My birthday photo today. 72 and I get to choose to not wear make-up!
Another year around the sun, and the emotions are a chaotic, beautiful mess. Joy and weariness co-exist. That’s the whole point, isn’t it? Today, I claim my birthright: unadulterated self-celebration.
Birthdays are a moment of necessary, guilt-free narcissism. We get to hit pause and declare: This is all about me.
But this year’s number – 72 – is different. Seventy-one was the year I finally got clear. I stopped tiptoeing around other people’s visions for my life and stepped fully into my own power. I shed the fear of upsetting someone else’s apple cart and chose to claim ‘the more’ I truly want.
It was a challenging year. We weathered my husband’s health storms, navigating travel with his oxygen and wheelchairs. Yet, I found myself more confident than ever, able to right my own boat in any sea. It was a year of profound firsts: traveling to Europe, (the continent where I spent most of my formative years) with my youngest daughter, discovering Malta (and Maltese hospitality! wow!), and even living on an island.
More than any of those adventures, this past year I finally put down the metaphorical knife I used to fend off intruders to my personal space. I don’t need defense; I need declaration. I claimed my space. Unequivocally.
Here’s to aging, not worrying about whether it’s “graceful” or “fierce.”
Here’s to claiming the right to do it however I damn well please.
There’s only one way to spell ‘frustration,’ but I’ve invented a thousand ways to express it.
For the past week, As I’ve been creating my Make Time for the Sacred Winter Solstice Reflections. I’ve been fighting an epic, soul-crushing war against my laptop.
FRUSTRATION doesn’t cover it. That word is too polite. I was operating on a level of digital rage that involved a primal urge to launch my computer into the Pacific Ocean, or at least see what happened if I put the whole thing in the microwave.
(And yes, I know, it’s not the laptop’s fault. User error is a pandemic whenever I dive into new software. We are all just primates trying to manage a universe of wires.)
But here’s the brutal truth about perseverance: It works.
I was determined to get this course online before Advent started. I missed that deadline by four days and approximately 70 hours of lost sleep, but I PERSEVERED. The kinks are gone, the demons are exorcised, and the tech finally listens.
My course is officially ready.
The Invitation (Where You Come In)
Humans are fascinating creatures: we create complex tools, and then we struggle to use them. This Solstice reflection is a necessary pause from that struggle.
The Make Time for the Sacred Reflections is a beautiful, FREE way to prepare your heart for the return of the light.
Here is exactly what you get when you sign up:
Four Weekly Reflections: Delivered right to your inbox, running from now until the Epiphany on January 6th.
Flexible Access: Each week includes both a written option (to read and journal) and an audio option (for listening on the go).
A Sacred Pause: A simple, guided way to reconnect and reflect during the most chaotic season of the year.
And Bonus content — 4 questions to deepen your experience to prompt journalling should you choose.
A weekly meditation posted every Friday for your to savour over the weekend and into the following week.
This free gift ends January 6th. Release the procrastination. Get your pause now.
We all have defining memories, those perfect moments where the world felt simplified and safe. Perhaps it’s a quiet evening where the fire burned low, or a moment when a lover said, “You and me against the world.” For a long time, I held a moment trapped in memory to preserve the feeling of simplicity and safety the tent we built out of sheets provided against the harsh reality of life outside our bubble. To release that memory felt like a betrayal of what, I once thought was ever-lasting love, but was not strong enough to withstand the buffeting and pummeling of the winds of life.
I carried that memory for many seasons, long after the snow stopped and melted. My promise to forever carry it in my heart grew heavier and heavier; a physical weight holding me tethered to a past and a relationship that had died, not through death, but through our own human frailties. We confuse endurance with love, and mistake exhaustion for failure to thrive.
Today’s Month 2: Day 23 poem of Dear Me, I Love You, my year-long commitment to write a love poem a day, is about the moment of necessary surrender. It’s about letting go of the burden of the past so that we can finally be caught by something greater than our thoughts. The Weary Carry is the realization that when you set down the burden of the past, there is space to hear Love whispering, “Carry me. I will never leave you.”
The Weary Carryby Louise Gallagher
We built a tent out of the sheets
and lay naked under its domed protection,
fingers and toes touching.
The fire burned low while outside,
snow fell into the silent night,
tucking itself into memory.
