I wasn’t prepared for what came back.

Not the questions, those I expected. It was the DMs. Private ones. Women who’d been watching quietly, not commenting publicly, not wanting to be seen. Ashamed. Carrying this alone. Asking me things they clearly hadn’t felt safe asking anyone else.

That’s what this piece is about. Not the medication. The silence around it.

The belief I carried for two years

I called it aging naturally.

What I actually meant, if I’m honest, was: accept the changes, don’t make a fuss, don’t need too much help. Move through midlife with as little intervention as possible. I told myself it was dignity. I told myself it was wisdom.

It took me two years to say yes to HRT. Two years of symptoms I now know didn’t have to be that bad. Night sweats. Brain fog. Anxiety that came from nowhere. Not recognising myself in the mirror or in my own reactions. I had a gynaecologist who suggested HRT early. I thanked her and moved on.

I was going to age naturally, remember.

Within 24 hours of starting HRT, some of my symptoms were almost gone. Within days, I felt like I’d come back to myself from somewhere very far away. That’s not a metaphor. That’s what it felt like.

Then came the next question.

When my GP suggested GLP-1

I hadn’t gone looking for it. My menopause GP raised it at a follow-up. She looked at the full picture: a waist circumference of 94cm (20+ more than my normal), prediabetes, metabolic dysfunction, a strong family history of heart disease and diabetes, 25kg of weight gained over three years that hadn’t shifted despite everything I knew how to try. And I knew a lot. I was a qualified weight management coach.

She said:

Everything you’ve been doing isn’t working, and the way you’ve been doing it isn’t sustainable. There’s another option.

My first thought?

This is the easy way out.

I’m telling you that because I think most of the women reading this have had exactly that thought, or will have it. The cheating thought. The idea that if you didn’t earn your results through sheer willpower and suffering, they somehow don’t count. That you need help means you failed a test that the rest of us passed.

I didn’t take her word for it immediately. That’s not how I’m built. I consulted an obesity doctor. I did my research. I did my own risk analysis.

The risks of staying where I was, metabolically, were greater than the risks of the medication.

That calculus was mine and my doctors’ to make together.

But I want to be honest about that first thought. Because it almost stopped me.

What GLP-1 actually does (and doesn’t do)

Here’s the concept I keep coming back to, because I think it’s the most honest way to describe it.

It opens a window.

It doesn’t walk through the window for you. It doesn’t furnish the room on the other side. What it does is create a biological window of capacity that, for many women in midlife, has been jammed shut by a combination of hormonal disruption, metabolic dysfunction, decision fatigue, and a nervous system running perpetually at capacity.

The work was still entirely mine. Three to four strength sessions a week. Two runs. 130g of protein daily, 30g of fibre, minimum. Four DEXA scans to track what was actually happening in my body rather than guessing. Working closely with my exercise physiologist, my menopause GP, and a dietitian.

The medication didn’t do this. I did. The medication made it biologically possible to do it without white-knuckling every single day.

What 18 months of data actually looks like

I shared my weight chart on Instagram stories over the weekend. Starting weight around 93kg in late 2024, sitting around 71-72kg now. That’s not a quick fix. That’s 18 months of consistent work.

More importantly to me than the scale: my lean muscle mass is in the optimal range. My visceral fat, which was the genuine health concern, is now in a healthy range. My bone density is strong. These are the numbers that matter for the next thirty years of my life, not the number on the scale.

My goals were never really about weight. They were about recovering from chronic fatigue. About having the body composition to support me into older age. About preventing the diabetes that my family is riddled with. About being able to run, lift, and keep up with my life.

I’m doing all of that now.

Why I’m writing the book

I am not glorifying medication use. I’m not naive about the risks. I worked in joint decision-making with multiple health professionals, and we weighed up what staying the same would cost me against what getting support alongside genuine lifestyle change could offer.

None of us are getting out alive. The quality of life I was living was not sustainable.

The DMs I got after sharing my stories on Instagram tell me there are a lot of women sitting in exactly the place I was sitting. They’ve been handed a prescription with no context. No framework. No “here’s what actually needs to happen for this to work.” Just a script and a wave goodbye.

That’s the book. The belief that almost stopped me. The biology. The window theory. The muscle and protein work nobody warns you about. The hormones-first framework. The full data. And how to have this conversation with your own doctor.

I’ve written the first chapter, and I’m giving it away free. Grab it here, and I’ll send it straight to you.

Robyn x

Not medical advice. Always work with your healthcare team.

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I finished a 10km run on Saturday. Without stopping. Not once.

That probably sounds unremarkable to a lot of people. But if you’ve been here for a while, you’ll know that a couple of years ago, this body was barely functioning. I was exhausted, inflamed, gaining weight without explanation, and genuinely unsure whether I’d ever feel capable again. Running wasn’t even on the radar.

So, Saturday. The Noosa Runaway. Yeah.

The event itself was everything this place does well: ridiculous energy, stunning scenery, people of every age and fitness level turning up and doing the thing. There’s something unexpectedly emotional about running in a straight line toward something with hundreds of other people around you.

I had one goal going in: don’t stop. No pace target. No time goal. Just keep moving until I cross the finish line.

What I didn’t expect was how comfortable it would feel. I ran conservatively from the start because I didn’t want to blow up early. I even said to Dad at one point during the run, “I think I can push harder, but I want to enjoy it,” but I decided I’d rather enjoy the process than prove something. That’s a different kind of headspace than I’ve had before.

Dad is 71, a personal trainer, and spends his time running group fitness sessions and motivational speaking for senior community groups. He ran every single step at my pace. Didn’t push. Didn’t talk when I didn’t want to talk. Just... ran alongside me the entire way. I don’t have the words for what that meant.

Pat, my husband, ran his own race ahead of us. His goal was to beat my mum’s personal best on this course (family competition runs deep). He did it.

My friend ran with us too, but much faster. And my amazing gym crew was waiting at the finish line, which was, honestly, the icing on the cake.

One of the things I noticed along the way was how many people I’d assumed were much fitter than me were walking stretches of the course. I don’t say that to be superior, I say it because I’d spent the weeks leading up to this event quietly convinced I’d be the one walking. The comparison trap is real, and it’s almost always wrong.

After we crossed the line, we hit Betty’s Burgers, and I inhaled one without a single regret.

Living here still gets me. Noosa is genuinely one of those places people travel across the country and around the world to visit. The November triathlon attracts global participants. I get to live here year-round. Not lost on me.

So, what’s next?

I have another 10km event next month, possibly another in August. My training plan is evolving based on what I’ve been learning about what my body actually needs at this stage of the rebuild, and I’ll share more on that soon, including the specific changes to my training goals and strategies I'm making and why.

For now, though: 10km. No stops. Dad and my hubs by my side. Betty’s burger. That’s a very good Saturday.

This run didn't happen in isolation. It happened because I spent the last couple of years rebuilding from the ground up, one pillar at a time. If you're at the beginning of that process, Choose Yourself is where I'd tell you to start.

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Were you doing something hard this week, big or small? Tell me about it below.

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So something happened on Instagram and Facebook last week.

I shared about my GLP-1 use.

Many commented CHOOSE.

Which told me two things. One, you’re curious about the results. And two, you’re really curious about the GLP-1 part.

So let’s talk about it properly. Because you deserve more than a caption.

First, some context.

I was not prescribed a GLP-1 because I wanted to lose weight.

I was prescribed one because I had metabolic syndrome. Prediabetes. Visceral fat at 124cm², which sits firmly in the high-risk category. And a family history of heart disease and diabetes that made my GP and me both take that number seriously.

This wasn’t a cosmetic decision. It was, genuinely, about survival. About reducing my risk of becoming another statistic in a family that has not been kind to its women metabolically. I was also supporting my mother with her own health challenges, which put my doctor and me on high alert for my own health span.

And I want to be clear about that every single time I talk about this. Because the conversation around GLP-1s is so loaded right now, and I refuse to add to the noise.

What it actually did.

Within weeks, my appetite normalised in a way it hadn’t in years. The constant mental chatter around food quieted. I wasn’t limiting myself to 800 calories a day or a certain food group. I wasn’t obsessing, bargaining, or white-knuckling through meals. For the first time, food just became... food.

My blood sugar stabilised. My visceral fat decreased from 124 cm² to 58.3 cm² over the course of a year. The DEXA scan data doesn’t lie.

But here’s what I need you to hear.

The GLP-1 created a window. That’s all. A window of biological capacity where things became possible that hadn’t been possible before. What I did with that window was entirely up to me.

What the GLP-1 did NOT do.

It did not get me to the gym.

It did not make me hit 130 grams of protein a day. It did not tell me to prioritise fibre, take my supplements, sort out my gut health with my naturopath, or go to bed at a reasonable hour instead of doom-scrolling until midnight.

It did not build the lean muscle I’ve built through progressive overload at the gym.

It did not optimise my hormones. That was HRT, and honestly, testosterone getting my energy back was the prerequisite for everything else. Without that, none of the rest would have been possible.

I did all of that. Alongside the medication, not because of it.

And this is the part that gets lost in the GLP-1 conversation on both sides.

The people who say it’s a magic bullet are wrong. The people who say it’s cheating are also wrong.

The truth is more nuanced and frankly more interesting than either camp wants to admit.

The thing about willpower.

I spent years thinking I had a willpower problem.

Turns out I had a hormone problem, a metabolic problem, and a perimenopause problem. My body was working against me in ways I didn’t yet have the language for.

The GLP-1 didn’t give me willpower. It removed some of the biological noise so I could actually hear myself think. So I could make choices that weren’t being constantly overridden by a dysregulated system.

That’s not cheating. That’s medicine doing what medicine is supposed to do.

