Why So Many Women in Midlife Think They're the Only OneWhy So Many Women in Midlife Think They're the Only OneWhy So Many Women in Midlife Think They're the Only OneWhy So Many Women in Midlife Think They're the Only One

A few weeks ago, I wrote a post on LinkedIn about being let go from a company after twenty-five years.

I didn't expect much. I have written honestly before and mostly heard from a handful of people.

This time was different. The messages didn't stop. I'm going through this right now. I've been through this too. I didn't know losing a job could hurt this much.

And then, again and again, one more line. I didn't know I was allowed to talk about this.

It's the line that inspired my latest podcast episode.

The Silence We Were Taught

As women, especially in midlife, we are practiced at carrying on. Taking care of the people and the things, moving forward no matter what's actually going on underneath.

So much of what we live through in this season has been taboo to say out loud for a long time. Perimenopause and menopause are finally becoming easier to talk about, but midlife is so much more than that.

A body changing in ways nobody warned us about. A marriage ending after decades of building a life around it. A house getting quieter because the people we raised are leaving. A parent who once took care of us now needing us to take care of them. A twenty-year career disappearing overnight.

Different circumstances, completely different lives. And somehow, we all have the same instinct in every single one of them: keep going. Don't make it anyone else's problem. Figure it out quietly, because that's what we've always done.

Why Carrying On Quietly Gets Rewarded

Nobody ever showed us we're allowed to slow down, acknowledge what we've been through, and say out loud that we're not okay. If anything, we were shown the opposite by every woman before us who never said anything either.

Part of why the silence holds so tightly is that carrying on quietly gets rewarded. Someone who keeps going without complaining is called strong or low-maintenance. Those are meant as compliments, and I understand why they land that way.

Nobody means to teach that. But we learn it anyway, and we keep being that version long after it stops being true.

The Real Question Underneath

Take something like losing a job. It's not a secret. People around you know. But even the people closest to you often don't know how to bring it up.

When it does come up, it's almost always framed the same way. So what's next? What kind of role are you going to look for? With a partner, it turns into a financial conversation. What does this mean for the budget?

Both of those conversations are practical, and the practical side matters. But neither one leaves room for the real question underneath. How am I feeling about this? What is this doing to how I see myself, how I value myself?

Nobody's asking those questions, not because they don't care, but because most people genuinely don't know how. So the conversation stays on the surface, while the real experience, the grief, the identity questions, the fear, stays exactly where it's always stayed. Unspoken and carried alone.

What Permission Actually Looks Like

The response to that LinkedIn post was proof of something bigger than one post. Sharing a story gives other women the chance to recognize themselves. I didn't know this could hurt so much. I didn't know other people felt this way. I didn't know I was allowed to talk about this.

That last one is not a communication problem. It's about permission.

It took a stranger on the internet sharing a hard moment publicly for some of these women to feel permission to say anything at all. Not a friend. Not a sister. A post. Which tells me the permission simply hadn't existed for them yet, and once it did, everything they'd been holding onto came out all at once.

Most of us are waiting for someone else to go first. And most of us never do, which means the silence just keeps passing from one woman to the next.

What I Learned About Needing People

For a long time, I told myself I didn't need this kind of connection. I was independent. Responsible. Already so busy, where would I even fit it in?

Looking back, that belief was doing a lot of work for me. If I told myself I didn't have time for connection, I never had to test whether I actually needed it.

Being busy was a much more comfortable story than being alone.

What I've learned since is that real community gives you something different each day. Some days you need to say what's going on. Other days you just want to be near other women living something similar, without having to explain any of it. Some days you want someone else's story, not advice, because hearing it helps you see your own differently.

What matters most underneath all of it is the chance to be heard. Not fixed. Not managed. Just having space held for you to feel whatever comes up.

Where This Leaves You

If any of this sounds familiar, you were never meant to experience midlife alone. And you were never meant to figure out the next step by yourself.

You don't have to be the one who goes first for someone else before you can be honest with yourself. You're allowed to say it out loud, even just to yourself, even just once.

I've been building something for exactly this kind of season. It's called The Courageous Community, and it opens in September. It's a space to say the things you've been quietly keeping to yourself, and to be around other women in the same season without having to explain any of it.

If this is the season you're in, you can add your name to the waitlist here: https://www.thecourageousmiddle.com/the-courageous-middle-community

Reminder: you have always been courageous for everyone else; it's time to turn the courage inwards.