sad and they are beautiful and I am glad they exist.

    This Week’s Reflection

    These three questions take just a few minutes. You can do them alone, quietly, with a cup of tea.

    • Where in your life right now are two feelings sitting alongside each other — and which one have you been allowing, and which one have you been pushing away?
    • What would it feel like to let both of them be true at the same time, without needing to resolve it?
    • Is there something — an object, a place, a moment, a memory — that holds both joy and sadness for you right now? Perhaps sit with it, and acknowledge it, just for a few minutes, without trying to feel just one thing.

    There’s no right answer. There’s just honesty.

    And honesty, in my experience, is always the beginning of peace.

    With love and best wishes always, Susy 🌸

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    by

    Susy Rosemary
    in , , ,

    How are you? I hope you’re well — or if you’re not, I hope you’re being kind to yourself about that. I’ve been thinking about something this week, in between boxes and bin bags and cups of coffee and lemsip too. I’m clearing my mum and stepdad’s house — it’s also where I live until…

  • Claiming Your Own Peace After 50: Why Keeping Everyone Else’s Peace Isn’t the Same Thing

    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 on the side panel.

    How are you? I hope you’re well.

    This week I walked twelve miles in the sunshine – a circular route arranged by the Ramblers. My aim is one long walk somewhere new once a month. Somewhere along the way I got talking to a woman who’d spent decades following her husband’s career around the world. Switzerland, different cities, different schools. And now, at nearly sixty, she’d decided: they’re staying put in the UK, and she’s figuring out who she is and what she wants for herself. I recognised that decision – that feeling of It’s Time.

    This week: claiming your peace.

    Not the peace that exists for other people – the careful words, the managed moods, the going-somewhere-you-didn’t-want-to-go. That’s not real peace. That’s maintenance work.

    Real peace is an internal state — calm, settled, confident in yourself.

    I know what it costs to keep everyone else’s peace. I’ve been far too good at it. And what I’ve learned is this: it doesn’t actually keep the peace. It keeps the status quo. Which is a very different thing.

    And at some point you notice: you’ve been attending to everyone’s peace except your own. And something has to change.

    The good news is that peace isn’t something you find. It’s something you decide. You claim it. You protect it. You come back to it when something pulls you away from it. It’s yours.

    Certain relationships or situations will still disrupt it – that’s just life. The difference is knowing how to notice it, deal with it, and return to yourself. With practice you return to your peace more quickly and for longer.

    Nobody else is responsible for your peace. Nobody is going to hand it to you. And knowing that isn’t sad or hopeless – it’s liberating and empowering because it’s in your hands.

    Peace lives within you when your life is aligned to your values.

    This week’s practice:

    First, notice. When do you adjust yourself – what you say, how you behave, how much space you take up – in response to someone else’s mood or expectations?

    Ask yourself: is this genuine care? Whose peace am I keeping?

    Then, claim your peace. Here are some ways to do that this week:

    • Sit in stillness for five minutes. Close your eyes. Just breathe.
    • Go for a walk with no destination and no distractions – just you.
    • Rest when your body asks for it, without negotiating with yourself first.
    • Notice what disrupts your peace – and notice what helps you return to it.

    Small practices. Real results.

    With love and best wishes always, Susy

    P.S. What does peace actually feel like for you? Hit reply. I’d love to know.

    FREE RESOURCES FOR YOU:

    What Do I Really Want? Your 5-Step Action Plan — for when you’ve lost touch with your own desires

    Get Your Spark Back Guide — small, practical ways to feel like yourself again

    Rediscover Your Values Workbook — get clear on what actually matters to you now

    All on my website: www.susyrosemary.com

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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 on the side panel. How are you? I hope you’re well. This week I walked twelve miles in the sunshine – a circular route arranged by the Ramblers. My aim…

  • Setting Boundaries After 50: What Nobody Tells You About the Guilt

    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 in the side panel.