But... and this is important... the choices still had to be made. Every single day. That part was still mine.

Where I’m at now.

Four strength sessions and two runs per week. Protein target of 130-140 grams a day, 30g of fibre. which I will tell you is not easy and requires genuine planning, but once you have it, it can be set-and-forget.

DEXA scans are the best way to see how I’m tracking. Ensuring I am preserving and building lean muscle, not just losing fat. The data will tell me, but so far, the approach is working.

Why am I telling you all of this?

Because I am acutely aware that I am not just talking into a void.

A lot of you are in the thick of perimenopause, and you are exhausted, and you have tried everything, and nothing is working, and you are starting to wonder if this is just who you are now.

It is not who you are. It’s what your hormones are doing. And there is a difference.

I’m not your doctor. I’m not giving you medical advice. What I am doing is sharing my lived experience and the research I’ve obsessively done, because I was once the woman who needed to hear that it could get better, and I didn’t have anyone telling me that.

So, here I am. Telling you.

It can get better. The path looks different for everyone. Mine involved HRT, a GLP-1, an exercise physiologist, a naturopath, a psychologist, a lot of protein, and approximately twenty tabs open at all times.

Yours might look completely different. That’s okay.

But I hope somewhere in my story, you find a thread back to yourself.

Robyn x

Not medical advice. Always work with your healthcare team.

If you want the full framework I used, my guide, Choose Yourself, is available now.

If you’re sitting with questions about GLP-1s and want the honest answers, I’ve put together a free guide covering the five things I wish someone had told me before I started. It’s called GLP-1 and Midlife: The 5 Things I Wish Someone Had Told Me, and it’s free.

Grab it here.

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I went to the cinema to see Michael yesterday.

And before you say anything, yes, I know. Biopics are creative interpretations. They take liberties. They’re not documentaries. So just to be clear from the outset, I’m not here to pass judgment on a real person’s life. I’m here to talk about what the story made me feel, and more specifically, the thoughts I haven’t been able to switch off since I walked out of that cinema.

Fair warning. If you haven’t seen it yet, I’m keeping this spoiler-free. But you probably already know the broad strokes.

Here’s the question I keep turning over.

Would he have been as great if he’d had a different father?

And I don’t mean “would he have been successful.” I mean... would he have been that extraordinary? Is exceptional trauma somehow the engine that drives exceptional artistry? Or was that level of greatness always baked in, and the abuse just made the whole thing messier and more tragic than it needed to be?

I genuinely don’t know. But I can’t stop thinking about it.

The other thing I couldn’t stop noticing was how his neurodivergence was woven through the story. Not labelled. Not announced. Just... there, if you know what you’re looking for. The way he moved through life. The way he couldn’t be still. The way the environment felt wrong for him in a way that probably couldn’t have been articulated at the time.

I recognised it.

And then there was the animals thing. I learnt recently from my psychologist that people on the spectrum often have a stronger connection to animals than to people. It’s not a quirk. It’s a pattern. So when I saw that play out on screen, I wasn’t surprised. I just thought, of course.

Here’s what I keep coming back to, though.

What happens when neurodivergent people get to fully inhabit their gifts rather than spend their energy performing something they’re not?

Because that’s the other edge of this. So much of what we ask of neurodivergent kids, and honestly, neurodivergent adults, is conformity. Sit still. Follow the structure. Do it the ‘normal’ way. And I think there’s a version of that story where the extraordinary gets quietly sanded down in the name of fitting in.

The movie also made me think about what we’ve lost creatively as a culture. The big, weird, boundary-pushing artists. The ones who didn’t seem to care whether their work was palatable or mainstream-friendly. Where have they gone? I have a theory that it’s partly because we’ve built systems (social media, algorithms, cancel culture, call it what you want) that punish the edges. And the edges are often where the neurodivergent brain lives.

Maybe that’s the real cost of forcing conformity. Not just on the individual, but on all of us.

Anyway. A lot of thoughts for a Sunday afternoon at the movies.

Have you seen it? I’d love to know what it stirred up for you, whether you’re neurodivergent yourself or just a person who finds themselves thinking about these things late at night when you should really be asleep.

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Which, honestly, same.

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There's a specific kind of disorientation that nobody talks about in midlife. You've done or are doing the work. Maybe you've lost weight, or started exercising properly, or finally got your hormones sorted. You look in the mirror, and something is better.

But something else feels... off.

Your clothes don't quite fit the person you're becoming.

You grab the same things you always have, and they feel wrong, but you don't know why, and you definitely don't know what to replace them with. That low-grade style paralysis? Completely normal. Also completely fixable. This post is for you if you're somewhere in that in-between

If you missed my first post about Jade from The Seasonal Stylist (sidenote: she’s an ex-Chiropractor, so if anyone knows bodies, she does, and she’s just pivoted from one form of healing to another), the short version is this: I discovered I’m a True Autumn, had something of a colour epiphany, and promptly fell down a very satisfying rabbit hole. Classic me.

Well. I went back.

And honestly, Jade made it inevitable. She’d been posting these incredible before-and-afters of celebrities, same person, same body, completely different impact depending on whether they were dressed to their lines or not. I became invested in each post.

Obsessed.

Then my own jeans post went semi-viral, and half the internet spent a week arguing that the photos were AI-generated, two outfits, days apart, same body, completely different story.

That was the moment I thought, okay. I need to understand what is actually happening here, because clearly, there is a science to this, and I have been operating without it for 49 years. With a wardrobe overhaul well overdue and almost-50 on the horizon, I booked session two.

First, a quick confession

Can I be honest about something? Losing weight over the past 18 months has been brilliant for my health and energy. But no one warned me that it would also come with this strange, untethered feeling around my own image. Like, I got my body back but lost my style compass in the process.

It actually reminded me a lot of how I felt postpartum. You look in the mirror and think, okay, I know this person... but also, who ARE you right now?

With almost 50 on the horizon, I decided this was the moment to build something intentional. Not a wardrobe I’d assembled by accident or desperation, but one that actually makes sense for who I am now, in this body, at this stage.

Enter: session two with Jade.

The Kibbe system

So Jade works with the Kibbe body typing system, which goes well beyond the “are you an apple or a pear” stuff we’ve all been served for decades. It looks at your bone structure, your flesh, your overall lines, and works out how clothing can honour all of that rather than fight it.

I discovered am a Flamboyant Natural. My essence is Classic.

Flamboyant Natural, for those playing at home, is all about relaxed, flowing, slightly undone energy. Natural fabrics, easy silhouettes, nothing too fussy. And Classic essence means I actually crave order, structure and elegance underneath all of that. (Anyone who has seen my spreadsheets will not be surprised.)

The combination of these two, apparently, is why I feel most like myself in a well-cut linen shirt and quality jeans, rather than anything overly embellished or trend-driven. Good to have confirmation that my instincts weren’t completely off, and now I know how to shop best.

The jacket moment

Please don’t judge the under angle - my most flattering yet hehe

Here is where I had a genuine revelation, and also felt mildly betrayed by everything I thought I knew.

I have always assumed I should wear cropped jackets. Waist-length. Classic hourglass logic, right? Stop at the smallest point, emphasise the waist, done.

Wrong.

For a Flamboyant Natural, the right jacket length is either to the hip/upper thigh or all the way to the ankle. Cropped cuts off the vertical line and breaks the easy, elongated look that actually flatters my proportions.

I have been shortening my line for years with the best laid intentions.

The same goes for skirts and pants. Either mini or floor length. Midi? A hard no. Midi cuts me off right where I don’t want to be cut off.

This is why I favour bike shorts or full-length leggings with my activewear, and when I do wear my cropped leggings, I feel stumpy.

I walked out of that session and immediately looked at my wardrobe with new eyes. Some things passed the test. Others did not.

Op-shopping with a plan (a very Classic Essence thing to do)

This weekend I ended up at a charity shop event. One of those overwhelming, everything-is-everywhere affairs that normally would have me walking out empty-handed and mildly stressed.

This time? I had a framework. I knew what I was looking for. Relaxed silhouettes, natural fabrics, the right lengths, my True Autumn palette. I moved through that shop with actual confidence and came home with pieces I love.

That felt significant.

A message that made me smile

A friend reached out after her own session with Jade (she coincidentally had her session immediately after mine). She’s a completely different shape and essence.

She had shared that she was very keen to try the jeans I had purchased after seeing my viral post.

Yes. Exactly that.

What’s next

I’m now weeks out from a trip to New Zealand, which is possibly the most motivated I have ever been to go charity shopping with a printed checklist. With cooler weather than I’ve experienced in a long time, which means layers, knitwear, and all the earthy autumn tones I’m now fully licensed to wear.

My ADHD brain is, predictably, in full deep-dive mode. I’m researching Kibbe. I’m rewatching Essence explainers. I’m standing in front of my wardrobe making decisions with actual reasoning behind them instead of just grabbing whatever feels fine.

It feels like building something. A blueprint, almost. One that will outlast trends and serve me as I move through this next chapter.

And honestly? That’s exactly what I needed.

Have you done any colour or body-type analysis? I’d love to know. Drop it in the comments below.

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The wardrobe rebuild is just one piece. The bigger project, the one I wrote a whole book about, is rebuilding your entire life with intention in midlife. Health, habits, identity, all of it. Choose Yourself is that book. Link below.

Link to ebook

The jeans post drew a wave of naysayers convinced I was lying. And honestly? At first, I felt defensive. Who are these strangers on the internet to tell me that isn’t my body?

Then I sat with it and realised, we live in a time where it’s genuinely hard to know what’s real. Filters, AI, paid promotions masquerading as honest content. The scepticism makes sense. If we’re raising our kids to think critically about what they see online, then fair play to anyone applying that same lens to me.

