Essays and images about motherhood, midlife, and becoming myself again.
Jumping In!!
Hi. I’m Bridgette.
I’m raising children across seasons of life — from tiny hands to almost-grown ones — while learning what it means to begin again in midlife. I make things when I can. I notice light. I try to stay honest. Some days I hold it together beautifully. Other days, I cry in the car and call that progress.
I lost my mom years ago, and since then I’ve been learning how to mother — and live — without a map. After decades of putting everyone else first, this is me finding my way back to myself, slowly and without apology.
This space is where I tell the truth as gently as I can.
In words. In images. In moments that don’t need fixing.
It’s not polished. It’s not performative.
It’s real, and it’s still unfolding.
Because I’m still me in here.

Latest from the Blog
Catch up on the most recent stories. I usually share something new each week — something honest, something lived-in. You’re welcome anytime.
- My Doctor Said Yes. My Body Said Yes. My Insurance Said No. But at Least a Toy in My Back Seat Thinks I’m a Winner.I was driving around last week with donations in my back seat because isn’t that what we do? We gather the things, we put them in the car where we’ll see them… Read more: My Doctor Said Yes. My Body Said Yes. My Insurance Said No. But at Least a Toy in My Back Seat Thinks I’m a Winner.
- I Thrive in the Background. The Problem Is Nobody Pays You There.It started with an AI interview. I had applied for what I thought was a writing position. Something that made sense for where I am right now — building a blog, creating… Read more: I Thrive in the Background. The Problem Is Nobody Pays You There.
- She Remembered: On Raising Daughters, Losing Mothers, and the Marks We Leave BehindI always go into vacation a little flustered. The packing anxiety. The mental checklist that never fully empties. The quiet worry that I’ve forgotten something important enough to matter. When someone asks… Read more: She Remembered: On Raising Daughters, Losing Mothers, and the Marks We Leave Behind

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