I’m sitting here laughing at myself as I write this, as I remember back to the time I had what can only be described as a hardcore, undignified adult meltdown.

Not the filtered kind you see in Instagram posts with curated crying selfies. I’m talking about the ugly kind where you’re rage-writing in your journal so hard the pen tears through the paper, where you’re stomping around your house like a sobbing toddler who didn’t get the toy they wanted.

The trigger? Something so small it’s almost embarrassing. A text from someone asking me to take on another project, “because you’re so good at this stuff.” (That stuff: remnants of my old copywriting career.)

But here’s what I realized as I was having my meltdown: I wasn’t actually angry about the text or the lovely person who’d sent it. I was furious at myself. For all the times I’d said yes when I meant no. For all the ways I’d made myself smaller to make everyone else comfortable. For the decades I’d spent being “the reliable one” while my own dreams collected dust.

My rage wasn’t pretty. But it was real. And it was trying to tell me something important. So I did something new with it. Instead of apologizing for my anger, instead of trying to stuff it back down with a gratitude practice or a smoothie, I found myself getting curious. I grabbed some cheap art supplies and LET IT OUT—messy, ugly, completely imperfect marks on paper that somehow said everything my polite voice never could. Then I ripped the thing to shreds.

Surprise! What came up wasn’t just anger—it was grief. Grief for the version of myself I’d slowly suffocated with my own good intentions. Grief for all the times I’d chosen being liked over being real. And for the times I took the easy route instead of following the path toward my own inconvenient truth.

And underneath that? A fierce, wild energy I hadn’t felt in years. The kind that says: I’m so freaking tired of being small. I’m sick of being sorry for taking up space. I’m done pretending this half-life feels like enough.

Cut to today: I finally have a visceral understanding that none of us can heal what we’re unwilling to feel.

Here’s what nobody tells you about midlife: Sometimes the most generous thing you can do—for yourself, for your family, for everyone who needs you to be whole instead of just functional—is to stop being so damn nice about your own disappearance. Which brings me to something I’m both a little terrified and thrilled to share with you…

On October 18th from 2-5pm, my dear colleague Jahna Perricone and I are hosting an event called Sound + Fury. It’s not about finding your calm. It’s about finding your voice—the real one. The one that’s been whispering (or maybe screaming) under all that good behavior. Not to stay mad, but to express it, and move through it.

We’re going to write with rage. Move with intention. Maybe yell a little (or a lot). Definitely make some noise.

Because sometimes the path forward doesn’t start until you finally, finally let yourself feel everything you’ve been too polite to acknowledge. This isn’t toxic positivity. It’s the messy, necessary work of reclaiming yourself.

If any part of you just thought “Oh my G-d, this is so me”—if you’re tired of outwardly expressing gratitude while you’re quietly dying inside—this might be exactly what you need.

Here’s to getting real.

Maybe we don’t outgrow tantrums

Let it out.

Maybe we don’t outgrow tantrums

Let it out.

How to Listen