For what it’s worth, I didn’t put my face in the original images because I have teenagers. I am already an embarrassment for simply existing. Putting my whole body on the internet for the world to see felt like a step too far. Then I remembered I’m perimenopausal and I am slowly, gloriously, running out of concern for what anyone thinks of me. My eldest kept telling me to stop defending it. He’s probably right.

The whole reason I shared it in the first place was that I genuinely couldn’t believe how much difference a pair of jeans could make without losing a single kilogram. And since posting, I’ve had more messages and comments than I can count from women who went out, bought the same pair, and had the exact same reaction. Maybe Kmart owes me a commission.

Clothes matter, people! And I’m pushing 50 and just learning how to dress my body now!

Between Instagram and Facebook, the posts clocked over a million views. My Substack stats went a little wild, too, which means there are a lot of new faces around here this week.

👋 Hi, if that’s you. Welcome. You’ve landed in a corner of the internet where we talk honestly about midlife: the body changes, the identity shifts, the wardrobe crises, the perimenopause plot twists, and occasionally the surprisingly excellent jeans from Kmart. I’m really glad you’re here.

I’d love to hear from you in the comments. Where did you find me, and what brings you here? Or if you have a question about anything, jeans, midlife, or all of the above, drop it below.

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Anyway. I’m slowly building my capsule wardrobe with actual intention for the first time in my life, and in two weeks, I have another styling session with Jade from The Seasonal Stylist to work on body architecture/lines and essence, which I cannot wait for. The goal is a wardrobe that feels relaxed, effortless and actually like me at this stage of life.

I’m getting there. And I’m enjoying the process more than I expected.

And if you think the jeans transformation was mind-blowing, just wait. I've been sitting on something for a few weeks that I can't wait to share. For the last three months, the scales haven't moved. Not a gram. And yet my body has been completely changing. I have the scans to prove it. More on that very soon.

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The wardrobe rebuild is just one piece. The bigger project, the one I wrote a whole book about, is rebuilding your entire life with intention in midlife. Health, habits, identity, all of it. Choose Yourself is that book. Link below.

Link to ebook

A few things have converged at once. Since 2024, I’ve lost nearly a quarter of my body weight and intend to keep it off. My lifestyle has changed. My body shape has changed. And I’m at that very specific midlife crossroads of wanting to dress my age...

and also really not wanting to dress my age.

It started with conversations with close friends going through the same rebuild. We’re all navigating the same thing, figuring out how to dress the body and the life we actually have now, not the one from a decade ago. We’re not alone in this.

And for the record: wanting to look good is not vain. What you wear is a form of self-expression. It communicates something about how you feel about yourself, and that matters.

The practical problem, for me, is decision fatigue. I have a whole wardrobe of clothes, yet I consistently wear the same six things. Classic ADHD behaviour.

So the goal isn’t more clothes, it’s an intentional capsule built around the pieces I actually need, that works hard, reflects who I am, and takes the daily decision out of the equation.

Not the Zuckerberg “same outfit every day” approach, but close. Do the hard work now, reap the benefits for years.

This naturally sent me down a rabbit hole (hello, ADHD brain) that started with a colour palette session with Jade from Seasonal Stylist last year. Turns out we don’t just have a colour season, we also have a body type. And not the tired old apple/pear shape language that basically coaches you into hiding yourself or trying to look like something you’re not. More of the Kibbe method and essence typing working with your own body architecture and personality, rather than against them.

I am almost 50. I have been wearing activewear and Bali dresses for approximately one thousand years. It is time.

So I went shopping for jeans.

God. How traumatic.

I tried Ralph Lauren, cute, but couldn’t get the sizing right. I tried Levi’s, the sales assistant was wonderful, actually measured me properly, told me I have a long torso and shorter legs, and explained exactly why nothing was fitting. Great diagnosis. Still nothing fit.

They either weren’t high enough to hit my waist, or high enough but not wide enough for my thighs.

Then, on a complete whim, I tried on a pair of high-waisted wide-leg jeans at Kmart.

Perfect fit. Fits my waist and my thighs. I bought them in four colours.

I am now deep in research on body lines, architecture, and essence because this isn’t just about looking good (though, yes, also that).

It’s about having a framework so I can be truly intentional about every piece I bring in from here.

Also, can we talk about the fact that my true autumn palette is basically everywhere right now, the warm burgundies, olive and khaki, the deep earthy tones, the rich ochres. Finally. My moment. And once I have my blueprint properly mapped, the plan is to use it as a filter everywhere, including charity shops. Get the foundation right, and suddenly a $4 op shop find becomes a strategic acquisition rather than a mistake hanging in your wardrobe with the tags still on.

If only someone would just shop for me. I’m not a billionaire. So here we are.

Has anyone else gone down this rabbit hole? Tell me I’m not the only one who bought four pairs of something because they were such a great fit I had to get them in multiple colours…

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Funny how getting your wardrobe right and getting your life right require the same thing, intention. Knowing what you actually want. Stopping the default. That's the whole premise of Choose Yourself, my book on midlife recalibration. If any of this is landing for you, it might be worth a read.

Link to ebook

If you’ve been around here for a while, you’ll know that’s a big deal. Because for most of my life, I have loudly, proudly declared that I am not a runner. Running was for other people. People who didn’t panic-breathe, as if they were being chased. People who didn’t flash back to school sports carnivals every time their lungs started burning.

My talent was belting a softball and being the mouthy catcher. Not running.

And yet. Here we are.

Ten weeks in. Twice a week. A 10km event is locked in for May. And something quietly shifting in how I think about myself.

Which brings me to something I’ve been sitting with lately, this idea that identity drives behaviour far more than willpower ever will.

I didn’t start running because I forced myself. I didn’t make a resolution or download a program in January, full of good intentions. It happened because something in me decided, almost without my noticing, to try on a new identity.

And once I started calling myself a runner, even tentatively, even with the puffing and the doubt and the “I nearly stopped today”, my decisions started to follow.

Early to bed the night before a run. Workout clothes laid out at the end of my bed. Running route planned. Shoes by the door. Not because I’m disciplined. Because that’s what runners do. And apparently now, I’m a runner.

This is the thing nobody tells you about change. We think we need to do things differently before we can be different. But it actually works the other way around.

You decide who you are first. Then you act from that place.

And I want to stop here for a second because I think this might be the missing piece for a lot of us.

Have you ever started something with the best intentions and then just… fallen off? The eating plan that worked for two weeks. The gym routine that lasted a month. The morning routine you were absolutely nailing until you weren’t. The boundary you set that quietly disappeared under enough pressure.

And then you told yourself you were lazy. Undisciplined. That you just couldn’t stick to things.

But what if it wasn’t about discipline at all?

What if the plan was never the problem because the identity never shifted?

Because here’s what I’ve noticed. When I was just “someone trying to get fit,” rest days felt like failure. Missed sessions felt like proof I couldn’t do it. Every imperfect week was evidence that I wasn’t cut out for it.

But when I became an athlete someone who trains for her health, her bones, her future, rest days became part of the plan. A missed session was just a missed session, not a character flaw. Because athletes don’t quit. They adjust.

The identity held the behaviour in place in a way that motivation never could.

So if you’ve fallen off a plan you really wanted to stick to I’d gently ask: did you ever actually decide to be that person? Or were you just trying to do the things, hoping the identity would follow?

It doesn’t work that way. The identity has to come first.

And here’s what’s got me really excited because this isn’t just about fitness. You can apply this question to every single area of your life.

How would a cool mum handle this moment? Not the mum who loses it over the wet towel on the floor for the fourth time this week. The cool mum. The one her kids will actually talk to about the hard stuff one day. Would she pick this battle? Would she say it with humour instead of heat? Honestly, asking that question mid-argument with a teenager has saved me more than once.

How would a woman who respects her own time respond to that request? The one that makes you resentful before you’ve even said yes. How would she answer? Probably not with an automatic yes and a quiet seethe.

How would a strong, healthy woman fuel herself today? Not perfectly. Not with restriction or guilt. But intentionally. Like someone who actually gives a damn about being around and capable for the long haul.

How would a woman who believes in her own work show up today? Would she shrink in that meeting? Would she discount her prices again? Would she apologise before she’d even said anything?

How would a good daughter handle this situation with her aging parent? With patience, she has to consciously choose. With presence instead of her phone (I’m still working on this). With the understanding that this season is finite, she’ll want to have shown up well.

The identity question cuts through the noise in a way that motivation and willpower simply don’t. Because motivation is a feeling it comes and goes. But identity is a decision. And decisions stick.

I’m not the most natural runner. I’m slow. I manage the heat. I negotiate with myself through the hard kilometres. But I show up twice a week without question. And I’m starting to understand that’s exactly what runners do.

So yes. I am a runner.

Now I want to ask you something and I want you to actually sit with it for a moment.

Is there an area of your life where you keep falling off the plan? Where you’ve tried and restarted and tried again and can’t figure out why it won’t stick?

Have you shifted the identity or have you just been changing the plan?

Drop it below. I think this conversation could be a really good one. 👇

I had been toying with the idea after chats with my exercise physiologist, but had yet to pull the trigger.

Until my parents came to stay over Christmas and New Year, and my dad, a 70-year-old ex-army and current personal trainer for over-50s, was up at 4 am every day to get his steps and runs in.

He gently encouraged me to join him for a run.

Pat then piped up and said he’d come too. He’s returning to fitness after his injury last year, so we were all probably at the same pace of fitness.

Now hear me when I say this. I have never, never enjoyed running or been a runner. Something about the gasping and panic breathing takes me back to school sports carnivals.

