Because the thing about truth is this: once you’ve seen it, it cannot be unseen.
And the universe works in mysterious ways. Sometimes, it finds obscure paths to present the truth—ones unthinkable to you. Suddenly, your past rushes to the forefront of your mind as you frantically try to separate truth from lies. The mind becomes a battlefield, waging war against its own pre-existing reality and beliefs. You struggle to delineate what was real.
Then it dawns on you that every adventure comes to an end. Yet we rarely know when the last of anything will be. If you did, would it have changed your experience—made it sweeter, or dampened it? And so perhaps this, in and of itself, was a gift: a rare moment of foresight. This time, you know it is the last.
So you give yourself permission to luxuriate in it one last time. Grown-ups, after all, can’t keep living on borrowed time.
(Jan 8, 2026 — I wrote this while I was wide awake at night during my Cancun trip, coughing my lungs out. It’s a mesh of a few different trains of thought I had been processing and decided to blend together. I guess one could call it my “Thought Cocktail.”)
As 2025 comes to a close, I want to be intentional about reflecting on the year it has been. I know this will always mark a pivotal moment in my life, much like 2013 once did.
If I were to sum up this year in one word, I would have chosen: brave.
I started the year in Morocco, in the Sahara Desert—a place I had wanted to go for as long as I can remember. I think that was brave.
In February, I lost Evelyn to cancer.
In March, I saw Guadalajara and applied for a new job. I think both were brave.
In April, I interviewed, taught a lesson as part of the process, was offered the job, and accepted it. I think that was brave.
In May, I sent my last group of IB 12s off.
In June, I packed up my classroom and a relationship of 13+ years, and said some of my hardest goodbyes. I think that was brave.
In July and August, I was riddled with self-doubt and uncertainty—unsure whether I had made the right decision, or what I would do if I failed.
From September until now, I’ve been working nonstop—designing and preparing nine new courses while learning entirely new systems and procedures. I drew hard boundaries, learned to find joy in the minutiae, and kept going. I think that was brave.
“Life shrinks or expands in proportion to one’s courage.” —Anaïs Nin
Perhaps it is time to apply that same courage to other areas of my life. To accept that I may be the only one holding on to this improbable outcome, and to finally let it go.
What’s strange is that as we continue to soldier on, we uncover strengths we didn’t know we had. Just like the muscles we tear and rebuild through training, we, too, grow stronger each time we keep going.
Sometimes you climb out of bed in the morning and you think, I’m not going to make it, but you laugh inside— remembering all the times you’ve felt that way.
—Charles Bukowski
For months after accepting the job offer, I lived in a constant hum of doubt, mild anxiety, and restlessness. “Growth happens on the other side of your comfort zone,” I kept reminding myself, but the truth was that I couldn’t fully grasp why I felt so deeply unsettled. Was it simply the idea of starting over after nearly fifteen years? Or was it something else—those tiny, invisible micro-claws twisting me from the inside out?
Every day, sometimes multiple times a day, I leaned on behavioural-therapy strategies to coach myself out of my fear, replacing each frightening thought with a new, steadier belief. Looking back, maybe that was exactly what I needed to soften the edges of my fear.
What I didn’t expect was how that constant practice—sharpening my ability to steady myself—would spill into the rest of my life. I started to feel a new kind of confidence, a quiet assurance that I could meet other fears without collapsing under their weight. And woven through all of it was something even more surprising: the realization of how fiercely I am loved. Each person who checked in, who held space for me, who reminded me I wasn’t facing this alone—they became proof that even in my most uncertain seasons, I am held by a love far stronger than the things I fear.
On a similar but slightly different note, I’ve always tried to live my life by the kind of person I hope to be remembered as—the care I want to offer, the warmth I want people to feel, the love I hope to leave behind in small and quiet ways. Sometimes I think about the stories people might one day tell about me, not out of vanity, but as a way of checking in with myself: Am I living in a way that aligns with the person I hope to become?
And the closest I’ve come to hearing that reflection was in the kind words my colleagues shared, in the messages from students and staff, and in the quiet tears at my goodbye. Those moments didn’t make me feel proud so much as deeply humbled—like I’d been seen in ways I hadn’t realized.
It made me think that maybe, just maybe, I’m moving in the right direction.
