

The men in my house move through the world with the unbothered confidence of golden retrievers in human form.
I’m convinced they’ve never felt imposter syndrome a day in their lives.
I once joked that my son’s ego needed its own seat in my Mini Cooper.
He didn’t disagree. He shrugged and just buckled in. (I wish I were joking.)
My next thought was… “Must be nice”
The audacity.
The luxury.
The pure, uncut male confusion.
Meanwhile, you’re over here doing the psychological Cirque du Soleil routine women have been performing since birth:
Be confident, but not too confident.
Be smart, but pretend it’s an accident.
Shrink yourself just enough to be palatable, but still run the entire house, the emotional economy, and a business.
And as if the usual imposter-syndrome gymnastics weren’t enough, midlife comes with a brand-new villain not the loud one that screams “You’re too old,” but the quiet one.
The one that slips in through the back door and whispers things that sound almost reasonable:
Did I miss my chance?
Does anyone want what I have now?
Is it ridiculous to start over?
Does my relevance have an expiration date?
She’s sneaky like that.
Almost politely concerned, that bitch.
Like she’s doing you a favor, when really she’s just trying to hide the fact that she’s a hand-me-down lie in a concerned-friend costume.
Listen up, if teenage boys can wake up convinced they’re destined for greatness before they’ve even brushed their teeth, then surely midlife women with actual receipts, skills, bruises, brilliance, and a whole-ass life behind her can take up some damn space.
So yes, let’s take notes from teenage boys.
(God bless those annoying beasts.)
And let’s take up room.Subscribe
Your 20’s?
Those were for figuring out who the hell you were without the scaffolding of your childhood.
For making questionable choices, and trying desperately to be “chosen” by jobs, by lovers, by apartments with decent lighting.
Your 30’s?
Those were for being “good.”
For proving yourself.
For stability, responsibility, mortgages, marriage, babies, careers, burnout cycles, mini-crises, and entire identity deaths you didn’t have vocabulary for yet.
For doing everything you were supposed to do.
And now?
40’s and beyond?
This is the decade where everything finally snaps into place not because life is easier, but because you’re finally harder to knock over.
And you have less f*cks to give.
It wasn’t meant for your 20-year-old self.
She didn’t have the skills, the taste, the scars, the receipts, or the self-trust.
But you do.
Right now.
In this exact season.
Martha Stewart didn’t publish her first cookbook until 41.
Toni Morrison didn’t win the Pulitzer until 56.
Vera Wang didn’t enter fashion design until 40.
Julia Child didn’t become a household name until her fifties.
Arianna Huffington launched HuffPost at 55.
Lynda Weinman started Lynda.com at 42 and later sold it for $1.5B.
*Keep this list by your bedside.
*Tape it to your bathroom mirror.
Tattoo it on your frontal lobe if you must.
These women weren’t late.
They were right on time for their own brilliance.
And so are you.
Not theoretical pain.
Not “lesson learned” pain.
Real pain.
The kind that rearranges your priorities and your identity.
And here’s what pain teaches you:
what matters, what doesn’t, who you are, and who you’ll never be again.
You don’t build shallow brands after that.
You build brands with depth, compassion, anger, clarity, humor, edge.
Brands that know how to hold complexity because you know how to hold complexity.
You can’t teach that to a 24-year-old founder.
They haven’t lived enough life to source from.
People.
Dreams.
Expectations.
Old versions of themselves.
Certainty.
Loss gives you texture.
It gives you emotional vocabulary.
It makes you infinitely more empathetic and infinitely less bullshittable.
Great brands require both.
You spent your twenties trying to show you were capable.
Your thirties trying to show you were reliable.
By your forties, you’ve already proved it all.
Now the only person you’re interested in proving anything to…
is you.
Midlife founders build better brands because they lead from self-recognition, not self-doubt.
You’ve seen enough launches, enough trends, enough marketing hysterics, enough pivots to know what actually works.
You’re not impressed by noise.
You don’t chase (as many) shiny objects.
You recognize bullshit immediately.
Your brand becomes cleaner, sharper, and more timeless because you are.
This is a big one.
In your twenties you cling.
In your thirties you over-invest.
In your forties you walk away from anything that insults your soul.
That discernment?
That “no, actually, this isn’t for me”?
That’s how iconic brands are built.
Not by saying yes but by knowing when to say no and midlife founders know how to do this better than anyone.
They build better brands because they no longer tolerate misalignment.
This is the difference between a pretty brand and a powerful brand.
You have opinions now.
Convictions.
Philosophies.
Lived experience that shapes your lens.
Brand = worldview.
And midlife is when your worldview finally crystallizes.
Your twenties were cocky.
Your thirties were humbling.
Your forties are liberating.
Humility + confidence is the recipe for leadership.
You don’t tip into arrogance or insecurity you sit in the middle as someone who knows her worth and knows her edges.
That balance?
Damn near impossible to fake.
This is the deepest one.
At some point in midlife you get tired.
Not physically although some of that too but mostly, existentially.
Tired of pretending.
Tired of pleasing.
When the performance ends, the brand begins.
Midlife founders build from truth instead of approval.
Mothers.
Partners.
Bosses.
Teams.
Friends.
Family.
Everyone else got your effort first.
Midlife is the first time you say,
“I’m putting this energy toward myself.”
Brands built from reclaimed energy have a different frequency.
It’s gritty.
Alive.
Undeniable.
Maybe this is the real one.
You’re just not scared of yourself anymore.
You’ve met every version of you and pulled “her” a seat up to the table.
You’ve lived through things your younger self wouldn’t have survived.
You’ve outlasted seasons that should’ve taken you out.
You’ve buried old identities, outgrown relationships, carried people you loved, and carried people you shouldn’t have and you’re still here.
Somewhere along the way, the fear you used to have around your own power… just burned off.
Your life hasn’t been a detour.
It’s been the curriculum.
All those you thought you were “behind”? You were becoming the woman capable of building what’s calling you now. (let’s thank gawd for her)
And once you see your life that way not as a series of missteps, but as training
there’s only one question left:
What do you want to do with all that power now?
That’s where the permission slip begins.
Mine showed up late on a random weekday afternoon, inside a mastermind I’d paid thousands to join.
I was sitting there, taking notes I didn’t need, realizing I already knew everything that was being taught.
The woman leading it was brilliant — absolutely.
But the only real difference between her and me was this:
She had claimed it.
I hadn’t yet.
Arrival isn’t a feeling.
It’s a decision.
So I figure… if a teenage boy can buckle his ego into the passenger seat without shame,
then surely you can give yours a place in the car.
Strap her in.
Give her the window seat.
Let her pick the playlist.
And drive.
I’ll meet you there.