I was a representative softball player at school, but my talent was not in running bases. It was in playing mouthy catcher and belting the shit out of the ball as a batter.

But I’ve done several sporadic fun run events here and there over the years. Walking though. Yeah, walking, I can walk and walk and walk. So I guess running is the next frontier.

Cue the runner’s high post a 2.5km gentle run, and then I was getting interested enough to set a goal to run a local 10km in May.

Dad wrote me a gentle program, and lo and behold, I’m now running twice a week.

It’s not easy by any means, and I’m only ten runs in since I started. I’m now challenged with how to manage my runs around the heat, my current beloved strength training program, and the rest of my duties (mum life, work, social, rest, etc.), but I’m going to give it a good crack.

We’ve got a picturesque flat run event planned for late May, doing it with a couple of friends and Dad, and I’m working on my fitness and mindset.

Let me tell you, it’s such a mind game.

Yesterday was my hardest run yet. I think I was dehydrated, it was windy, and I almost gave up. But the distances are still short, and I kept reminding myself that I would be proud of my effort once I got to the end and rather than stop, I just slowed my pace.

It’s wonderful having something concrete to work towards and to remind myself and my family that we can do hard things and get out of our comfort zone.

What’s surprised me most, though, is what’s happened since I started sharing this on my Facebook page.

I’ve been getting loads of messages from women either returning to running or giving it a shot themselves. Not because I’m doing anything impressive, but because I’m sharing it as it is. The puffing. The doubts. The messy middle.

And honestly, that’s what’s keeping me going.

I really believe women, in particular, are inspired by community and communication rather than perfection. Most of us don’t need another expert or a polished before-and-after story.

We need to see someone we recognise doing it alongside us.

Every time one woman says, “I’m finding this hard, but I’m showing up anyway,” it quietly gives another permission to try. It becomes a loop. I share, they’re encouraged, they reach out, and suddenly I’m inspired right back.

That kind of connection matters. Especially in midlife. Especially when we’re navigating change.

I do still need to manage my competitiveness (aka comparing my stats to my husband, which I’ve now learnt is just not fair as men definitely have different systems and also aren’t battling the hormonal shifts like a perimenopausal woman, or comparing myself to more conditioned and experienced runner friends), but for now I’m focusing on following and trusting the gentle program I’ve been given and moving towards the goal.

Which is to complete a 10km run event in May and not walk away injured.

Tomorrow, February 1, 2026, the preorder for my new ebook Choose Yourself closes, and it’s still $10 off.

If you’ve been craving connection, clarity, and a reminder that you’re not doing this alone, it’s for you.

Preorder Ebook Choose Yourself

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This Australia Day
I’m reflecting on how far I’ve come.

Several years ago, I was a shell of the person I am now.

I couldn’t quite name it, but joy had quietly packed up and left.

Energy gone.
Self belief gone.
Cognition gone.
Joy gone.
Social life gone.

I told myself it was life.
Family life.
The economy.
Post pandemic stress.

Then chronic fatigue set in.
Panic attacks followed.
The desire to disappear was strong.

Where had I gone?

I asked for help but didn’t get answers.
I was even gaslit by a doctor.

I became too tired to keep pushing for solutions.
Life felt dull, and I honestly wondered what it was all for.

The last few years have been a slow rebuild.
Not going back, but building a new midlife version of me.

What changed?

A podcast.
For the first time, I felt understood.

Maybe this wasn’t just life.
Maybe it was deeper.

A Facebook support group.
Self-education.
Community.
Women walking the same path.
Language for what I was experiencing.
Confidence to start advocating for myself.

And finally, healthcare practitioners who understood.
They existed.

Light started to appear at the end of the tunnel.

Small changes followed.
Added slowly, as my energy and mental health allowed.
Not doing everything at once.

Learning to love the journey, not the outcome.
Two steps forward, one step back.

Finding support.
Connecting with women who weren’t ashamed to share their stories.
Women who could sit with you in the dark.

I returned to my beloved gym.
Just one day a week.
Something I could commit to.

I stopped pushing through.

I communicated my needs to my family with honesty and care and let’s be honest, sometimes rage.
I learned healthy boundaries.

Is it entirely perimenopause?

Maybe not.

Maybe it’s a perfect storm.
Hormones.
Modern life.
The sandwich generation.

But I created what I needed when I was stuck, depressed and lost.

This is my lived experience.
The tools and steps that helped me find my way back to joy, resilience and peace.

It’s not perfect.
I’m not the after.
I’m the during.

Every midlife journey is unique.
But my hope is that by sharing our stories, we help each other not give up.

And we keep choosing ourselves 🤍

Only 1 week left to preorder at the $10 off prelaunch price.
Grab your copy here.

PREORDER Choose Yourself

Lately, I’ve been quietly having more and more conversations with women who say,

“I thought it was just me.”

Some are already on the other side of it.
Some are standing right at the beginning, wondering if this is what they are experiencing now.

And almost all of them say the same thing.

“I’m so relieved these conversations are finally happening.”

Because struggling in isolation is heavy.
And we’ve done that long enough.

One thing that keeps coming up again and again is the idea of pushing through.

For most of my life, pushing through was my superpower.

I was productive. High achieving. Fast.
The go-getter.
If something needed doing, give it to Robyn.

Friends used to joke that I was hard to keep up with. I moved at lightning speed. I made sacrifices to achieve. I thrived on momentum. That was a huge part of my identity.

Then, about five years ago, after landing what should have been my dream job, something started to shift.

I felt slower.
My confidence quietly slipped.
My brain felt thick, like it was moving through concrete.

I was surrounded by younger, ambitious teammates, and I could feel the difference, even if no one else said a word. Maybe they noticed. Maybe they didn’t. But I did.

Around the same time, my daughter became extremely unwell.
Once she recovered, my body finally tapped out.

I developed shingles.

That was my body saying something my mind refused to hear.

Pushing through was no longer the solution.

This isn’t a personality flaw. It’s biology.

There’s also a biological piece here that helped me stop judging myself.

Estrogen is often referred to as the nurturing hormone. It supports connection, caretaking, empathy, and that deep instinct to put everyone else first. So when estrogen begins to decline in midlife, it’s not just our bodies that change. Our tolerance changes, too.

Enter Melani Sanders, “We Do Not Care Club”.

Suddenly, our fcks start to disappear.

Not because we’re broken.
Not because we’ve become selfish.
But because our bodies are naturally turning us inward.

That inward pull can feel really uncomfortable, especially when we still have children at home, partners, ageing parents, or people who rely on us. This isn’t about abandoning anyone.

It’s about not abandoning ourselves.

It’s about recognising that doing everything for everyone forever was never sustainable.

Maybe this season is asking us to rebalance

Sometimes this season is an invitation to rebalance.

To empower other people in the household to step up.
To let kids learn responsibility.
To stop cushioning everyone from discomfort at the expense of our own health.

I loved hearing Monique van Tulder talk about her adult gap year. She knew her husband and adult sons knew where the fridge and kitchen were. They were capable. It was time for her.

Most of us can’t take a year off, and that’s real life. But we can start small.

Family meetings around the dinner table.
Honest conversations.
Rejigging who does what.
Letting go of the idea that it’s all on us.

It might feel awkward at first. There might be resistance. But slowly, things shift.

And they need to.

Because pushing through while quietly resenting everyone around us helps no one.

Why modern motherhood is burning us out

There’s also a bigger parenting piece we don’t talk about enough.

When the US Surgeon General released data describing modern parenting as a health hazard, one chart stopped me in my tracks. Parents today are working more and spending more time with their children than previous generations. So where is that extra load coming from?

Ourselves.
Our relationships.
Any space we might have had to rest or reset.

We are burning ourselves out trying to be everything, do everything, and be endlessly present for our kids. Often, with the quiet belief that this is what good parenting looks like. That if we just try harder, love harder, show up more, we’ll somehow get it right.

But are we actually doing our kids any favours if it comes at the cost of our sanity?

Maybe we’re trying to parent differently from how we were raised. Maybe we’re chasing a version of perfection that doesn’t exist. And maybe part of pulling back in midlife is realising that modelling balance, boundaries, and shared responsibility is just as important as being constantly available.

It was never meant to all sit on one person.

This chart says it more clearly than words ever could.

Millennial mothers are spending more time with their children than any generation before them. More time than Gen X. More than baby boomers. Even while working more hours than previous generations. When you look at this, the question isn’t why so many mothers are burnt out. It’s how we’re still standing at all.

The extra time isn’t coming from nowhere. It’s coming from us. From our rest. From our relationships. From any space we might have had to recover.

We’re told this is what good parenting looks like. Be present. Be available. Be everything. But when you stack this level of emotional labour on top of midlife hormone shifts, nervous system overload, and years of pushing through, something has to give.

And it usually isn’t the expectations.
It’s us.

There is no badge of honour for burnout

So many women keep showing up because if we don’t, no one else will.
Families still need feeding. Work still needs doing. Life keeps moving.

But the question we rarely ask is
At what cost?

Our health.
Our nervous systems.
Our long term wellbeing.

Something that really stayed with me from the So Hot Right Now menopause events in Sydney last year, listening to local and international experts, was this.

Women live longer, yes.
But health span does not automatically equal lifespan aka quality of life.

Living longer means very little if those extra years are spent exhausted, unhealthy, inflamed, burnt out, and disconnected from ourselves.

Why pushing through backfires for ADHD brains

For me, accepting this required therapy. Regular therapy.
And yes, hello ADHD.

Living with ADHD meant I had spent decades overriding my internal cues. Riding adrenaline. Hyperfocusing. Burning hot, then crashing. Repeating the cycle because I thought that was just how I was wired.

Perimenopause stripped away my ability to compensate.

