The Beauty of Contradictions
strong yet vulnerable, wise yet curious, independent yet connected
It’s funny—women in our second act, we’re supposed to have it all figured out by now.
But here’s what they don’t tell you: this stage isn’t about certainty.
It’s about letting life complicate itself in ways that make us richer, not clearer.
And if I’m honest, it’s uncomfortable.
I’m more willing to own that discomfort now, but it doesn’t mean I’ve magically embraced every jagged edge of who I am.
I hate how I try to seem stronger than I really am or only tell stories when I was tough and ignore the times I was fragile, vulnerable, and emotional.
And I don’t think I’m alone in that.
The truth is, there’s a deep ache in carrying both strength and vulnerability.
It’s like holding onto two sides of a canyon with nothing solid beneath you.
We don’t talk about how lonely that space can be—the isolation that comes with admitting that while you’re strong enough to go it alone, sometimes you’re aching for someone to say, “You don’t have to be so tough all the time.”
And yet, many of us won’t dare say it out loud, because we’re afraid it sounds weak.
We’ve had to fight for so much—to be heard, to be respected, to be seen as valuable—and the idea of letting down our guard can feel terrifying, like we’re giving up hard-won ground.
Let me tell you, I used to believe I had to choose: be strong, or admit I’m sometimes scared.
Show my wisdom, or expose the messy, curious part of me that feels like she’s still figuring it out.
I’ve spent years not talking about this because the unspoken rule seemed to be that any admission of vulnerability would chip away at all the strength I’d built.
And sometimes, I still catch myself falling into that trap—reaching for the familiar armor of “I’m fine” when really, I’m far from it.
But the hardest thing of all, if I’m being brutally honest, is reconciling my independence with my need for connection.
I’ve worked hard for the independence I have.
I left my job to become a life coach, poured my heart into my art, and created a life on my own terms.
I need my freedom; I crave it.
Yet, as much as I’ve grown comfortable in my own skin, there are nights when that skin feels a little too thin.
There are times when being alone feels more like being lonely, and the connections I worked so hard to maintain feel miles away.
But who wants to say that out loud, right?
We’re supposed to have this nailed down by now.
The reality no one talks about is that, as much as we cherish our independence, there’s also a deep yearning for intimacy that feels real and enduring.
Not just the surface-level, “Let’s have lunch and catch up,” but the kind of connection where someone truly gets you, where you can drop the act, the expectations, the curated image you’ve spent a lifetime perfecting.
And the truth is, we’re often afraid to admit we want that because we’ve spent so long proving that we don’t need anyone.
So here’s what I want to say, even though it might make some people uncomfortable: We are allowed to want both.
We’re allowed to be strong and still need someone to lean on.
We’re allowed to be wise and still curious as hell about what’s next.
And we’re allowed to love our independence while still craving a deep, unwavering connection.
We don’t have to pick a lane.
In fact, I think it’s the beauty of these contradictions that makes this part of life so damn beautiful and complicated.
I still wrestle with all of it.
Some days I’m fierce and full of grit, ready to tackle whatever comes my way.
Other days, I’m holding back tears, feeling raw and unsteady, questioning everything I thought I knew.
But that’s what this stage of life is about: being honest, even when it feels risky, even when it feels messy.
Because as I’ve learned, the beauty of contradictions isn’t in solving them; it’s in letting them coexist and seeing how they make us fuller, more real.
So if you’re reading this and feeling that same struggle, know you’re not alone.
You’re not failing because you don’t have it all figured out.
In fact, that’s where the real strength lies—right in the middle of the mess, in the heart of the contradictions, exactly where life has us, whether we like it or not.