“You and me against the world,” you said.
I held my hand against your chest
where your heart kept quiet time with mine.
“No matter what,” I said, “I carry you here.”
The snow stopped,
the fire dimmed,
and time passed.
Springs came
and passed away
into summers,
then autumns,
and winters again.
I carried the memory for many seasons,
until my own heart grew weary
of remembering the weight
of all that was lost
when I believed love had died.
Free of the burden of remembering
lightened of the past,
Love caught me and whispered,
“Carry me. I will never leave you.”
A photo of two friends, a husband and wife, hugging, waist-deep in the Mediterranean sea, flits across my social media page.
My mind immediately trips me up, spitting me out of contentment with the speed of a child emptying a bowl of mushed peas onto the floor. “C.C. and you will never do that again,” the harsh, woebegone critic hisses. I remind him he’s not welcome here, but the critic pays no heed. His niggling at my peace is relentless.
C.C. is my husband. His health has been severely compromised by COPD and a year of on-again, off-again pneumonia. With each passing day, the list of ‘Things we’ll never do together again’ grows.
This struggle, watching his health decline while my attitude eroded, is why Dear Me, I Love You, was born. I saw a harshness creeping into my voice and a lack of care: who cares if the soup is slopping onto the tray? He should be thankful I serve him at all! That negativity required a fast attitude adjustment.
Whether life is getting me down or lifting me up, writing these poems grounds me in the moment. Like the automatic joy of children’s laughter, writing urges me to stop peering into the darkness and look up. I’m learning that the true challenge isn’t a lack of Love — Love flows, always, everywhere. The challenge is my attitude.
Life Now, Life Imaginedby Louise Gallagher
I struggle some days
to balance
life now
with life imagined.
How two words
juxtaposed
jammed together
have the power
to redefine me.
I struggle to contain
the roles I inhabit
Lover,
friend,
partner,
co-conspirator
and in all of it, that word.
Caregiver.
The heavier the struggle
the greater the need
to retreat
and find solace
in the one place
that soothes
my confusion
my fear
my anger.
Love.
No matter how
battered and torn
my heart
is all I have
to lean into.
4:00 am. My mind drifts into wakefulness, still shaking off a disturbing dream.
In it, I am walking a path across a field. A snake appears on the trail. Mouth spilling letters like jelly beans, he spies me and slithers away. The scattered letters dance a frenzied jig, then fall in scattered sequence into a question I desperately try not want read: “Where did you go?”
Angry, I rush forward to kick their accusatory presence away, but a woman appears on the trail. Her smile, as enigmatic as a Mona Lisa, is her only response. She holds out her hands, and the letters leap up to form a radiant diamond necklace around her neck.
What the feck?
This dream crystallizes the biggest challenge of my life as a full-time caregiver: To not lose myself in the midst of caring for another. Somewhere in the daily angst and confusion of watching the man I love lose ground to this almost year-long pneumonia that has complicated his COPD even further, I have lost ground against anger, regret, and fear. My disgruntled state of mind has disrupted everything, compromising the very kindness and compassion I strive to live by.
The internal critic hisses the question: Where did I go?
Today’s poem for Month 2: Day 9 of Dear Me, I Love You, my mission to write a love poem a day for a year is the answer. I’m finding myself again, right where I belong, anchored in these words reminding me to Choose Love. Always.
The Sage’s Silence by Louise Gallagher
With the whine of a petulant child, the critic within asks, “Where did you go?”
The Sage holds her silence in grace, her Mona Lisa smile her only response.
She knows I am right here anchored in the Now which cannot be anywhere else but where Love is when I lean into her tender voice urging me with every breath to Choose Love. Always.
I saw an image on Instagram this morning that really resonated with me. A beautiful butterfly with the caption: “Magic happens when you stop shrinking to fit spaces you’ve outgrown.”
It’s how I look at aging. I’ve outgrown my 50s, 60s, and now, I’m growing and expanding into my 70s, devouring every delicious bite of being this age of empowered living.
Somewhere in my 30s, I realized I was being sold a load of horse-manure by the cosmetic industry. “Anti-aging.” “Anti-vaginal odor.” “Anti-anything” some clever marketer thought women should address in order to stay, reclaim, or feel young again.