What I’ve had to learn, slowly and with a lot of unlearning, is that pushing through when I feel good can be just as risky as pushing through when I feel awful.

That part has been hard to accept.

When energy finally comes back, especially after burnout, the instinct is to grab it with both hands. To do all the things. To make up for lost time.

But for ADHD brains, that surge often comes with a delayed price.

Overdoing it during the good days can lead to the next crash.
And recognising that pattern takes regulation, not willpower.

Pulling back is not failure.
Resting is not weakness.
Slowing down is not giving up.

And it is definitely not being a sook.

Sometimes pushing through causes damage we cannot undo.

There is no badge of honour waiting for us at the end of this.
No prize for setting ourselves on fire to keep everyone else warm.

Choosing yourself is not quitting

What I want more than anything is for women to hear this before their bodies force the lesson the hard way.

Please share this with a friend if you think it might land for her.
I never want another woman to feel isolated, dismissed, or gaslit the way I did during my darkest days.

We deserve better than survival mode.
We deserve care too.

If this resonated, this is exactly why I wrote the ebook Choose Yourself on presale NOW.
Not to fix you, but to help you stop abandoning yourself.

I never want another woman to feel isolated, dismissed, or gaslit the way I did during my darkest days.

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Just over a year ago, I was tiptoeing back into my beloved gym after a long break.
Years, actually.

Chronic fatigue. Depression. A body with joint pain that felt heavy and unpredictable.
I deeply missed movement, but I didn’t have the energy or joy to meet it.

What I didn’t know at the time was that the flatness, the exhaustion, the itchy skin, urinary urgency, aching joints and general sense of “what is wrong with me” were all part of perimenopause. And for me, late-stage perimenopause.

Most women sit in this phase for 7 to 10 years before menopause. No one had joined those dots for me.

Under the care of my gynaecologist, I started HRT.
Within a week, I felt like myself again.

Not magically fit. Not bouncing off the walls.
But clearer. More resourced. Capable of showing up.

So I went back to the gym. Gently. Carefully. With a lot of respect for my energy.

At first, it was light sessions and lots of rest. I was just happy to be back in a space that had always felt like home. By the end of 2024, I was training a couple of times a week, but not consistently.

Early 2025 changed things.

I joined a group class gym and committed to going once a week with a friend. One solid, non-negotiable anchor. On the other days, I walked or did light sessions on my own.

Nothing dramatic. Nothing extreme. Just consistency.

With guidance from my support team and regular DEXA scans, I slowly increased from one to two, then three strength sessions a week. Walking filled the gaps.

Fatigue management stayed front and centre.

I stopped pushing through and started listening.

Late last year, something shifted again.

I felt like I had the capacity for another strength session per week.
Then, after months of thinking about it, running finally stuck a few days before New Year’s Eve.

Not because I forced it.
Because my body was ready.

This is the pattern that works for me.

Start small. Show up. Let the habit settle. Then build.

So my Q1 2026 fitness plan looks very different to this time last year. My energy is different. My resilience is different. My confidence in my body is different.

Here’s what it looks like now:

• 3 to 4 strength sessions a week

• 2 runs a week

• 1 long walk

• Extra walking when life allows

On paper, it might sound like a lot.
In reality, it feels sustainable because I grew into it.

Some weeks need reshuffling. Life still happens.
But this is my baseline now.

My goal isn’t a body goal.

It’s a quality-of-life goal.

I’m taking a proactive approach to my health, preserving muscle, healing my dysfunctional metabolism, supporting my bones, protecting my energy, and giving myself the best chance at a strong, capable, enjoyable midlife and beyond.

Slow builds count.
Gentle returns count.
Consistency beats intensity, especially in this season.

A lot of this is what I write about in Choose Yourself.
Learning how to stop pushing, start listening, and build a life that actually fits where you are now.

The presale is open if you’re in a similar season and want something steady to come back to. Until February 1, 2026, you can preorder the ebook for $10 off.

PREORDER NOW $17USD

If you’re starting again, or starting for the first time, you’re not behind. You’re right on time.

Subscribe now

I’ve always thought of January as a practice month.

I’ve never been great at flicking a switch from Christmas straight into goals, routines and forward motion. I need the buffer. The pause between Christmas and New Year. The soft landing before the year really begins.

February is where it starts for me.

This year, especially, that space felt important.

Our silly season was intentionally… not very silly. We chose selective celebrating with a big side of rest. A few gatherings, yes, but mostly slow days close to home with immediate and a little extended family. Plenty of laughter, games, good food, naps, movement and proper joy.

The intention was simple. To head into the new year feeling steady, not depleted.

And honestly, it felt like we nailed it.

At one point, when my parents packed up to head home, I said it out loud. It felt like we’d created our own little health retreat. Early beach mornings or gentle exercise. Healthy meals. Vitamin D when the weather allowed. Guilt-free naps. Movie nights. No crazy schedules or constant demands.

Curious how your silly season felt. Did you lean into rest, or did it feel anything but restful?

Leave a comment

Just before the New Year, I quietly started something new, too. A fitness goal. Running. Well, jogging.

I’m not a runner. Never really have been. I’ve done the odd fun run over the years, but my happy place has always been strength training and walking. For 2026, I want to bring more cardio and short sprints into my routine. Less about aesthetics, more about fatigue management, heart health, VO2 max and longevity.

One morning, I surprised myself with a gentle 2.5km jog to a cafe. Coffee with Dad (70 years young!) and Pat, then a brisk walk home. Pat is easing back into fitness after his accident earlier this year, so it felt nice that we were all moving at a similar, very gentle pace.

Nothing heroic. No watch obsession. No proving anything.

Just movement, sunshine, coffee and a quiet reminder that starting before you feel ready still counts.

All of this feels connected to where I’m at right now. Choosing steadiness over urgency. Supporting my body instead of pushing through it. Letting things build slowly.

Playing the long (longevity) game.

Which brings me to something I’ve been working on.

Choose Yourself is almost here.

It’s the guide I wish I’d had when I didn’t feel like myself anymore. When extreme fatigue, anxiety, brain fog and mood swings crept in, and I kept blaming stress and external factors.

In 2024, I disappeared for a while and chose myself. This ebook shares my lived experience of taking control of my symptoms and learning how to support myself through perimenopause, gently and realistically.

It’s written for women who want clarity, validation and a starting point that doesn’t feel overwhelming.

The ebook will be delivered on February 1, 2026. It’s currently available on preorder with an early bird $10 off the usual price of $27USD until then.

If it feels relevant for where you’re at, pre-order here.

PREORDER

Here’s to a softer start to the year. And to choosing ourselves, one small step at a time. 💛

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Life has felt a little monotonous lately, even though I’ll be the first to admit I thrive on routine.

In this Choose Yourself era, structure has been my saving grace. My ebook is almost ready, and I go deeper into this in the pages, but since November 2024, I’ve released over twenty kilos, found my zest again after months of feeling meh about things that normally bring me joy, calmed inflammation, and rebuilt myself in ways I didn’t think were possible at forty-eight.

As you’ll read in the soon-to-be-released ebook, having pillars and structure, rather than self-abandonment, has been the backbone of my comeback. I discuss in more detail what those pillars look like in real life. Are you on the waitlist? She’s almost here.

Choose Yourself Ebook Waitlist

The routine and boundaries are here to stay, but this week reminded me that sometimes it’s good to shake things up before life starts feeling like a loop you didn’t choose. But tonight, I will be asleep by 830pm.

Raising kids, being a wife, running a home, working, and just trying to exist in this world can feel wild. And maybe it’s the end-of-year energy, because I’m definitely not the only one limping towards the finish line of 2025, according to friends.

And honestly, whoever said teens are easier than little kids… I need to have a chat. It’s a totally different playing field, and I absolutely did not receive the manual.

Add in solo parenting during the week. Some friends with partners who never travel swear they’d love the space, and I get it, but it’s a blessing and a curse. A lot of noise, a lot of needs, a lot of mental load. And not enough quiet.

I’ve felt tapped out lately. Really tapped out. And I think it’s time to step back and let my kids do more for themselves. Turns out they sometimes do better when I’m not right there, hovering. Today proved that, according to the report from the grandparents.

Recently, I listened to this podcast episode that hit a little too close to home. In My So-Called Midlife, Reshma Saujani talks with economist Corinne Low about what she calls “the squeeze,” that midlife pressure cooker where work, kids, ageing parents, overdue emails, and even the group chat you keep ignoring are all demanding something from you at once.

The part that really stopped me was when Corinne shared research showing that mums today spend more time with their kids than previous generations, even though many of us work more hours than our own mothers did!

No wonder we’re tired.

It made me think about all the ways I lean in, hover, manage, fix, coordinate, and hold everything together, and how maybe stepping back a little might actually give my kids more space to grow and figure things out. It gave me a lot to sit with, especially after these last few months of feeling stretched in every direction.

We’ve started by implementing more autonomy, meal prep, and ownership of jobs. I can’t say it hasn’t been without pushback, but it’s that, or my demise.

Which leads me to the last twenty-four hours.

My husband and I decided to be a little reckless and booked a spontaneous concert and hotel stay in the city. On a school and work night. Truly living on the edge. The grandparents swooped in, as they always do, to lend a hand. Super grateful for that family support.

I left straight from work, said goodbye to the kids and grandparents, and arrived in the city just as he finished work. We checked in, had a shower, some drinks, some dinner, and headed off to a concert at a venue in a part of town we haven’t set foot in for over twenty-five years. It used to be our party hood. Separately. Before we even met. Funny how life loops back around.

There was something so comforting about walking through those old spots. A tiny flash of who we used to be, before mortgages and teen moods and packed lunches and early bedtimes.

