Hey friend,
Almost two years ago, at the start of a sabbatical year I’d half-talked myself out of taking, I sat down with a notebook and tried to write myself back into existence.
A vision statement.
My core values.
And a list of ambitions — big ones, small ones, some as big as your head...err, nope, Mama brain kicked in, sorry. But, you know, the usual recovering-overachiever suspects: Grow the thing. Finish the thing. Become the impressive version of the thing.
And tucked right in the middle of the list, in my own handwriting:
Meet & love ME.
Not “get in shape.”
Not “hit the goal.”
Meet and love me.
I still remember the jolt of writing it — that flush you get when you accidentally tell the truth.
Because it named the thing under all the other things.
I’d spent decades fluent in everyone but myself. I could tell you what my husband needed and wanted, what each of my girls needed and wanted, what the room needed and wanted. But the woman underneath all the handling? Somewhere along the way she’d become a stranger — and she’s the one person I never, ever get to leave.
Here’s what I know now that I didn’t then:
“meet and love me” isn’t a goal you check off.
There’s no finish line, no gold star, no done.
And it was never about becoming someone new.
It’s about coming home to the woman who has been waiting all along. A little buried under the roles and the rules and the casseroles. But never — not once — gone.
And the plot twist that still gets me: when you finally sit down across from her and really look, you don’t grit your teeth and “accept” her. You fall a little in love.
With her laugh.
The weird, specific things that light her up.
The way she’s carried you this whole time without a single word of thanks.
The unique, quirky, weirdo ways she shines like no one else.
Your JOY NUGGET for you this Friday, friends:
She’s not lost.
She’s not forgotten.
She's not living with her best years behind her...she's not too far gone...and she's definitely not without hope.
She’s just… unmet.
Your PINKIE-TOE STEP (the tiny, brave one):
Put it on your list of goals for this second half of 2026.
In your own handwriting, right next to the respectable goals:
Meet & love me.
That’s it. That’s the step. That's the goal. That's the big-time Rebel Move.
You don’t have to feel it yet.
You just have to write it somewhere you’ll see it.
Your PLAY PROMPT for the weekend:
Continue being a Joy Detective — and make the introduction.
Catch three things the real you loves.
1) One borrowed from the little girl you were — maybe you didn’t twirl like I did; maybe for you, it was all about the puzzles, the treehouse, the mud pies
And Two from the woman reading this right now.
2) The song, the movie, the show, the book. The hobby or simple pleasure that can instantly lift your mood and energy, that makes you smile or dance just thinking about it.
3) Something that catches your breath and/or stirs your soul. The color. The first sip of coffee outside before anyone needs you. Sunsets, sunrises, sunrays (I call them glimpses of heaven). Birds in flight, ancient trees.
Don’t decode them.
Don’t make them mean anything yet.
Just write them down.
You’re taking notes on a woman worth knowing.
And yes, if you can think of MORE than 3, write those babies down, sister!
By the way, that same sabbatical notebook I wrote mine in is where my personal commandments came from — the ones I finally shared in this week’s episode of The Joyful Rebel Podcast. If you want the story of the rule I broke first, it’s all there. On YouTube, Spotify, Apple, or wherever you listen or watch.
And if you’d rather not make this introduction alone — if you want to meet the real YOU in a room full of women doing the same brave thing at the same time — that’s exactly what I’m building inside the Good Girl Ghosting Reset.
For just one more week, I’m opening it to a small founding circle: my Founding Sisters. Doors close Sunday, 7/12, at midnight.
Reply to this email with RESET and I’ll send you everything.
FAVORITE FIND THIS WEEK:
My daughter’s first apartment. (Also the reason this letter is a day late — and I regret nothing.)
We drove up to Flagstaff, toured several buildings, and chose the place that will be her very first place — she moves in three weeks for her first big on-her-own college chapter.
It’s brand new, somehow both gorgeous AND affordable, and fancier than anywhere I lived until I was a grown woman with a house.
It even smells good, y’all.
Best part: she’ll be two and a half hours from me instead of a whole day.
She’s excited. We’re excited. And it makes all of it that much more beautiful.
That's it for me, friend. Go out and meet YOU this weekend. I’ll meet you back here.
— Rachel