It was as if they were whispering (though it often felt like shouting), “Being your age is okay, but looking, smelling, and feeling it? No way! That just means you’re old.”
Well, guess what? I’m in my 70s now. And I have not stopped aging. Shocking, isn’t it? What I have done is stop buying into the anti-aging narrative. There is nothing in it for me to be afraid of aging. Heck, I’ve been doing it every single day of my life. I’m an aging expert. And in my vast repertoire of experience, I’ve learned a thing or two about the anti-aging movement.
Anti-aging is anti-women being themselves. It’s a relentless campaign to convince us that our natural state is a problem to be solved.
Anti-aging is a confidence racket. It’s constructed to make us feel bad about how we look, act, dress, talk, and even smell. The goal isn’t to make us beautiful; it’s to make us insecure.
Anti-aging is a multi-billion dollar industry. I can’t fight the industry, but I can fight back by not buying their horse-manure. My wallet is my weapon.
What about you? Are you done shrinking? Are you ready to claim your right to be your age—with all the grace, sass, and dignity you’ve earned?
Let’s start a revolution. A quiet, powerful, and deeply personal revolution.
Your Call to Action:
Stop playing their game. Look in the mirror today and say, “This is me. This is my magic. Aren’t I magnificent!”
What is one small, rebellious act you’re doing to embrace your age? Maybe it’s ditching the painful heels for a pair of shoes that love your feet. Maybe it’s not hiding the grey or wearing a bold new lipstick that makes you feel powerful or finding your power in opting out of make-up entirely á la Suzanne Sommers. Maybe it’s simply refusing to feel ashamed of a new wrinkle and choosing instead to see each one as a celebration of your life story.
Please do share your story in the comments below. Let’s celebrate our earned wisdom, our hard-won freedom, and the deliciousness of being exactly where we are. Because magic doesn’t happen when we shrink; it happens when we expand.
Why the fear of not having a purpose is holding you back—and how to find freedom in every single act.
We talk a lot about purpose. We talk about finding it, earning it, and living it. But in our obsession with finding a purpose, we often trap ourselves in a constant state of anxiety and comparison. We get stuck in an unhealthy emotional morass, believing others have a grander purpose than we do—or that we have non at all. This leads to a cascade of negative beliefs: I’m not good enough. I don’t make a difference. I’ll never measure up. I don’t matter.
The fear of not having a purpose often propels us into dead-end streets and chaos corners. It compels us to keep searching, to never let our guard down, and to stand vigilant for some grand purpose to float by so we can claim it. We tell ourselves, “I’ll finally matter when I find my purpose!”
What if you don’t have to search for purpose? What if all you need to do is live on purpose?
The Heavy Load of Finding Your Purpose
Countless books have been written about finding your purpose. We often see purpose as “what we do in the service of others,” as if it’s a monumental job description we must earn. Yet, what we do in service is simply a reflection of how we live our lives every day, in alignment with our values, principles, and beliefs.
The other night, while having dinner with my two daughters, we went around the table and shared a unique quality we admired in one another. When it was my turn, both of my daughters said, “You have a unique ability to meet people where they’re at and see the good in them.”
My heart felt so light. Since retiring and moving to a quiet Gulf Island, I’ve struggled with the question, “How do I live my purpose when I’m not ‘out there’ in the world, making a difference?” Hearing my daughters’ words, I realized I am making a difference just by showing up in my world every day with an open and loving heart and mind. By being fully present, I am both living my purpose and living on purpose.
There’s great relief in that acceptance. A feeling of spaciousness and possibility. I’ve accepted that my purpose doesn’t have to be some grandiose idea of healing the sick or solving world poverty. It’s simply to live my best, in every moment of every day, so my ripple is one of love, joy, and harmony. In this act, I gift myself peace of mind, body, and heart. And from that space, living on purpose feels easy, and the world around me feels calm and accepting.
The Lightness of Living on Purpose
One of the biggest differences between having a purpose and living on purpose is that having a purpose is passive, while living on purpose is active.
A purpose can be a goal—a destination to reach. Goals are important, but when they’re the singular focus and not rooted in our values, we can lose sight of our impact on the world. Hyper-focused on attainment, we can believe our goal is all that matters – and everyone else better get out of our way.