If you choose courage you will absolutely know failure, disappointment, setback, and even heartbreak. That’s why we call it courage. That’s why it’s so rare.
—Dare to Lead
And this, because I came across it:
This is me knowing that we’re going to grow old. That your life is going to be huge and important and chockfull of love but that it’s all going to transpire without me. That I am not going to be there to toast to your 50th birthday or cheers to your timely promotion or crawl in beside you on the nights when the world’s weight is too heavy to bear. That your losses and gains will not be lined up with mine.
I know you work so hard to control the outcome of your life that you forget to breathe sometimes. —Sarah Blondin
What No One Told Us About Growing Up
that we’d lose people we love along the way (both literally and figuratively), and we’d have to learn how to trudge through mud-drenched memories, wade through pain, and live the rest of our lives without them
that sometimes we’d love someone with every fibre of our being but still be unable to make the relationship work, so we’d have to let them go and reconcile with the haunting reality that one day they’ll be holding someone else in their arms
that we are fiercely brave and capable of holding unimaginably complex, roaring emotions while carrying on with our day-to-day
that we’d make friends who transcend space and time
that time is relative and finite—so much more finite than we ever understood it to be when we were little
Monday morning, as I anxiously got ready for the new job, I remembered again that I would not be teaching boys for a while—and how strange that felt. I thought of how much I had enjoyed teaching them and suddenly recalled how afraid I once was of raising girls. I used to pray about becoming a boy-mom, weighed down by fear and uncertainty about raising daughters.
For as long as I can remember, I resented my identity as a girl, a woman. Shaped by my traditional grandparents who raised me, I saw womanhood as unworthy and inconvenient. So even when I dreamed of having children, the thought of having girls made me tremble.
“How could I possibly bring more girls into this world—to be subjected to the inconvenience of womanhood, the weight of hundreds of years of patriarchy… the inferiority of femininity?”
Yet it was as though the universe heard me—heard my plea to heal this wounded part of myself. It kept offering me scaffolded opportunities until here I am, about to teach at the best all-girls’ school.
The truth is, I haven’t thought about that fear in years. In many ways, my healing feels complete.
Life has come full circle. Where I once felt darkness, I have now become the light. I’ve sworn to protect every girl who crosses my path so she knows her worth and her worthiness.
I smiled as I slung my purse over my shoulder, steadying my nerves as I walked toward this new beginning.
I am going to be just fine.
The universe entrusts these kids to me. I just need to show up as I am—and that will always be enough.
Please fall in love with me in this space between no longer and not yet.
I stand at the precipice of monumental change, my heart beating to the restless cadence of anxiety, my stomach knotted tight.
Conceptually, metacognitively, I know I am the architect of my own life. Yet emotionally, I feel stalled—unsure which way to inch forward. Uncertainty envelopes me.
My friends shower me generously with compliments, cheering me on:
“You are so capable, you can do this!”
“You are so smart, you’ll figure this out!”
“Your new kids will love you!”
“You are so kind and thoughtful—anyone would be lucky to be in your life.”
“You are beautiful.”
“You are hot!”
“You are so fit and strong.”
And yet, the strange thing is, I often don’t feel they’re speaking about me. I hear those words and think: they are kind, saying these things to buoy me up. Because truly, I am just an average girl—average height, average looks, average hobbies, an average life. The only extraordinary thing about me is the friends I’ve made. They are the shining stars. They have the courage I revere, the talents I envy.
Please fall in love with me in this space between no longer and not yet.
Fall in love with the achingly slow metamorphosis— the delicate unfurling no one sees but me.
Fall in love with the becoming and the unbecoming— the shedding of old skins, the tentative reaching toward light.
Fall in love with the eddy of uncertainty— the way it tugs and swirls, both frightening and alive.
Fall in love with the shadow of grief— the echo of what was, the ache of what will never be.
Fall in love with the texture of the experience— the rough edges, the soft landings, the strange in-betweens.
Fall in love with the voracity of life— how it devours and feeds in the same breath.
Fall in love with the crestfallen heartbreak— proof that I have loved fiercely enough to be broken.
And when you’ve fallen for all of this, fall in love with me— in this space between no longer and not yet.
“You asked for healing—here’s your chance,” the universe said.
