From Strength to Strength

As I near my 59th birthday, I’ve been spending good, honest time in my own mind—looking at the past, glancing toward the future, and practicing the discipline of living right here, right now.

Because of that, I’ve become deeply interested in you—and in the quiet desires of your heart.

If you have children, I want to say this clearly: you did the best you could with what you knew at the time. And I also know this to be true—you carry things. Regret. Moments you wish you could redo. Places where you missed the mark or simply didn’t show up the way you hoped you would.

Here’s a hard truth I’ve had to accept myself: if I had a do-over, I’d probably make many of the same mistakes. To believe I’d suddenly get it all right is just my pride talking smack. It assumes that learned-the-hard-way wisdom alone could save me from my humanity. It forgets that I was tired. Overwhelmed. And doing the best I could with the tools I had at the time.

Every woman I sit down with carries some version of this story. Regret about a child she didn’t see clearly enough. A moment she handled poorly. A season she simply survived.

And regret, when left unattended, quietly drains a woman’s strength. It keeps us stuck—or pushes us toward numbing. Scrolling. Snacking. Pouring another glass. Anything to avoid sitting with our mistakes and mishaps.

This season of life invites us to make peace with what was—not by pretending it didn’t matter, but by refusing to live imprisoned by it.

We’re wired with something called negativity bias. When we look back, our minds distort the story, zooming in on the hardest moments as if they define the whole. These are the thoughts that come to pay a little visit at 3 a.m., vividly replaying scenes that no longer exist but still steal our peace.

What has helped me most is this new, glorious season of grand blessings. I love them immensely. They are busy, alive, and require constancy—a constancy that asks all of me. And in being fully present with them, something unexpected happened.

One afternoon, watching three of my grandblessings, I had a quiet realization: This is hard. And next, I knew this: I really have been a good mama. Mistakes? Yes. Absolutely. But also love. Presence. Faithfulness in ways that mattered. And I made a decision to trust my younger self.

"Lori, you did good." (And then I sat down and cried my eyes out.)

As I loosened the death grip on who I thought I should have been, something cracked. Or perhaps shifted. And the Holy Spirit breathed in me. Wow. My heart could receive again—and in that place, I found myself. (Well hello there. Welcome back.)

The truth of the matter: you cannot change the way you yelled. You cannot rewrite the moments when you spoke from exhaustion or checked out because you had nothing left to give.

But spend a day in the home of a mother in the trenches, and you’ll see the weight she carries. The constant pulling. The laundry. The snacks. The bodily fluids. The decisions, demands, and fatigue layered one on top of the other like wooden blocks about to be toppled over. And with that understanding comes compassion. And with compassion comes peace with the past.

As I’ve turned all of this over, it felt like unclenching a muscle I didn’t realize I’d been holding for years. And when it finally released, one beautifully freeing thought rose up with it: I am not dead yet.

I am a vibrantly alive 58-year-old woman—happily married, surrounded by people I love, with deep work still unfolding in my life.

What an invitation this season is.

Let go of the past. Live without regret. Enter fully into now.

God is not asking us to prove ourselves or make up for what we think we got wrong. He sees us. He loves us. And He is always inviting us—gently, patiently—to live with intention. To choose presence over regret. Courage over numbing. Love rooted in who we are becoming.

Strength in this third quarter of life looks different than it used to. It’s quieter. More grounded. I have more space now, and with that space comes the ability to respond instead of react, to love without fear, and to live with intention.

This is how we go from strength to strength—not by erasing what was, but by refusing to let what was steal our peace or kill our spirits.

It was.

And now, it is, my friend.

Be present. Choose connection over perfection. You are seen, known, and loved.

And it is more than enough.

Love, Lori

P.S.

If this reflection stirred something in you—if you sense that this season is asking you to live more intentionally, with your whole heart—I want you to know you don’t have to walk that path alone.

My wellness coaching is about the body, yes. We get pretty darn strong. We eat nourishing foods. We support hormones and energy. But we never neglect the heart. Because true wellness isn’t about fixing yourself—it’s about coming home to yourself.

If this feels like your time, my February 2nd round is open. I would love to walk with you as you step into this season with clarity, strength, and peace.