    How are you? I hope you’re well. This week, I did my first long Ramblers walk with my new boots and a knapsack on my back. 10 miles, beautiful weather, boats, sparkles in the water, bluebells and butterflies. It was so fun and inspiring to meet new people. It felt freeing and each step was a step on my own Rediscovery journey. I’m going to book another one.

    So this week I set a boundary with someone so that I could protect my peace. It was important to me and I had to do it. It was difficult for me to do.

    Defining a boundary is a truth you say out loud. You say what you need. For what your body needs (instead of storing it in tension) and what your mind needs (instead of storing angst).

    For most of our adult lives, especially as women, as mothers and carers, we often care about and for other people. Perhaps we gave way on things that mattered because it was easier. Perhaps we stayed quiet in situations that cost us something. Perhaps we called it being reasonable, being nice, being a good mother, daughter, colleague, friend.

    I had a moment when I realised that I had spent so long accommodating everyone else’s preferences that I genuinely had lost my own. Not because I didn’t have them. But because I’d spent years taking care of everyone else at my own expense. I don’t blame them – it was me, fitting into some belief or social system.

    A boundary can seem aggressive but it isn’t. Nor is it unkindness. It’s the honest answer to the question: what will I accept, and what won’t I accept any more?

    The discomfort you feel when you live with a boundary – that guilt, that urge to apologise and take it back – that’s not evidence that you’ve done something wrong. It’s evidence that you’ve spent a very long time not doing this. New things feel uncomfortable. That doesn’t mean they’re wrong.

    This week’s practice:

    Sit quietly with these questions. Write honestly, without editing:

    • What have I been tolerating that I know, deep down, I shouldn’t be?
    • Where do I feel drained, resentful, or invisible?
    • What do I want instead?

    And finally, what is one step I could take to get from where I am to where I truly want to be? That’s the exciting part…

    With love and best wishes always, Susy

    P.S. What is one aspect of your life that you want to change, and how can you change it in one small way towards what you really want? Hit reply – I read every single one.

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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 in the side panel. How are you? I hope you’re well. This week, I did my first long Ramblers walk with my new boots and a knapsack on my back.…

  • Boundaries Work Both Ways: The Hard Truth About Respecting Other People’s No

    Hello,

    How are you? I hope you’re well.

    This week we’ve been talking about boundaries—the ones you set, the ones you need to hold. But what about when other people’s boundaries affect you?

    The Other Side of Boundaries

    The friend who doesn’t reply to your message. The invitation you didn’t get. The person who says “No thanks” when you wanted “Yes please.”

    Those hurt. And they’re still boundaries we need to respect.

    It’s easy to talk about setting OUR boundaries. But what happens when we’re on the receiving end of someone else’s?

    The Party I Wasn’t Invited To

    I remember when my Mum told me I was invited to my uncle’s 80th birthday party. He’s my godfather, and the whole family would be there.

    “Everyone’s invited,” she said.

    I hadn’t received an invitation myself, but I trusted her. And even though it was far away—normally I’d say no because of the distance—I thought: this time I’ll go. I’ll make the effort. I booked accommodation and put it in the diary.

    Then a few weeks later, Mum called. “This is embarrassing,” she started. “You’re not actually invited. They don’t have room in the restaurant.”

    Ouch.

    The embarrassment. The hurt. The anger, if I’m honest.

    I cancelled the trip. I felt foolish. I should have waited for an actual invitation. I should have checked directly with them instead of assuming.

    The Boundary I Didn’t Want to See

    But here’s the point: they had a boundary. A certain number of places. And I wasn’t high enough on the guest list.

    It stung. But it was their boundary to set.

    Not mine to challenge. Not mine to be angry about. Theirs.

    And accepting that—truly accepting it—was harder than setting any boundary of my own.

    Boundaries Don’t Only Work One Way

    We love talking about OUR boundaries. The ones we set. The ones we hold. The ones we’re proud of finally saying no to.

    But boundaries don’t just work in one direction.