According to the Buddhist notion of reincarnation, the reason we (as souls) return again and again is because there are lessons we have yet to learn—truths we’ve yet to master. While I’m not a Buddhist, nor a definitive believer in souls, I want to entertain the notion for this entry—as my own way of processing this current phase of lights-out.
Perhaps healing doesn’t arrive in the form of some grand epiphany, just as my stamina for running doesn’t improve overnight simply because I take deeper breaths or belt out a longing for better cardiovascular fitness.
Perhaps, in the same way I have to dig deep each time I push myself on a run, I must also dig deep if I truly want to heal.
And maybe, after years of therapy and endless introspection, I’ve finally quieted the noise and gathered enough courage and clarity to arrive at what seems to be the very core of my attachment wounds—the source of so much heartache over the years.
This is it—if I want it.
Do it alone. Do it broke. Do it tired. Do it scared.
So here I sit, exasperated by tumbling hormones, staring into the abject darkness and depths of my discomfort—forcing myself to hold on, to not turn away. I silence all my usual escape mechanisms, refusing to let myself hide in the busyness of life.
You only liked the idea of me. You never really knew me at all.
—Sylvia Plath, The Unabridged Journal
Something about unrequited love leaves so much room for the imagination.
Not for me, though. I live by the philosophy that I’d rather regret trying than spend my life battling what-ifs.
That said, every now and then, I receive random messages from people whose paths once crossed mine—often estranged, usually long silent—sharing sentiments like:
We would have made a good couple. I think you would have been happy with me.
—guy from 2015 that I’ve actually never dated
I’m still here. I feel I did a poor job of showing you how much I valued our conversation, our attempted book club, our differences.
—guy from 2019 that I briefly dated
I never got a chance to really know you.
—guy from some random dating app, years ago
These messages come unprompted, uninvited, and often accompanied by imagined monologues about the perfect couple we could have been—if only I’d given “us” a chance.
I’m usually perplexed by this unfounded confidence. They hardly knew me. They don’t know who I’ve become in all the time that has passed.
And that’s when it hit me:
Unrequited love did a number on them.
It was never really about me.
It was about the idea of me—shaped more by projection than connection, more by longing than knowing.
If you’re a longtime reader (thank you!), you probably already know this about me: I grew up with my grandparents, in a your-worth-is-contingent-on-your-productivity household. That mindset became an unequivocally integral part of my identity—one that I have spent (and am still spending) much of my life trying to shed and unlearn.
No, this post isn’t about airing out old laundry again. I’ve had a newfound realization that I think could benefit many—man or woman alike. So hear me out.
For most of my life, I modelled my routine, my ambitions, and even my productivity after that of men. I tried—earnestly and stubbornly—to brute-force my femininity and hormonal fluctuations out of me. I followed the sage wisdom of successful men in their respective fields: from fitness and wellness, to investing and work habits. If a man wrote a book about it, I probably tried to live like it.
But in ignoring my biological and physiological differences, I paid the price. I got injured from running and overtraining, lost my period from getting too lean, and developed an eating disorder that took years to heal from.
Now, at 38, I’m finally learning to embrace my cyclical nature—and rebuilding my life around my menstrual cycle. To my surprise, doing so has not only improved my fitness and deepened my relationship with food, but also increased my overall productivity and happiness.
So even if you’re not a woman, chances are you have women in your life who could benefit from these now-so-obvious strategies—ones that work with our estrogen and progesterone, rather than in spite of them.
Let’s start with the four phases—what they are, and what each one is all about.
The Four Phases of the Menstrual Cycle
Phase
Days (approx.)
Hormonal State
Keywords
Menstrual
1–5
Estrogen & progesterone low
Rest, reflect, release
Follicular
6–13
Estrogen rising
Create, plan, energize
Ovulatory
14–17
Estrogen peaks
Connect, communicate, perform
Luteal
18–28
Progesterone rises, then falls
Focus, complete, wind down
Syncing with Your Cycle: A New Way to Live, Create, and Connect
Here’s how syncing with your cycle can show up in real life:
Work & Focus
Your brain chemistry shifts across the month—why not lean into it?
Follicular (Post-period): New ideas come easily. Plan, brainstorm, start projects.
