Finding Ourselves in Midlife

Hey, you.

We did it. Eighteen days.

Before I say anything else, I just want to tell you how grateful I am that you stayed with me through all eighteen days.

When I started writing these letters, I thought I was preparing my heart for the Camino. I thought I was getting myself emotionally ready to leave home for thirty-one days.

I had no idea how much we would uncover before I ever took the first step.

We have talked about grief, family, chronic illness, people-pleasing, boundaries, trust, starting over, letting go, and even those strange days when you feel absolutely nothing.

Some days I cried while I wrote to you. Some days I laughed. And there were definitely days when I stared at the screen and wondered what in the world I had gotten myself into.

And here we are. I am proud of what we have walked through together.

There is one last thing on my heart before I go.

Were we ever really lost?

Have you ever wondered if somewhere along the way, you lost yourself?

I hear women say it all the time: I don't even know who I am anymore. I need to find myself again.

I have said it too. I have sat right in the middle of that feeling, starting over and moving through more changes at once than I thought I could handle.

But lately I have been wondering if we were ever really lost.

We built lives. We showed up for our families. We raised children, worked, kept things moving, and lived through things other people never saw. We said yes when we wanted to say no because somebody needed us, or because saying no felt harder.

Somewhere along the way, we became the reliable one, the strong one, the peacekeeper, the mom, the wife, the person everybody knew they could call.

And while we were busy being all of those things, parts of us got quieter. For me, it was my voice. It was my identity. If I am completely honest with you, I cannot even tell you exactly when it happened. I just remember looking around one day and realizing I did not completely recognize myself anymore.

I got so good at saying, I'm fine, that eventually people stopped asking. Social media probably made that easier too. People see the pictures, the smile, the things you are doing, and assume you are strong enough to carry all of it.

Sometimes the strong one is just hoping somebody notices she is tired too.

That was me.

Then midlife has a way of turning the volume up.

Your children need you differently. Your body starts asking for your attention. Relationships shift. Things you tolerated for years suddenly do not sit the same way. And somewhere in all of that, you start asking questions you may not have had room to ask before: What do I want? What do I believe? What do I need? Who am I when I am not performing one of the roles I have carried for years?

I loved the life I had built, and I could still feel that parts of it no longer fit me the same way. I would look in the mirror and see a woman changing in front of me. That scared me.

I did not know what to do with that feeling. I only knew I could not keep disappearing inside a life I had worked so hard to build.

That is where Silent to Spoken came from.

I wrote the book I needed when I was sitting in the messy middle of my own life. I needed somebody to tell me that boundaries did not make me cruel. Grief did not make me ungrateful. Changing did not mean I had failed. Wanting something for myself did not mean I loved my family any less.

And somewhere in writing it, I started to understand something.

Maybe finding ourselves in midlife is not really about finding someone who disappeared.

Maybe she was there all along. She just got quiet. And maybe this season is about learning how to hear her again.

Anchor Verse

I used to hear the words search me and immediately think about God looking for everything I had done wrong.

I hear it differently now.

Search me. Show me what is really here.

What do I believe because it is actually mine? What am I still carrying because somebody handed it to me years ago? What have I outgrown? What matters to me now?

And maybe the hardest question of all: what have I been too busy, too afraid, or too responsible to admit that I want?

God already knows the woman underneath every role I have carried.

Finding ourselves does not have to mean creating a brand-new woman. Maybe it means finally being willing to meet the woman He has known all along.

That is what these eighteen days have felt like to me.

Not fixing. Listening.

Camino History: the symbol we started with

Do you remember when we talked about the scallop shell in Letter Five? I wanted to come back to it today because it feels like the right place for us to end.

The shell is now one of the key symbols associated with pilgrimage to Santiago, and you can still see it everywhere; on signs, on markers, in artwork, on backpacks, and in pictures of Saint James, who is shown as a pilgrim.

But eighteen days later, something different about that shell stands out to me.