Living on purpose, however, demands our full engagement with life. It’s an intentional practice that requires our attention. It’s the realization that everything we do, say, create, and think has a ripple effect.
If you want your ripple to be an invitation to others, you must be conscious of the waves you make.
Living on purpose is not about the things you acquire or the goals you achieve; it’s about how you live your life. Living on purpose illuminates the world all around you. And in that brilliance, your light becomes a beacon of hope for others.
Practical Steps for Living on Purpose
It’s easy to live on purpose when you know the values, principles, and beliefs that guide your every action, word, and thought. Clarity of what matters most will automatically underpin everything you do, creating space for you to live intuitively and intentionally.
Here are three simple, actionable steps to start living your purpose right now:
Clarify Your Values: Your purpose is built on your values. Take some time to identify what matters most to you—things like honesty, compassion, creativity, or courage. Ask yourself, “What do I stand for?” Then, write down a list of five or six values that resonate deeply with you. Ask yourself, “How do I live this? For example: The cashier at the grocery store misses charging you for an item. Do you let them know? If honesty is one of your core values, letting them know is never in doubt.
Knowing your values provides a personal compass for your actions.
Conscious Action: Connect your values to your actions. For example, if a driver cuts you off, you can choose to respond with your value of compassion instead of anger. A simple, “Bless them. Forgive me. Forgive them. Bless me,” can restore your equilibrium far faster than endlessly muttering under your breath. (And yes, ‘forgive me’ is important because if you’re human, you probably had a not-so-nice thought or two about them when they cut you off.) This reinforces the idea that every act becomes an expression of your purpose.
When we live on purpose, our values take centre stage.
Embrace the Ripple Effect: Recognize that every action has a ripple. One word shouted in anger can create shockwaves of unease. One word spoken in kindness can resonate like a single harp string pulled in a room full of harps creating a ripple of harmony.By consistently acting from a place of integrity, your positive influence naturally expands. Focusing on conscious living is far more sustainable and fulfilling than constantly searching for a monumental purpose.
To make a difference, live true to your values, principles and beliefs.
Is there a step that feels most accessible to you today? Please share your thoughts and inspire others to live on purpose.
I read the news, and a weariness settles deep within. Heavy words line the page, black print against stark white, blurring and tumbling into a wave of dismay that roils through my mind.
“You are not equipped to handle this,” a voice whispers from somewhere deep inside.
Who is?
Turmoil. Angst. Anger. Fear. These are the emotions that dominate the day.
Tariff wars. Gun wars. Drug wars.
So many wars distort my view of the sun, so many words barricade my heart, holding it hostage in despair.
“Stop reading,” the voice insists.
My heart flutters. Can I? Should I?
What if, in stopping, I become blind to the suffering? What if I become numb to the pain? What if I succumb to the lie that I am powerless?
I am adrift, devoid of answers that can calm the turbulent seas. Seas that overturn lifeboats of global treaties and trade routes. Seas full of angry waves rolling across the land, drowning reason, flooding communities and destroying communities, families, lives and so much more.
I feel powerless to shift the mindsets that perpetuate the illusion of ‘us’ versus ‘them.’ Them out there, whose ways are different but no less valid. Them who speak a foreign tongue or worship at a different altar. Them whose histories are etched with the struggle to rise from poverty, flee violence, find safety, only to face more barriers. Them who are, simply, different.
Yet, I am not powerless to keep my mind open, my heart soft, and my back strong.
I am not powerless in the face of injustice, cruelty, chaos.
I choose to stand true to the belief that we are all important, all matter on this big, round ball circling the sun, year after year. Our orbit is the same as theirs. Our planet, one.
I must step away from the relentless scroll and focus on what I, one individual, can do to create calm in a world of chaos.
That is my mission for today. To plant seeds of kindness, to offer a hand, to listen with empathy. To find the small acts of love that ripple outwards.
Dreams. They have this way of both beckoning and terrifying me, a strange duality born from childhood. My brother, ever the ‘good’ big brother on the lookout for an opportunity to rattle his baby sister’s cage, had a knack for turning my stage aspirations (of which there were many!) into fodder for his teasing. “You should be on a stage,” he’d chant, “the first one out of town!”