Luteal: Attention to detail is high. Review, edit, wrap things up.
Menstrual: Your intuition is strong. Reflect, journal, re-evaluate.
Fitness
No, you don’t need to “push through” every day.
Follicular: Energy builds—try strength training or trying new movement.
Ovulatory: Peak performance—go hard, run fast, feel strong.
Luteal: Start tapering—low impact strength, Pilates, long walks.
Menstrual: Gentle yoga, stretching, or rest. Let your body recover.
Social Life & Connection
You’re not “moody”—you’re changing, evolving, cycling.
Follicular & Ovulatory: You’re more social, vibrant, and open. Say yes to events, dates, collaboration.
Luteal & Menstrual: You may crave solitude. Honour that. Cozy nights in, journaling, solo walks.
Creative Flow
Your imagination has a rhythm, too.
Follicular: New ideas flow—vision-board, brainstorm, create outlines.
Ovulatory: Best time to share. Speak, teach, launch.
Luteal: Refine. Edit, clarify, go deep.
Menstrual: Reflect. Let ideas simmer, dream freely.
Boundaries & Compassion
This is the real flex: knowing when to pause.
Tracking your cycle teaches you to listen more closely—not just to your body, but to your energy, your needs, your emotional bandwidth. It gives you permission to say no, reschedule, step away—or go all in when it feels right.
How to Show Up for the Women in Your Life (Cycle by Cycle)
“But what can I do as a man to support the women in my life?” you ask.
Thank you for asking—truly. The women in your life are lucky to have someone as thoughtful as you.
I do have some suggestions! You don’t need to be an expert in hormones or cycles to show up meaningfully. You just need to be aware, present, and open to tuning in. Here’s how you can support her through the different phases of her cycle—whether you’re a partner, friend, sibling, or colleague.
Menstrual Phase (Days 1–5)
What’s happening: Her energy is at its lowest. Hormones have dropped. She may be cramping, tired, or emotionally tender.
How to support:
Offer space and softness.
Don’t take withdrawal personally—this is her reset mode.
Bring her a warm meal, a hot water bottle, or simply sit in quiet together.
Let her say no to plans—she’s not being flaky, she’s honouring her body. 💬 “Take it easy today, I’ve got this.” 💬 “Want tea, a nap, or just quiet?”
Follicular Phase (Days 6–13)
What’s happening: Estrogen rises, energy returns. She’s feeling lighter, more playful, more creative.
How to support:
Dream together. Brainstorm. Make plans.
Try new things—she’ll likely be more open and adventurous.
Invite her into active experiences (a workout, hike, spontaneous trip).
Encourage and amplify her ideas. 💬 “Let’s try that thing you’ve been curious about.” 💬 “You seem energized—what’s inspiring you lately?”
Ovulatory Phase (Days 14–17)
What’s happening: Peak energy and confidence. She’s likely feeling social, magnetic, and capable.
How to support:
Let her take the lead—this is a natural time for her to shine.
Be open to deep conversations and high-energy plans.
Affirm her power and presence.
Compliment her—genuinely. She’s probably glowing. 💬 “You’re radiating today.” 💬 “You’ve been on fire lately—just had to say it.”
Luteal Phase (Days 18–28)
What’s happening: Progesterone rises then falls. She’s slowing down, possibly more sensitive or reflective.
How to support:
Be patient—she may need more reassurance or rest.
Help her tie up loose ends. Encourage her to say no without guilt.
Listen more, fix less. Don’t rush her feelings.
Don’t make jokes about “PMS”—it minimizes a very real experience. 💬 “Want to stay in tonight? I’ll handle dinner.” 💬 “You don’t have to do it all. Let’s simplify.”
Not Linear. Not Neat. Still Rising.
The more I learn to honour my cycle, the more I feel like I’m finally coming home to myself—not the version I was told to be, but the one I actually am. If there’s one thing I wish I could tell my younger self, it’s this: Your body is not a machine. It’s not meant to perform the same way every day. It’s wise, rhythmic, and always communicating with you. The more we listen, the more ease we create—not just for ourselves, but for those around us.
Here’s to unlearning. Here’s to coming back to our bodies. Here’s to rewriting the rules of womanhood—on our own terms.
Ms. C. Loves 