A pilgrim can start somewhere completely different, walk a completely different road, and still recognize that shell.

It says something simple.

You are on the way.

I think we need markers like that in midlife too.

We are not starting from the same place, and we are not carrying the same story. One woman is becoming an empty nester. Another is rebuilding after divorce. Someone else is changing careers, caring for aging parents, grieving a friendship, learning a changing body, or simply realizing she has spent so long taking care of everybody else that she no longer knows what she wants.

Different roads. Still becoming.

And sometimes the things we learn while finding our own way become little markers for the woman walking behind us.

That is what I hope Silent to Spoken can be.

Not a map telling another woman exactly where to go.

Just a marker that says: I have stood here too. Keep going.

Our lives have markers too. The boundary you finally set. The thing you finally said out loud. The morning you chose yourself without apologizing for it. The prayer you whispered when you had no idea what came next.

Small signs that say: I am still on the way.

Dig Deeper

Psalm 139 does not end with search me.

It ends with lead me.

I noticed that today, and I cannot believe I had never really paid attention to it before.

David is willing to be known, and then he is willing to be led. Both, in the same breath.

That feels like the right place to end these eighteen days.

We have looked inward. We have named things we may have avoided naming. We have made room for grief, joy, fear, trust, anger, hope, and even silence.

Now comes the part where we walk.

I do not know what God will show me in Spain. I do not know exactly who I will be when I come home.

And for once, I do not think I need to know.

I know who is leaving.

A woman who has finally started listening to herself again.

Reflection

Be honest here. Nobody is reading this but you.

1. When I say I want to find myself, what am I actually looking for?
2. Which version of me has been loudest these last few years? Mom, wife, caregiver, employee, fixer, peacekeeper, the strong one, or something else?
3. What part of me has gotten quiet?
4. What have these eighteen days shown me that I do not want to forget?
5. What would it look like to listen to myself without immediately explaining, fixing, or judging what I hear?

Prayer

The Final Camino Challenge: Write Her a Letter

No worksheet today. No right answers. Just you and the woman who started this with me eighteen days ago.

Write her a letter.

• Tell her what you know now.
• Tell her what surprised you.
• Tell her what hurt.
• Tell her what you are proud of.
• Tell her what you are prepared to leave behind, and what you want to carry forward.

Then finish with one sentence.

The woman I am becoming is ______.

You do not have to finish that sentence perfectly.

Neither do I.

Before We Go

If you have been here since Letter One, thank you. Thank you for trusting me with pieces of your story while I trusted you with mine.

This was never supposed to become eighteen days of fixing ourselves.

It became eighteen days of listening. And I think that might be where finding ourselves actually begins.

I know you may not be getting on a plane to Spain. Your Camino may be happening right where you are standing.

Maybe your children are leaving home. Maybe your marriage or friendships are changing. Maybe your career does not fit anymore. Maybe your body is asking you to pay attention. Or maybe you have spent so many years being who everybody needed that you honestly do not know what you need now.

You do not have to figure out your whole life today.

Just pause long enough to listen.

Your voice is still there. Mine is too.

And now I am going to Spain, walking from silent to spoken. Listening for His voice, finding mine, and learning along The Way.

This is the last letter in The Way series, but it is not goodbye.

I will be sharing from the road on Instagram and TikTok at @justjennboard. Daily posts, photographs, small moments, and whatever I have to say from the trail.

The Hey You letters will still be here. I will write when I have Wi-Fi and something on my heart.

And please keep writing to me. I have read every letter you have sent during these eighteen days, and I will keep reading from Spain. We may be walking different roads, but we can still walk them together.

All eighteen letters will stay right here. Come back whenever you need them. Start again at Letter One or send one to a woman who might need to hear what you needed to hear.

Thirty-one days. Three hundred and fifty miles. One step at a time.

What have these eighteen days shown you? Write me back below. I read every one, and I will be reading from Spain.