While I know he didn’t intend to dim my light, his words echoed through the years, a persistent whisper of doubt. Even now, long after he’s gone, I sometimes find myself hesitating, second-guessing the dreams that dare to surface.
My brother, he dreamed of growing old, of walking his daughters down the aisle, of holding grandchildren. Dreams that vanished in an instant on a lonely prairie road, his car a crumpled wreck against a semi-trailer.
With him, went my dream of reconciliation, of smoothing the rough edges of a brother-sister bond frayed by addiction and grief over the loss of our father. We were out of time.
But my dreams, they still have time. Time to unfold, to take shape, to transform from misty wisps into vibrant realities. If only I dare to dream them, to nurture them, to give them the space to breathe and grow.
Yet, my mind, ever the trickster, loves to play its games. I create, I birth ideas into the world, and then, like a mother cow rejecting her newborn, I abandon them. Words and images orphaned, left to fend for themselves in the vast wilderness of my forgotten projects.
It’s a pattern I’ve wrestled with for years, this dance between creation and abandonment. The universe, in its infinite wisdom, often sends a gentle (or not-so-gentle) nudge to remind me of this recurring theme.
This morning, it arrived in the form of a forgotten dream journal I’d created, a relic from last year’s “She Dares: The ReWrite Journey” program. As I reread its pages, I was struck by the power of the prompts, the gentle guidance towards actualizing dreams.
Perhaps, it’s time I took my own advice.
And what about you? What dreams are whispering in your heart, waiting to be awakened? Do share in the comments below. And if you’re seeking a gentle guide on your journey, check out the “She Dares: 21 Day Journey – A Creative Guide to Living Your Dreams. .” It might be just the nudge you need to transform those misty visions into radiant realities.
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The She Dares: 21 Day Journey – A Creative Guide to Living Your Dreams booklet is divided into 3 sections, each designed to unfold layers of self-awareness and insight. Week 1: Heart Week invites you to connect deeply with your core values and emotions, laying the groundwork for authentic dreams. Week 2: Joy Week encourages you to rediscover and cultivate what brings you genuine happiness, a crucial element in the pursuit of any dream. Finally, Week 3: Dream Week propels you towards actionable steps, making those once-distant dreams tangible realities.
The muse has a delightful way of weaving her magic throughout my being, even when I’m not paying attention.
Whether I’m walking along the shore, immersed in the quiet of the forest, or kneading dough for bread, her whispers find me. Like tendrils of smoke, these fleeting thoughts curl into my mind, each one vanishing as quickly as the next.
Yet, when I finally return to the page, fingers poised over the keyboard, a torrent of inspiration flows forth, like a stream rushing down a mountainside, seeking the boundless freedom of the river that will lead it to the sea.
I cannot see its source. I cannot feel its pulse. I can only respond to its urgings to let the muse flow free. Surrendering, consonants and vowls, letters and words tumble out seeking form unhindered by my manipulations. As phrases form and coalesce, and I dive beneath the surface meaning like a pearl diver seeking treasure, my creative essence transforms from a thought into reality.
Immersed in the long exhale of creative expression, my thoughts find space and air to breathe on the page; naked, exposed, vulnerable.
And in that vulnerability, I find my heart soaring, my spirits lifting and my voice rising up to sing out loud, “This is Life and I am so grateful for every moment. No matter how I label them, good, bad or indifferent, every moment is full of life teeming with possibility, adventure, hope and Love.”
What a gift!
The Evidence of Time by Louise Gallagher
To age and not fear, to grow older, unburdened by worry, free from the whispers of wrinkles and lines, the creaks and aches, the evidence of time passing.
To live a life where age holds no sway over worth, where spirit soars beyond the measure of years.
This is the defiance of our days, as time's river flows ever forward, calendar pages turning with quickening pace.
These are the reminders of the inevitable truth: One day, the final page will turn, the heart's rhythm will cease its beat, the last breath will softly fade, and the echoes of "I love you" will fall silent.
No magic potion halts the passage of time, no secret formula holds back the years.
Yet, the choice remains ours: To live each day fearlessly, boldly, bravely, passionately alive, with wonder and awe, celebrating every heartbeat, every breath, every whispered "I love you," as precious gifts weaving the grand tapestry of our days into a life well loved. A life well lived.
Dare Boldly 