    Sometimes you’re on the receiving end of someone else’s boundary. And that’s hard. Sometimes painfully hard.

    The friend who’s pulled back without explanation. The family member who doesn’t return your calls. The person who said no when you desperately wanted yes.

    Those boundaries can feel like rejection. Like you don’t matter. Like you’ve done something wrong.

    But here’s the truth: respecting other people’s boundaries—even when they hurt, even when they embarrass you—is part of having boundaries yourself.

    You can’t demand people include you, reply to you, or prioritize you.

    Just like they can’t demand those things from you.

    It’s the same principle. Just from the other side.

    Why This Matters for Women Over 50

    For women over 50, this can be especially painful.

    We’ve spent decades making ourselves available to everyone. Picking up the phone. Saying yes. Including people. Making sure no one feels left out.

    So when someone doesn’t do that for us? It feels like a betrayal.

    But it’s not. It’s just a boundary. And it’s theirs to set.

    Learning to respect boundaries that hurt is one of the deepest forms of emotional maturity. And one of the hardest.

    Your Reflection

    Can you think of a boundary someone else has set that’s hard for you to respect?

    The friend who’s pulled back. The family member who doesn’t respond. The person who said no when you wanted yes.

    Can you let them have that boundary—even though it hurts, even though it’s not what you wanted?

    It doesn’t mean you don’t matter.

    It just means they have a boundary. And so do you.

    I’d love to hear your thoughts. Leave a comment below or hit reply—I read every single one.

    With love and best wishes always, Susy

    P.S. What boundary is hard for you to respect right now? Hit reply—I’m here to listen. 💛

    —

    by

    Susy Rosemary
    in , , ,

    Hello, How are you? I hope you’re well. This week we’ve been talking about boundaries—the ones you set, the ones you need to hold. But what about when other people’s boundaries affect you? The Other Side of Boundaries The friend who doesn’t reply to your message. The invitation you didn’t get. The person who says…

  • Don’t Wait to Feel Like It: Motivation for Women Over 50

    Starting over at 50 means learning to trust yourself again—even when you don’t feel ready.

    How are you? I hope you’re well.

    This week is about starting something new as a woman over 50.

    I started something new yesterday—I went to the gym and did a Pilates class.

    I did not want to go. It was raining. I was happy doing some work at home. But I do want to feel great. I do want to feel strong.

    So I went. And I’m so glad I did. I felt muscles I didn’t know existed. Everyone was friendly. I felt like part of something positive and progressive.

    Building Confidence in Your 50s: Don’t Wait to Feel Motivated

    Here’s what I learned about motivation for women over 50: Don’t wait to FEEL like you want to do something. Do it anyway.

    I didn’t feel like going at all. But I knew I would feel good afterwards. That’s self-trust for women over 50. That’s knowing: if you do X, you’ll feel Y.

    Starting over at 50 often means not taking the easy option.

    The easy option would have been to stay home and say, “I’ll wait for another day.” It would have been easy to carry on with what I was doing.

    But by going, I became part of something. I was inspired by every single person there—men, women, of all different ages and body shapes.

    Overcoming Resistance: A Practice for Women Over 50

    When you next don’t feel like doing something that you know you actually want to do… do it anyway.

    Beat that voice inside your head that’s discouraging you. Yes, it can be loud.

    Be your own best friend. Do the right thing. One step at a time. One day at a time.

    This is how women over 50 build confidence—not by waiting for motivation, but by trusting yourself enough to take action first.

    Your Turn: Taking Action in Midlife

    What’s one thing you’ve been putting off that you know would make you feel good?

    For women over 50 who are starting over, the secret isn’t feeling ready. It’s trusting yourself enough to begin.

    With love and best wishes always,
    Susy

    —

    by

    Susy Rosemary
    in , ,

    Starting over at 50 means learning to trust yourself again—even when you don’t feel ready. How are you? I hope you’re well. This week is about starting something new as a woman over 50. I started something new yesterday—I went to the gym and did a Pilates class. I did not want to go. It…