Still Not in Therapy: An Introduction (or a Confession)

A personal and honest blog about nostalgia, midlife womanhood, and figuring sh*t out — without therapy, one overshare at a time.

Let’s be honest: I didn’t plan to write this.

I planned to rewatch Sex and the City. From Season 1. In my pajamas. While finishing the M&Ms bag I swore I wouldn’t open.

And yet, here we are.

A few minutes into Season 2 Episode 1 – you know, when Carrie’s lounging in the stands at a Yankees game, legs draped over seats, cigarette in hand, and that vintage fur coat casually slung over her shoulders – that’s when I hit pause. Something snapped. Or clicked. Or maybe both.

I wanted to write again.

Not in a diary. Not in a Notes app draft that dies on my phone.

I wanted to blog.

Yes, blog.

In 2025.

Publicly. Anonymously. On purpose.

Why?

Because I’m almost 40.

Because I’ve been divorced.

Because I just spent a Saturday with people I didn’t choose – friends of my man’s – and ended up eating hummus in my bedroom to avoid yet another conversation about craft beer and crypto. Again.

Because even though I’ve always dreamed of living like Carrie Bradshaw, my life looks a lot more like Miranda’s.

(Minus the Harvard degree and the coming-out subplot. Plus the snacks in bed. Still working on the power suits.)

Also: therapy is expensive.

Oversharing is free.

So I started a blog.

If you’ve hit your late 30s or 40s and find yourself wondering “Wait… is this it?”, you’re not alone.

This blog is for women who’ve lived through breakups, burnout, maybe even a nasty divorce, and still haven’t figured it all out – and maybe never will.

Call it a late-blooming creative outlet.

Call it mental health without therapy.

Whatever it is, I’m writing it.

What this blog is (and isn’t)

This isn’t self-help.

This isn’t lifestyle inspo.

This isn’t curated perfection with affiliate links to beige cardigans.

It’s a digital corner for messy thoughts, lukewarm takes, uninvited flashbacks that refuse to stay quiet, and heartfelt truths written by a millennial who sometimes suspects she’s on the autism spectrum (hello, masking) and has just enough self-awareness to laugh about it.

I grew up with childhood trauma, generational dysfunction, and dial-up internet.

So yes, I used to blog.

Like, real blogging. Passionfruit Ads, blog rolls, giveaways with a vintage filter.

Remember Love Taza? That era? I was there.

I even had a sidebar.

Who am I?

Great question.

Let’s just say: I’m a woman with a complicated inner world and a Wi-Fi connection.

I live in a house that isn’t Pinterest-ready.

I cohabitate with a child in shared custody, a lovely man I met in my late 30s, and my own overthinking.

I love writing.

I hate small talk.

And I once cried in a parking lot because I couldn’t find my car. (It happens.)

I won’t tell you my name. But I’ll tell you my truths.

Bits and pieces. As they come.

Wrapped in sarcasm, sometimes. Wrapped in silence, often.

But always honest.

So, what now?

Now I write.

Not for likes. Not for validation (okay, maybe just a little).

But because my head is full, and the page is quiet.

And somewhere between a 90s nostalgia trip, a feminist rant, and a mildly existential crisis, maybe I’ll say something that feels familiar to you.

Maybe you’re still not in therapy either. Maybe you’re just trying to hold it together with iced coffee and dark humor like the rest of us.

Anyway, welcome.

If you’re reading this and it resonates – even a little – say hi in the comments or just keep coming back.

I don’t have all the answers.

But I’ll be here, writing through it.

Still not in therapy.

But getting closer.

See you in the next overshare.

♡