Life lessons from parenthood, sobriety, and grief at 44

Listen to this article

I turned 44 this year.

When I was younger, I thought wisdom arrived all at once. I imagined there was some magical age where everything suddenly made sense — where I’d have all the answers and feel completely certain about who I was and where I was going.

That hasn’t happened.

What has happened is a collection of lessons. Some arrived gently. Others kicked the door down. Most came disguised as parenthood, grief, sobriety, love, loss, and learning how to begin again.

So instead of sharing 44 things I’ve learned at 44, I want to share the 11 lessons that have shaped me the most.

1. You Can Do Hard Things

The hardest thing I’ve ever done is become a parent.

Not because I didn’t love it — but because parenthood asks you to keep letting go of the illusion of control. You can make plans. You can hope. You can prepare.

And then life happens.

When I got sober in July of 2020, I started building the kind of structure and boundaries I believed our home needed. Not long after, both of my kids decided to live with their dad full-time. The thing I’d worked so hard to build felt, for a while, like the thing that emptied my house.

That was hard. It still is, some days. But I’ve learned that being a parent isn’t about controlling the future — or even keeping everyone under one roof. It’s about loving someone enough to let them have a future of their own. Even when that future doesn’t include the version of the story I’d written in my head.

2. Presence Matters More Than Perfection

I wish I’d learned this one sooner.

For years, I thought being a good parent meant doing more. Providing more. Fixing more. Making everything work.

It wasn’t until my kids became teenagers — and even more so after they left home — that I realized what they needed most wasn’t perfection. It was presence.

Right before my son moved out for good, the two of us took a road trip to Mississippi. Just us, driving for hours, splitting snacks, telling stories. We met long-lost family — people who felt familiar even though we didn’t really know them. That trip wasn’t about getting anywhere. It was the in-between that mattered. The car rides. The laughter. The stories passed down and shared again.

The dishes can wait. The to-do list can wait. The moments don’t.

3. Grief Is Love With Nowhere To Go

Grief has taught me things joy never could.

In April of 2025, I had to put my dog, Foxy, down. Months later, I still catch myself looking before I roll my chair back from my desk — like she might be curled up there. Old habits die hard, especially the sweet ones. That little reflex is grief. It’s just love that no longer has anywhere to land.

As a death doula, I see this all the time. I sit with people at the end of their lives, and so often what surfaces isn’t fear — it’s the unsaid. I wish I would have called. I wish I would have said it. I wish I hadn’t waited.

We spend so much time assuming there will be another visit, another holiday, another conversation. Sometimes there isn’t.

So grief taught me to stop waiting. Make the call. Send the text. Order the flowers. Say the thing while the person is still here to hear it.

4. Sobriety Gave Me More Than It Took Away

When people talk about getting sober, they usually focus on what they gave up.

What I gained has been so much bigger.

My very first blog was about being a sober mom in a wine-mom world. I wrote it when I was one month clean, and that woman had no idea how strong she actually was. Coming up on six years now, I can tell you sobriety gave me the ability to feel my feelings — to be present for my own life. To experience joy, sadness, excitement, grief, and love without numbing a single bit of it.

It’s not always comfortable. Feeling everything rarely is. But it gave me a life beyond anything I could have imagined for myself back then. I’m proud of the woman who started, one day at a time. I’m proud she kept going.

5. Most Things We Fear Never Happen

For years, I worried about losing everything.

And then one day, it felt like I did. My children grew up and moved out. The thing I feared most actually happened.

The house went eerily quiet. The empty rooms were a reminder of what used to be, and some days the whole place felt like it was holding its breath.

And yet — life didn’t end.

It was painful. It was an enormous adjustment. But there was life on the other side of it. It turns out our fears are rarely as powerful as our ability to survive them.

6. Independence Is a Skill. Receiving Is a Practice.

For a long time, independence was my superpower. I learned to do everything myself because I had to.

After my kids left, I leaned on that hard. I lived with a friend for a year, and when she moved to Ecuador to open a healing center, I found my own little one-bedroom and kept going. Capable. Self-sufficient. Fine.

Now I’m learning something much harder: how to ask for help. How to receive support. How to actually tell people what I need instead of quietly handling it alone.

It turns out letting people show up for you is every bit as important as being able to show up for yourself.

7. Healthy Love Feels Different

For years, I thought love was supposed to feel intense. The chase, the highs, the drama — I mistook all of it for passion.

Now I know that healthy love feels calm. It feels honest. It feels safe. It doesn’t keep me up at night.

But here’s the real lesson, and it took me a long time to learn it: before I could receive that kind of love from anyone else, I had to learn to give it to myself first. I had to stop bending who I was to be chosen. I had to stop confusing intensity with intimacy. I had to know I could be alone and still be whole.

I can only love another person as deeply as I love myself. So I did that work first — getting to know me, not just me as a mom or me as a worker, but me as a person. And when love did show up again, gently and unexpectedly, it didn’t arrive to complete me. It arrived to add to a life that was already full.

8. Children Are Meant to Grow Up

Becoming an empty nester taught me something I wasn’t expecting: it isn’t the end of the world.

My son stayed with me for a few months while he got things lined up with his friends, and the house was loud and full and funny again. He’d be talking to himself in the kitchen, or raiding the snacks at midnight like a raccoon with a debit card. Then he moved out — like he’s supposed to.

I won’t pretend the quiet didn’t ache. It did. But being the parent of adult children has become one of the most rewarding parts of my life. The relationship doesn’t end. It changes. It evolves. It becomes something new — and if you’re lucky, it’s beautiful in ways you never saw coming.

9. My Body Is Always Talking to Me

The older I get, the more I realize my body isn’t my enemy. It’s my teacher.

Lately it’s been reminding me to slow down, to go with the flow, and to quit obsessing over things that don’t really matter. My weight is honestly the least interesting thing about me.

That said — I’m also being honest with myself. That old line about an apple a day keeping the doctor away? Eating better is more on my radar than it used to be, and the part I’m still working on is the follow-through. Listening to my body is one thing. Actually doing what it’s asking is the next lesson. I’m a work in progress, and I’ve made peace with that.

10. Life Is Happening Right Now

One of the greatest gifts of being a death doula is the perspective it brings. Being with people at the very end changes you. It reminds you, over and over, that none of us know how much time we actually have.

So say yes to the adventure. Take the trip. Dance. Tell people how you feel. Leave as little unfinished as you possibly can.

Life isn’t waiting for us to get ready. It’s happening right now.

11. There Is No Finish Line

At 44, I’m still learning. Still growing. Still becoming.

I’m learning how to let go. How to surrender. How to trust. How to accept what is instead of fighting it.

When I look back, I can see that things have a way of working out — even when they don’t work out the way I planned. Maybe that’s what wisdom really is. Not having all the answers. Just trusting that you’ll find your way.

Grief and joy can live in the same house. I know, because they live in mine.

Closing Thoughts

At 44, I know a lot more than I did at 24. And I know far less than I thought I would.

What I do know is this:

Life will break your heart. It will surprise you. It will ask more of you than you think you can give. And then it will hand you moments so beautiful you’ll wonder how you ever doubted it.

For that, I’m grateful.

Here’s to 44.