We’ve both been feeling the pressure of work and parenting lately, so it was nice to just feel like people again, not mum and dad or two exhausted employees clocking in and out.

We had breakfast at the buffet. He walked across the road to work. I took full advantage of the late checkout to relax in the hotel and reminisce about what it was like to live in hotels during my crew life.

I did some writing, then went for a massage in the hotel salon, as my body has been feeling extra tender after strength training lately. An hour on that table felt like medicine.

Thank goodness for hotel reward points, too, which helped with a reduced-price hotel and meals.

Then I grabbed a quick lunch with the hus, before jumping in the car down the highway, and arrived home just as the kids did. Straight back into the sport shuffle and dinner juggle.

Tomorrow everything goes back to the usual rhythm, but this little circuit breaker was worth every minute. Even though I’m tired, it’s the good tired. The alive tired.

The reminder that sometimes you need one night out of your routine to remember that you used to be a whole person before everyone else needed you.

This reel sums it up:

Before you go, I’d love to know…
When was the last time you felt like a person again, not just the default helper of the house?
Tell me in the comments. I know these stories help all of us feel less alone.

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If you haven’t joined the waitlist for my upcoming ebook Choose Yourself, you can add your name here. She’s not far away from arriving, and I can’t wait to share her with you.

Choose Yourself Ebook Waitlist

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Last month, I reached a milestone I’m deeply proud of.
It marked twelve months of consciously choosing myself.

Not in the fluffy, self-care hashtag kind of way, but in the real, uncomfortable, healing kind of way. The kind that asks you to set boundaries, say no, rest more, and stop apologising for needing time.

A year of listening to my body instead of fighting it. A year of rebuilding, recalibrating, and remembering who I am.

There were days when it looked like progress: walking further, lifting heavier weights, laughing louder.

And there were days when it looked like lying still, crying quietly, or saying, “Not today.”

But every single one of those days was a choice.
To stop ignoring what my body was trying to tell me.
To stop waiting for permission to feel better.
To stop surviving and start living again.

This year has been one of the hardest and most healing of my life. It’s been a crash course in self-trust, self-compassion, and the messy middle of midlife that no one prepares you for.

It’s also the year that led me to write my ebook,
Choose Yourself: Finding Your Way Back Through the Chaos of Perimenopause.

It’s part story, part guide, part reminder that you are not crazy, lazy, or weak, you’re human, and your hormones, brain, and body deserve understanding, not judgment.

Because this is not a story about falling apart.
It’s about rebuilding, piece by piece, with compassion, science, and self-trust.

If you’ve ever thought, “I don’t feel like myself anymore,” this book is for you.

And here’s the exciting part, it’s just days away from dropping.

✨ Be the first to know when it launches

I’m opening a waitlist for early readers and behind-the-scenes updates, including a sneak peek at the first chapter and some resources that helped me along the way.

👉 Join the waitlist here

Choose Yourself Ebook Waitlist

Thank you for walking beside me on this journey.
We are rewriting what it means to move through midlife with truth, humour, and heart.

🩵 Robyn

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As a high-achieving, Type A personality with ADHD, I’ve always been someone who seems to get a lot more done in a day than most neurotypical people (that’s just a fancy way of saying someone without ADHD, autism, or other neurodivergent traits).

When I crash, though, I crash hard.

Perimenopause (and plenty of therapy) has taught me something that’s taken me years to accept: I can’t go at the same pace I once thrived on (and, let’s be honest, pushed myself through).

As a Manifesting Generator, I’ve long believed I had an endless supply of energy. Turns out, not so much. These last few years have been a very humbling lesson, and it’s been a hard pill to swallow.

I no longer wear my manic, push-push-push energy like a badge of honour.

I remember a close friend saying to me years ago, “Your pace is exhausting and kind of triggering because I can’t keep up.”

Back then, I didn’t really get it. Now I do. I see other women moving at the speed I once did, and I think… I can’t do that anymore.

And more importantly, I don’t want to.

The Calm Girl Era

Recently, I met a woman at the hairdresser's who was at least a decade younger than me. We clicked straight away, both of us with that early-start, work-hard story.

We’d each left home young, started working in our early teens, built businesses or careers, and hustled our way into early “success.” She’d just sold her company and moved onto acreage, entering what she called her “calm girl era.”

Instead of chasing the next big thing, she’s learning to keep bees, grow vegetables, and set up her new home. I loved that for her, especially as she’s learnt this earlier in life, and it struck a deep chord in me.

I’m living in my calm girl, protect my peace era.

When My Body Finally Said No

Until the last several years, I was still deep in the “push through” mindset, until I was not.

I hit mental, physical, and emotional rock bottom. My body had had enough.

On the menopause symptom scorecard, I was sky-high. By the way, I highly recommend filling it in if you’re between 35 and 50, even if you think you’re fine. Some of the symptoms might surprise you, like they did me.

No matter how much I tried to will myself forward, my body refused to cooperate.

There were panic attacks over minor things, deep fatigue that no amount of sleep could touch, and joy, gone. I hadn’t hit the gym in three years, something I had done on the regular for over five years. Amongst many other physical symptoms, I later discovered were the results of chronic ongoing stress. I was on extended sick leave, then reduced hours, then I had to quit my job altogether. It was a choice between my sanity and my work.

I remember sitting in my car outside the doctor’s office, too embarrassed to nap in the waiting room because I couldn’t physically stay awake in the middle of the day. I told them to call me when it was my turn. Another day, I was driving home from Brisbane and found myself having micro-sleeps on the highway.

It scared me.

My doctor said, “You have chronic fatigue.”
I did not believe her.

My therapist said, “You have to learn to manage your energy, not overdo it when you’re high, or you’ll just keep crashing.”
That one landed.

Even if I didn’t believe I had chronic fatigue, I’ve since used the techniques and supports to help treat myself.

What Helped Me Recover

So here’s what I’ve done, and still do, to keep myself from going back there.

💛 I’ve learnt to say no and be clear on my needs. This has included declining or withdrawing from projects and opportunities that sounded great but would have compromised my recovery.
💛 I no longer fill my schedule just because I can.
💛 I’ve learnt that “free” in the calendar doesn’t mean “available.”
💛 I try to do only one main thing per day, unless it’s unavoidable.
💛 Wherever possible, I book appointments in the morning so I don’t waste mental energy waiting.
💛 As well as all the Perimenopause Pillars that I’ve layered over the last 12 months, which I’ll share in more detail soon.

From therapy, I’ve learnt that my ideal rhythm (and for many ADHDers) is three days of focused work and two days of rest or unplanned time, days where I can be spontaneous but not scheduled.

These days are ideally not part of the weekend because Sunday is usually spent in waiting mode for the week ahead, which is truly not a recovery day, as waiting mode is not rest.

I’ve also set myself minimums and maximums.

When I’m low-energy, I stick to my minimums. When I’m buzzing, I still honour my maximums so I don’t burn out again as hard as it is, to not keep going.

It is hard to stop when I am in flow, but it has made all the difference.

I’ve let go of perfectionism. The house can be messy. The to-do list can wait. Easy meals for the win these nights.

Rest isn’t something to earn. It’s something the body and brain need.

Redefining Work

I recently went back to work part-time to test the waters.

This job doesn’t stretch my brain to the edge of depletion. It leaves me with enough energy for the other important parts of my life, my family, my relationships, my home, my health, and my self-care.

My new workmates are mostly mature women who’ve been through their own versions of burnout. We talk while we work. We share stories. We listen to podcasts. Sometimes we just work in silence.

It’s simple work, but it gives me so many non-financial benefits:

• a sense of belonging

• structure to my day

• gentle accountability

• movement and connection

• an anchor to my week

• and the joy of chatting with women who get it

One of my new workmates makes me laugh, but she is right. She says, “No one can afford your brain, so you are doing a job that does not need it to allow space for those that do.” (aka me and my family).

It has been a humbling process to separate capacity from capability.

For so many high-functioning women, especially those with ADHD or perfectionist wiring, our sense of worth has been built around what we can do.

Capability has never been the issue.

Capacity is a different story. It is the space we actually have, physically, mentally, and emotionally, to hold everything without breaking.

Just because I am capable of running a business, managing a household, raising kids, writing, and doing ten things before breakfast, does not mean I should. These days, I choose what fits inside my current capacity, not what once did.

Yes, it comes with a little ego death.

There is a kind of identity loss in stepping back from the version of yourself who could do it all. There is also freedom in it.

Letting go of the constant need to prove, perform, and produce has given me something far better: peace, presence, and the energy to enjoy the life I have worked so hard to create.

Before You Burn Out

If you see the signs, please don’t ignore them.

If you keep pushing, you might hit rock bottom like I did, and it can take an incredible amount of time and expense to recover.

You deserve better. You deserve care. You deserve to rest before your body forces you to.

Women are especially at risk of burning out because we’re juggling so much: family, work, hormones, expectations, invisible labour.

It’s not selfish to protect your energy. It’s self-respect.

When you fall down, it’s unlikely anyone will take care of you better than you.

The Year of Me

Last week marked one full year of consciously prioritising myself.

It has been a year of small, layered changes, gentle ones, not drastic. Consistency over intensity.

For the first time in three years, I can say I feel well. Not only well, I feel fking fantastic.

But I still have my low-energy moments, and I have gotten better at listening to when I need to rest. Guilt-free.

I have been writing about everything I have done over the past 12 months, the tools, the supports, the shifts, the wins, and the lessons, and I would love to share it with you if you are interested.

I have pulled back from weekly posting because life is fuller, and I know you are busy too. I want to share impactful essays and supportive content that lands for you, not be a content machine. I do have a lot sitting in my drafts, eager to share, so let me know what you would prefer next.

