#MomLife #WorkingMoms #AgingUngracefully

I wake up each morning to the unmistakable thrill of wondering which part of my body will betray me first. Today, it’s my back—tight, dramatic, and fully committed to its role as the Main Character. So begins the daily pilgrimage: a slow, slightly hunched shuffle to the bathroom that feels less like a routine and more like an Olympic event for the sleep-deprived. Somewhere between step three and gripping the doorframe for emotional support, I remember—I used to wake up energized. Now I wake up negotiating with my spine like, “Listen, we both want coffee. Let’s not make this harder than it has to be.” My first real thought of the day: how do I get my teenager out of bed for school without having to deal with the stairs? My second thought: my doctor’s voice echoing in my head—“Just do yoga. You’ll be fine.” Which is adorable. Truly. I assume she knows I’m currently in too much pain to chase her down and argue. After yelling my daughter’s name with enough intensity to wake the ancestors, I decide it’s time to pivot. New plan: calm, grounded, self-healing energy. I press play on a meditation—“Relationship with Self Series.” Very promising. I am greeted by the angelic, suspiciously peaceful voice of Tamara Levitt. Two deep breaths in, and my brain is already freelancing. Does she actually sound like this in real life? Like at Walmart when no one is available to help her? Is she the woman in front of me at Starbucks ordering a “slightly warm, half-caf, oat milk, two-pump, no-foam situation” while the drive-thru line wraps around the building? Okay. Refocus. Breathe. Sixty seconds in, the dogs spot a squirrel in the backyard and