Welcome to our Newsletter!

A behind-the-scenes look at Terranam Wellness & self-care tips for taking better care of yourself.

BY MARIA GARRIDO - 4 MINUTE READ

Learning to sit with the melancholy and uncomfortable truth of not knowing what comes next.

THE FLICKERING SPARK

Those who know me rarely see a non-bubbly version of me. I’m the one running around the world—quite literally—spreading positive energy, optimism, and encouragement. Inspiring and uplifting others fills me with a sense of purpose.

It’s my oxytocin fix.

But on the eve of my 52nd birthday, I’m not feeling my usual spark. I’m not in the mood to spread good cheer. I don’t fully recognize this melancholy that’s been creeping in. But if I’ve learned anything on my self-care journey, it’s that sometimes you just have to sit with the discomfort, no matter how unsettling it feels.

THE WEIGHT OF INVISIBLE BURDENS

The truth is, I’m tired.

Exhausted, really.

I’ve been carrying a heavy, invisible shield for decades on my own—protecting myself and everyone around me. I don’t have the energy to lift others up right now. I’ve been weighed down by years of emotional labor—absorbing the unspoken needs of my career, my family, and my relationships.

I’ve buried resentment, silenced my own anger, and distracted myself with new projects—anything to avoid sitting still long enough to process the hard stuff. I’ve been on autopilot, raising three boys alone, second-guessing my every parenting decision. “Falling apart is not an option” has been my mantra, and I’ve tucked countless microaggressions into hidden corners of my soul because I simply didn’t have the bandwidth to deal with them.

All this time, I’ve been silently demanding perfection from myself—holding everything together, at the expense of my own well-being.

And now, at 52, it’s all catching up with me.

WHEN THE BODY SCREAMS

My body has been trying to get my attention—through sleepless nights, the constant pit in my stomach, digestive cramps that come out of nowhere, and the chronic neck pain that’s been my companion for over a decade.

I dismissed it all as “just stress,” but no amount of yoga, massages, meditation, or osteopath visits can make it go away.

RUNNING IN THE DARK

For years, it feels as if I've been running—not a steady jog, but a frantic sprint in a dark, enclosed room. I don’t know the room’s size or shape. I don't have my bearings because I can't see anything.

Every once in a while, I slam into a wall, fall down, get a little bruised and every single time, I just get right back up and start to run again, as if I can't afford to fail and hoping that eventually, my unwavering grit will lead me to a door or window to escape from.

But I’m tired of running. I don’t want to sprint blindly anymore.

I want to STOP.

To sit in the dark.

To acknowledge the not-knowing.

To curl up on the floor and just be still.

THE BITTERSWEET RECKONING

Middle age brings a particular kind of melancholy, a convergence of life’s inevitable truths:

• Mortality becomes impossible to ignore. Our parents age, pass away, and our own bodies show signs of decline. Death starts to feel more real.

• Our identities evolve, often in unsettling ways—career plateaus, empty nests, changing dynamics with adult children, and shifting partnerships.

• With decades behind us, we realize there are likely fewer years ahead than behind. This leads us to assess our lives: the dreams we had, the paths we took (or didn’t), and whether we’ve lived up to our own expectations.

• The weight of accumulated emotional labor, suppressed feelings, and decades of caretaking grows heavy.

• And we’re often caught in the “sandwich”—caring for aging parents while still supporting our children, with little time or energy left for ourselves.

For some of us, all of this piles up into a deep sense of melancholy.

This melancholy isn’t necessarily depression—it’s a natural reckoning with the finite nature of life. A bittersweet awareness that needs to be acknowledged if we want it to lead to deeper wisdom and peace within.

THE INEVITABLE CRASH

This year will bring massive changes for me. My youngest son is heading off to university, leaving me in an empty house with an aging dog who won’t be around much longer. My relationships are shifting, my career has taken unexpected detours. I know the crash is coming—it’s inevitable.

So I’m doing what I can: I’m buckling my seatbelt, bracing for impact. I know I’ll feel winded, maybe even broken for a while. But I also know that if I'm kind to myself, if I acknowledge it's a time of transition, I will heal.

PERMISSION TO BE UNPOLISHED

I’ve built a reputation for always showing up impeccable, on my best behavior and performing beyond expectations on every front. But this year, I’m letting that go. I’m giving myself permission to show up unpolished and a little frayed at the seams.

Last year in my birthday blog, I wrote about aging gracefully by pruning away the old—unhealthy relationships, unfulfilling careers, self-limiting beliefs. I said it was time to prepare for happiness in midlife. I tried to take my own advice, but it’s been much harder than I thought. I'm not even close to achieving midlife happiness.

So, here I am, 52, sitting in the dark, immersed in the melancholy of it all, acknowledging the inevitable crash that is to come. Trying desperately to trust that the universe has my back, that even in the wreckage, I’ll find my way back—even if it takes longer than I planned. And if I'm lucky, just maybe, when I do get back up, I'll find myself in a lit room, staring in the mirror at an even truer, more authentic version of myself.

SELF CARE TIP FOR FELLOW MIDDLEAGE TRAVELERS

If you see yourself in these words, here’s what I’m learning to do—and maybe you can, too:

Give yourself permission to pause.

Set aside just 10 minutes today to sit with whatever you’re feeling.

Don’t try to fix it, analyze it, or push through it.

Don’t journal about it.

Don’t meditate it away.

Don’t call a friend to process it.

Just sit with it, like you would sit with a dear friend who’s going through something hard—with compassion, without judgment, without the need to solve.

Sometimes the most radical act of self-care isn’t doing more—it’s allowing yourself to simply be exactly where you are, unpolished and unravelled.

The crash might be inevitable and it is perfectly acceptable to not face it with a smile on your face.

❤️

JOIN OUR SELF LOVE RETREATS

BOOK NOW