She Stopped Hiding Her Light

And a stranger looked her right in the eye and said something she will never forget.

She was moving fast. Head down. Eyes on the floor.

The place was loud and crowded and she did not want to be there. So she did what she always does in places like that.

She made herself small.

Moved quickly. Took up as little room as possible. Kept her light tucked somewhere safe inside where nobody could see it and nobody could touch it.

And then something happened.

Not a big thing. Just a nudge. The kind that comes from somewhere deeper than thought.

She stopped. She stood up straight. She opened.

Like a door she had forgotten she could unlock. Like a window that had been painted shut for so long she had stopped noticing it was there.

She just opened.

And that is when she appeared.

An elderly woman. Beautiful in the way that only comes from a life fully lived. She had one of those smiles, the mischievous kind. The kind that tells you she has seen everything and is still delighted by all of it. And her eyes had that twinkle.

She looked right at her.

Hello. How are you today? I am excited to see you.

Not nice to meet you. Not hello how are you in the way we say it without meaning it.

Excited. To see her.

A stranger. Who had never laid eyes on her before. Who somehow knew the moment she opened that there was someone worth seeing.

She is me.

I have been doing a 21 day giving challenge. And what I have discovered is that the most powerful thing I can give has nothing to do with material things.

It is this. My light. My presence. The willingness to stop hiding and actually show up in a room.

Why Women in Perimenopause Stop Shining

Here is what I know after working with women at this threshold.

Perimenopause does not just change your hormones. It changes your sense of self. The woman you have been is making way for the woman you are becoming. And that process is disorienting in ways nobody warned you about.

The exhaustion is real. The sleep disruption is real. The fog, the racing heart at 3am, the feeling that you have lost track of yourself somewhere in the middle of taking care of everyone else.

And when you are that exhausted, that depleted, that far from your own center, the light goes underground.

Not because it is gone. Because you do not have the energy to hold it up anymore.

So you tuck it in. You move fast. You look at the floor. You make yourself small in crowded rooms and quiet in conversations and invisible in your own life.

And you lie awake at 3am wondering why you feel so far from yourself.

The Light Was Never Gone

Here is what that elderly woman taught me in ten seconds.

The light does not leave. It waits.

It waits for the moment you stop running. The moment you stand up straight. The moment you give it permission to be seen again.

And the moment you do, the right people notice. Not everyone. Not the whole room. But the ones who are meant to.

The woman with the mischievous smile and the twinkle in her eyes. The one who was excited to see you before she even knew your name.

Because she recognized something. The light coming back on.

The Ways We Go Dim Are Usually Small 

Most of us do not wake up one morning and decide to disappear.

It happens in much smaller ways.

You almost say what you want, then decide it is easier not to.

You think about doing something just because you would enjoy it, then tell yourself maybe later.

You know your answer until you see somebody’s face.

You walk into a room and instinctively make yourself a little smaller.

None of those moments feels important enough to call a turning point.

But they add up.

And after enough of them, you can start wondering where the version of you went who had opinions and wants and curiosity and a little more mischief in her.

Maybe she did not go anywhere.

Maybe she has just gotten very good at waiting.

What to Do Tonight

Before you close this tab and go back to your day, try this.

Wherever you are right now, feel your feet on the floor. Both of them. Solid and grounded.

Slowly lengthen your spine. Roll your shoulders back and down. Open your chest.

Put on the most mischievous smile you can manage. The one that says I know something delightful. Hold it for ten seconds.

Notice what happens in your body when you do.

That is the light. It was always there.

If Something in You Just Exhaled

Maybe coming back to yourself does not begin with changing your whole life.

Maybe it begins with noticing the tiny moment when you are about to put yourself away again.

That is what The Unlived Life is about.

For five days, we will practice catching those small moments sooner, the automatic yes, the “maybe later,” the thing you wanted before you talked yourself out of it, and making a little more room for you to stay.

Join the Unlived Life

Your light is still there. It just needs permission to rest first.

With love,

Cassidy 💚

P.S. The woman with the mischievous smile and the twinkle in her eyes? I don’t think she is a new version of you. I think she is the part of you that comes back when you stop moving yourself out of the way.