• Testosterone, the missing piece for my energy and executive function

• The Year of Me: How I rebuilt my health one habit at a time

If either of those interest you, fill in the poll below so I know which one to send first.

This midlife ride has been wild, but I finally feel like I am steering it, not just hanging on.

Your Feedback Please? 🙏

I would also love your feedback. Send me a message or leave a comment. Is what I share here resonating with you? Is it helpful? Because during my darkest period, I could not find a single person in real life, a friend, a specialist, or even someone online sharing the lived experience I needed to hear to keep going. That is why I feel so passionate about sharing mine.

We are all individuals, and it takes tweaking and time to get our personalised plan on track. Having cheerleaders in your corner and hearing lived experiences really helped me.

It was not until I went to Sydney in March to the So Hot Right Now Events and spent time with other women who did not feel like themselves and had overcome it, or were steering the ship, as well as advocating for other women, that it truly cemented how important it is for us to share our stories and experiences, from perimenopause through to post-menopause.

I know many of my readers are on the other side of menopause, because you send me emails from that perspective. I truly value this. I love hearing from our elders. There is so much wisdom to share. Many of you have successfully steered the ship. Others had to white-knuckle this period of life. With new conversations and research, there is more language and support to make sense of what you went through, as well as wisdom in the sharing of your success.

Rest is the new hustle,
Robyn x

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I’d never heard the word adenomyosis until I was told I had it.

In 2023, after months of heavy, energy-sapping periods that were getting worse by the cycle, I finally had a pelvic ultrasound. I was 45, and what I thought was just “getting older” turned out to be something else entirely.

When I say heavy, I don’t mean “a bit more than usual.” I mean crime scene heavy. Not being able to leave the house on day one or two because I’d bleed through a tampon and pad within 20 minutes. Having to sleep with towels under me. Getting up multiple times a night to change tampons. Planning my life around my period because it had become that unpredictable and unmanageable.

The ultrasound results came back with one unfamiliar word: adenomyosis.

It’s a mouthful, but here’s what it means: the tissue that normally lines your uterus (the stuff that sheds during your period) starts growing into the muscular wall of the uterus itself. So every month, instead of that lining neatly shedding, it thickens and bleeds inside the muscle, causing inflammation, swelling, pain, and that relentless, heavy bleeding.

No wonder my iron was in the basement.

Until quite recently, adenomyosis was something many women were only diagnosed with after a hysterectomy, when the tissue could be examined under a microscope. Which meant for decades, most of us were told it was “just heavy periods” or “normal for your age.”

Now, with advances in high-resolution pelvic ultrasounds and MRIs, more women are finally getting answers earlier.

And unsurprisingly, the majority of those diagnoses are happening in our 40s, the decade where hormones start to fluctuate wildly and where pregnancies, births, and uterine procedures may have left their mark.

By this stage of life, our bodies have been through a lot and those microscopic pathways between the uterine lining and muscle wall can form more easily. Add in surges of oestrogen during perimenopause and you’ve got the perfect storm for adenomyosis to make itself known.

At first, my treatment plan was to regulate my hormones with a birth control pill called Qlaira. My gynaecologist offered me HRT at this time too, but I was scared to take it. I thought menopause and this stage of life were “natural”, something to be embraced, not medicated. Plus, I’d heard the word. HRT was cancer-causing and dangerous. Or so I thought.

I thought I could just power through.

Qlaira mimics a healthy menstrual cycle, with changing doses of estrogen and progestin throughout the month. The idea was to regulate my hormones and ease the bleeding. The reality? For six months, I lived with a headache or, on the lucky days, a migraine. I didn’t realise until I came off it that the pill was the culprit.

So, I did what so many women do: I learned to live with the heavy bleeding. I designed my life around my period. My tracker told me when I was due, and I’d make sure I didn’t have much planned on those days. Not ideal, but it was the only way to stay functional.

Two years later, at 47, my “regular” periods suddenly became… irregular. I went from clockwork cycles to nothing. 100 days without a bleed. After a panicked pregnancy test to rule out a surprise baby, I did a menopause scorecard, and my gynaecologist confirmed what I hadn’t expected to hear so soon:

I was in the late stages of perimenopause.

That shocked me. I thought perimenopause could drag on for five to ten years, and that menopause didn’t usually hit until around 51. I couldn’t quite get my head around the idea that my fertile years were almost over.

So I finally started HRT, something I’ve already written a bit about. Not just because I hadn’t bled for 100 days but this was further confirmation I was deep in peri. Having a super high score on the menopause symptom scorecard was the clincher. I’ve shared a bit about my symtpoms, but you can listen again here if you like.

At first, I tried the standard Prometrium (a natural progesterone), but I couldn’t tolerate it. Then I was offered Slinda, a progestin-only birth control pill. One of its side effects? It stops bleeding altogether.

Which, for me, was both a blessing and a bit of a head spin. After years of flooding through pads and planning my life around my period, suddenly I wasn’t bleeding at all. My iron levels stabilised. My energy improved. My washing machine got a break.

Slinda is also used for women with PMDD (premenstrual dysphoric disorder) or mood fluctuations, and it’s had great success in regulating hormones and improving mood stability. Something I’ve definitely noticed.

So while it’s a little odd not knowing exactly where I am in my cycle anymore, I’ll take it. The positives far outweigh the negatives.

We don’t talk enough about how confusing this middle stage of life can be. One minute you’re bleeding like a stuck pig, the next you’ve gone 100 days without a period, and you’re Googling “can you get pregnant in perimenopause.”

Adenomyosis, hormones, perimenopause, it’s all connected. And it’s only when we start sharing these stories that more women realise what’s actually normal (and what’s not).

Because we deserve more than to be told to “just put up with it.”

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Years ago, I had done an online version where you send through some selfies and a stylist analyses them, but the problem with that is… photos lie. Lighting, filters, shadows; they all play tricks on the eye. The top you’re wearing or even the wall behind you can throw everything off. So while I got something helpful out of that experience, I always had a sneaking suspicion it wasn’t the full story.

This time, I booked in with Jade, a Colour Analyst from The Seasonal Stylist on the Sunshine Coast. What made her approach different is that she does some of her sessions in a salon, which means you can literally hold up swatches of hair colour next to your face as well as fabric drapes. For me, that was the real pull.

Because while a lot of people get their colours done so they know what clothes to buy, for me, it was more about hair.

Why colours matter

When you wear the wrong tones, it’s not just that the outfit looks “meh.” The wrong colours can actually create shadows that aren’t there, dull your skin, and make you look more tired or older than you are. The right ones, on the other hand, feel like magic. They soften and brighten, they bring out your eyes, and they give you that “you look so well” compliment we all secretly love.

For me, I wasn’t so fussed about whether I should be buying camel, olive or burnt orange knits (although it’s nice to know, and I got more than I bargained for). What I really wanted was clarity about hair.

Midlife hair.

That tricky transition time when greys start peeking through and you’re not sure whether to cover them, blend them, or embrace them.

Since I was a teenager, hair has been my main form of self-expression. I’ve been blonde, brunette, redhead, and just about everything in between. In the last decade, though, I’ve played it safer. I’d go back to warm blondes or subtle brondes, maybe a copper tone, but I avoided going too close to my natural warm brown because it always felt… dull.

Turns out, it’s actually one of my best colours.

What I discovered

Jade walked me through draping with the seasonal palettes, showing me side-by-side the shades that lit up my skin and the ones that washed me out. I was surprised by how obvious it was in person. Colours I thought I couldn’t wear suddenly worked, and a few I’d been loyal to for years did me no favours at all.

I won’t spill all the details of my analysis here (that’s Jade’s magic and you really need to experience it for yourself), but I can say this: the in-person session was far more valuable than anything I’d done online. All you need to do is look at the women on her Instagram page and see how emotional and incredible this gift to yourself can be.

It wasn’t just about “you’re a True Autumn”; it was about learning how to actually use that knowledge in everyday life. From choosing a softer white for a T-shirt to finding the right shade of denim, it’s the kind of information that makes shopping less overwhelming and more intentional.

And when it came to hair, I got exactly what I wanted: clear direction on how to work with my natural warmth rather than against it.

A gift to yourself

Having your colours analysed isn’t about becoming rigid or following rules. It’s about giving yourself another tool. Another way to make life a little simpler, and to see yourself in a kinder light.

For me, this year has been about leaning into that. I’ve been calling it my Year of Me. Colour analysis felt like one more piece of that puzzle, another way of aligning the inside with the outside.

And honestly? Sitting in that chair, watching myself glow in some shades and shrink in others, felt like such a gift.

So, if you’ve ever thought about getting it done, consider this your little nudge.

Because sometimes the smallest changes, a lipstick shade, a new top, a hair colour that just works, can shift the way you feel about yourself more than you’d expect.

💬 Have you ever had your colours done? Or maybe you’re tempted to try?

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If you’re based on the Sunshine Coast, make sure to check out Jade Long of The Seasonal Stylist, Sunshine Coast Colour Analyst. If you’re not local but still interested, I previously used Created Colourful online (the analysis was pretty close to the in-person result, I think you just can’t be wrong, having it done in person, however). Alternatively, you can reach out to Jade; she may know of someone in your area.

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What I am good at (hello, ADHD) is hyperfocus. Especially when something is really impacting me or my family, I dive in headfirst. Honestly, it feels like I’ve done a full undergrad degree in menopause studies. And if there’s one thing I know, it’s that there is no “set and forget” solution,

and absolutely no one-size-fits-all approach.

It took me years of feeling like crap before I even cottoned on to the fact that what I was experiencing was perimenopause. Had I known earlier, maybe I could have prevented some of the heartache and challenges. But as the saying goes, “You either win or you learn.” (Pretty sure that’s Nelson Mandela.)

I’ve chosen to use what I’ve learned to make my life better, and to help other women do the same. My inbox is full of friends and followers asking for guidance because they feel clueless. While I don’t pretend to have all the answers, I am tenacious enough to keep digging, to keep questioning, and to keep reminding women not to give up.

Because it does get exhausting when you’re dealing with doctors or even other women who dismiss you with an “it’s just part of getting older” pat on the hand.

As my wonderful menopause-informed doctor says:

“If she tells you she’s suffering, believe her.”

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And while there’s no one-size-fits-all, I’ve built a toolkit for myself, pillars that aren’t all that different from what I’d emphasise if I were coaching someone for weight loss. For me, it looks like this:

• Nutrition – fuelling myself well without obsessing. More home-cooked meals, less of the all-or-nothing mindset. But nutrition does look different at this stage of life. Anti-inflammatory and a focus on protein and fibre.

• Connection – chats with friends, the gym buddies who nudge me to show up, and those long walks that double as therapy sessions with girlfriends.

• Sunlight – morning walks and that sip outside to anchor my body clock and boost my mood.

• Sleep hygiene – boring but vital. Phone down, book up, lights out earlier than my old night-owl self would ever believe.

• Stress management – learning to step back, setting boundaries and saying no, and reminding myself the world won’t fall apart if I don’t do everything at once.

• Natural therapies and supplementation – carefully chosen supports that give me a nudge in the right direction when I need it.

• Mental health support – therapy, journaling, and having safe spaces to talk honestly.

• Movement – strength training, walking, stretching. Adjusted to what I can handle on any given day.

• Medicine (if needed) – including HRT, which has been a gateway back to myself.

• Alcohol - reduction or elimination. For me, I haven’t really enjoyed drinking for almost a decade, and I’m pretty close to teetotal now. It adds no value to my life.

That mix shifts depending on what season I’m in, but those are the anchors that keep me afloat.

Before peri hit, I was always active and sporty. From 2015 to 2021, I’d become the fittest I’d ever been; strong, energised, and dialled in with my nutrition. So much so, I became a weight management coach and even wrote my book, The Body Plan, to share what worked for me.

But then peri hit. The tools that once worked so well suddenly didn’t. Cue the extreme fatigue, body aches, and joint pain, just to name a few. The gym fell off my priority list, my regular walks dwindled, and my body felt like it wasn’t my own.

HRT opened the door for me to return to the gym. Literally the week after I started HRT, I joined my first gym in three years.

So am I back to where I was in 2020 at my peak? No. And I have no expectations to be. But I’ve been slowly building back up. I started with one or two days a week at the gym doing my own thing. Then, earlier this year, a friend encouraged me to join group-style classes, with the promise that there wouldn’t be any super-fit twenty-somethings in matching sets. (I’m flat out getting my socks to match at this stage of life!) To my relief, I found a group of approachable gym-goers and genuinely lovely trainers who understand our particular injuries, limitations, and goals.

For the first two months, I attended one strength class per week.
Once I felt strong enough, I added a second.
I stayed at that pace for several months, then about a month ago, I finally added a third class.

Something I used to do so easily years ago has become a rollercoaster of training and crashing. I definitely don’t have the same endurance I once had, but pushing myself to get three strength sessions in each week—alongside my walks—has been an achievement I’m proud of. Peri doesn’t joke around with me, so compassion for myself has become just as important as the reps.

And you know what? I may never reach that peak again. But that’s not the point anymore.

These days, I work out for medical reasons. For strong bones and muscles. For what I call my nursing home prevention plan—my insurance against premature interventions.

Exercise supports my mood, steadies my energy levels, and helps me feel more like myself. That said, I’ve had to learn to be mindful of the ebb and flow. When I’m good, I’m really good, but when I’m not… I crash.

I’ve been working with an exercise physiologist on goals tailored to me, supported by body composition and DEXA scans. And while I used to happily write my own programs, this year I joined a group fitness gym. I needed the motivation of working out alongside others, guided by trainers who are not only supportive but genuinely fun.

And here’s the unexpected gift. I’ve met training buddies. People who encourage me to show up, and sometimes even walk or grab a coffee together afterwards. The gym has shifted from something to dread to something I actually look forward to.

Last week, one of the trainers even noticed my consistency and commented on it. I laughed and said, “Well, if I’m paying for three classes a week, I’ll be turning up for three classes a week!”

Some days, my 100% is just showing up to the gym; other days, it’s hitting my maximum personal bests.

It’s not perfection. It’s persistence. And in this stage of life, that feels like a win.

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If you’re navigating peri- or menopause, consider starting by building your own toolkit, one pillar at a time. Choose the option that feels most manageable at this time and let that be your starting point. You don’t need to overhaul everything at once, and you don’t need to do it perfectly. Small shifts stack up. And sometimes, the biggest win is simply showing up for yourself.

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Creative Recovery - The Artist's Way Accountability

A private 12-week Artist's Way accountability group for women ready to choose creative recovery over endless consumption. Weekly guidance, gentle support, and sacred space for your morning pages and artist date journey.

By Robyn Law

Lately, I've been doing something that feels a little rebellious: showing up to things completely alone.

A couple of months ago, it was an art exhibition and sound healing event. As I was committing to go, my mind immediately went to several friends who would love this kind of thing. But then I caught myself.

What if... I just went by myself?

The thought felt both terrifying and thrilling.

The Art of Being Unencumbered

Here's what I discovered: when you show up solo, you're completely unencumbered. There's no one to check in with, no one whose energy you need to manage, no one whose pace you need to match. You can follow your curiosity wherever it leads. Oh and leave if/when things start getting a little too much.

At that exhibition, I found myself in deep conversation with a new friend and reconnecting with a longstanding friend, something that might never have happened if I'd been focused on the person I had taken’s experience instead of my own.

A far cry from when I wrote about wanting to be invisible…

Solo Walks, Solo Revelations

I've always loved walking with friends (it's honestly one of my favourite things), but recently I've been prioritising solo walks too. There's something magical that happens when you're alone with your thoughts and the rhythm of your own footsteps.

Just last month, I found myself extending my usual route to hit the beach, then wandering down the busy street of cafes and boutiques that I'd somehow never actually explored before. I ducked into a bookstore, browsed a delicatessen, and ended up grabbing coffee and a sandwich from the trusty 7-Eleven (hey, the budget-conscious girl in me isn't going anywhere!)

None of this was planned. It was pure spontaneity, something that's harder to access when you're coordinating with another person's agenda.

Last Thursday, I attended a business networking event to support a friend who was presenting.

My initial thought was to invite some friends who I know would also gain value from the event; however, when I sat with it again, I thought, I want to be untethered to another’s experience.

And it paid off. When I arrived, I couldn’t see my friend at first, but I started talking with someone who was also alone. We got chatting, and we both are working on very similar personal projects, and just by speaking about our projects, he helped me work through a roadblock I had been facing, and I met a new friend.

The Comfort Zone Challenge

I saw a post recently from a woman who was eating dinner alone at a restaurant while travelling. She wrote: "Just because a lot of people love drinking & partying on holiday doesn't mean you have to. I enjoy the simpler things in life – some might call it boring, but I say it's perfectly OK!"

Her words resonated with me because they capture something we don't talk about enough: the pressure to always be social, always be "on," and always have someone with you to validate that what you're doing is worthwhile.

But what if being alone with yourself is actually one of the most valuable skills you can develop?

The Solo Date Revolution

Do you ever just... date yourself?

I'm talking about intentionally planning something delightful that's just for you. Not running errands (even creative ones), not being productive, not multitasking. Just pure enjoyment in your own company.

This might look like:

• Trying that new café you've been curious about

• Seeing a live music act

• Taking yourself to a matinee movie

• Wandering through a farmers’ market with no agenda

• Sitting in a park with a book you've been wanting to read

• Exploring a neighbourhood you've never been to

Why We Resist Going Solo

Let's be honest about why this feels uncomfortable at first:

We worry about what people think. Will they assume I have no friends? Will they feel sorry for me?

We've lost touch with our own preferences. When we're constantly accommodating others, we forget what we actually enjoy.

We're afraid of our own thoughts. Being alone means there's nowhere to hide from ourselves.

We've been conditioned to believe solo = lonely. But there's a huge difference between being alone and being lonely.

The Gift of Your Own Company

Here's what I've learned: when you become comfortable being alone with yourself, you become infinitely more interesting to be around. You know what you like, you're not constantly seeking external validation, and you bring a centred energy to every interaction.

Plus, you discover things about yourself that only emerge in solitude. The way you naturally walk when no one's watching. The thoughts that bubble up when you're not managing conversation. The pace that actually feels right for your nervous system.

Your Solo Assignment

This week, I challenge you to plan one solo date. It doesn't have to be elaborate or expensive. It just needs to be something that sounds appealing to you, not something you think you should enjoy, but something that genuinely sparks your curiosity.

And if you're feeling inspired to take this even further, I've been exploring Julia Cameron's concept of "Artist Dates" as part of a Creative Recovery program I'm running. These weekly solo dates are specifically designed to feed your creative consciousness and reconnect you with your authentic voice.

Want to learn more about Artist Dates and Creative Recovery? Check out my latest post about The Artist's Way and what constitutes a proper Artist Date here.

Creative Recovery - The Artist's Way Accountability

What Constitutes an Artist Date

Fellow creative souls…

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9 months ago · Robyn Law

The beautiful thing about going solo is that you're never really alone, you're in the best possible company: your own.

So, what's calling to you this week? Where will you take yourself on a date?

What's your favourite solo activity? I'd love to hear about your solo adventures in the comments below.

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