Lessons from the dark

On saving power and relishing the pause

I have been MIA on my beloved Substack column for weeks. I have a million excuses—I produced the Listen To Your Mother Boulder holiday show, I am wrapping up writing workshops for the season, my oldest came back from college—but I think the sad reality is that anything that isn’t on both the “urgent” and “necessary” list is not getting done. I’ve missed writing my column every week. I don’t like that my writing is coming in last as I juggle the realities of my work, family, and home life.

In my last post, I alluded to the fact that my work-life balance for the last quarter of the year can best be described as a clusterfuck, and I’ve been committed to finding a way to make 2026 more sustainable. In fact, I even preemptively came up with a 2026 “word of the year” in, like, October, like the overachiever that I am. PAUSE. That’s my word. I chose it because I feel like that is one of the big shifts I need to make in my work life moving forward. Don’t react impulsively. Don’t rush in; don’t overcommit; don’t people-please; don’t ignore your gut. With all those “not to-do" items, I needed something that didn’t feel prohibitive or punitive. Enter: Pause.

Instead of juggling way too many things at once, I want to pause, and then respond. I want to do a gut check when considering options and projects. I want to remember that my intuition rarely lets me down—I only get into trouble when I ignore it by saying “yes” to things or people that feel like a “no” in the wisest part of my body and brain. I’m trying to find more sustainable patterns and cycle projects in and out in an intentional way rather than trying to cram everything in all at once. It’s a work in progress.

As I pondered how I can bring the word (and action) “pause” into my life, a giant gong sounded in my brain: For all my rambling about perimenopause, I never once considered the “pause” part of the word. It’s almost like the instructions for how to navigate this stage of life are right there in the language itself, like some sort of cosmic nudge. I feel like this is the way we thrive as midlife women: Pause, and remember what you already know. Pause, and listen to your own voice. What do you want? Where do you want to put your energy? What beliefs do you want to guide your life, and what unconscious ones have been leading you around against your will?

And then, as life does, it forced a bit of a pause on me yesterday.

Hello, Solstice

It is the darkest week of the year, and I’ve been loving it. (This year’s Seasonal Affective Disorder is brought to you by Wellbutrin.) I am in full hygge mode: slipper socks, weighted blankets, fluffy bathrobes, soft hats, and a stack of novels. The past few weeks have gifted us with some absolutely incredible skies—the last full moon was so bright it left moon shadows on the snowy backyard. I nearly had a beauty-gasm (oh my god, an “awe-gasm?” I’ve taken it too far again, haven’t I?) and my daughter was only mildly impressed and mostly confused about why I dragged her outside without shoes to behold this gorgeous vision.

An amazing 24 hours worth of sky!

Yesterday we were supposed to have a dangerously high wind day—because it’s so dry here, there were a lot of concerns about power lines going down and starting fires, so they pre-scheduled an outage. I was so prepared for this! Everything was charged, and I took the items I thought my daughter and I might want from the fridge and put them in a cooler. I opened the garage door before we lost power. School was cancelled in anticipation of this high wind and the corresponding power outage.

At noon, two hours after the power had been shut off and one hour after my 9th grader would have finished her last final of the day, it was a balmy 64 degrees and positively placid outside. There was no wind at all. Now granted, it picked up eventually, but not until about 4 pm. We had been without power for 6 hours at that time, and now it was getting dark outside. I felt irritated, but only mildly.

Truth be told, I had savored the unexpected “wind day.” I tried to get some work done and even attempted to run a Zoom meeting by using my iPhone as hotspot, with mixed success, and so I finally quit. My daughter and I spent hours working on a puzzle. (For the second time in three days, we completed a 500 piece puzzle in one sitting—we get a tad obsessive when we puzzle.) I lost track of time and was completely bewildered when I looked up and realized we had been working on it for hours. We started a second one and only quit when we lost daylight and no amount of candles would suffice.

She retreated with her phone and the portable charger, on its last legs, and I went up to my bedroom with a flashlight, lit all the candles I could find, and draped fairy lights over my shoulder to cast enough light on the book I had just started. Even though it was a waste of my battery, I played my French Cafe Vibes playlist as I read my WWII novel, buried under weighted blankets, dog nestled against me.

Outside, it was truly black as pitch—no street lamps or holiday lights in backyards. As I contentedly read, fairy lights draped over me and phone playing Edith Piaf, my daughter’s best friend came over and they made a fort in the basement, which already had strings of battery powered lights hanging around the perimeter. I could hear them laughing and shrieking and playing their own music in their little twinkling cave and my heart nearly burst. It was almost like they were 1990s girls!

At 8:30 pm—on December 17th—it began pouring rain out of nowhere. It was astonishing. I sat in my favorite chair on the covered back patio and listened to the girls screeching out front as they ran up and down the sidewalk in the rain, probably just like I did when I was 14. It was dark; it was raining; there was nothing to do. No TV. No work. No scrolling. I read my book and went to bed in the very darkest dark.

It was 55 degrees in the house when we woke up—fortunately the 60 degree temperatures this week kept us from freezing—as the power had not been restored while we slept. I drove past two Starbucks drive-thrus with lines that rivaled Disneyland until we found a manageable one. (Me and Winnie, that is. She was excited for her pup cup.) Similarly to how I felt (with a hefty side of guilt) during the early days of pandemic shutdown, I was secretly glad to have a reason to pause the action in our busy lives. The power outage felt like an opportunity. It felt like it was helping to preserve my power supply.

We didn’t have power until mid-afternoon today—just in time to avoid spoiling an entire freezer’s worth of food—and while it was certainly getting a bit old not being able to open the refrigerator or turn on my bedside lamp, I was a little sad when the power came back on. My daughter and I cheered, but I eyed my MacBook with dismay. Did this mean I had to return to an inbox that could contain an email that throws me off my equilibrium? Was I obligated to work again?

I took a hot shower—it’s possible the power could get shut off again tomorrow—and settled back into my bed with my snoring dog. And instead of wringing my hands or planning or checking my bank account or making a to-do list, I decided to revisit my Substack column. I decided writing was what I really wanted to do. The kind of writing where I share something that made me feel content and thoughtful that I can share with you—not the kind of writing with “a point.”

Sunday will be the darkest day of the year before the light comes back. As I sat in my cold, candlelit bedroom last night, looking out at the blackened neighborhood outside my window, I realized what an unusual treat it was to experience the actual dark of the season. True, unillumined Solstice dark. It felt like a little gift. I am not in a hurry for the light to return. Sometimes, I like to be in the darkness. It’s when I remember things I had forgotten. It’s when my mind gets to wander and I can settle into my senses. It feels like respite. Like a pause.

As we approach Solstice this weekend, and then the chaotic festivities of the next few weeks, I am wishing you moments of pause where you too can savor the darkness and ask yourself what it is that you really, truly want.

XO,
Steph

Yes, it says “Oops, I got another tree.” This one is maybe my favorite of my five trees!

I’ll be offline for a few weeks, and here are a few ways we can connect in January!

I’m bringing back my very favorite workshop ever! The Artist’s Way for the Midlife Woman is a workshop for ANY type of creative person—writers, artists, musicians, journalers, daydreamers, and anyone who is feeling a little lost or in search of a bit of magic in their life. This is the 12-week workshop that will bring you back to yourself, reconnect you with your voice, your sense of play, and your creative spirit. Learn more about it and see what last fall’s participants had to say here. We start on January 12th and I have about ten spots left, so don’t wait and grab one today!

I hope you’ll consider joining my little corner of the online world just for midlife women. This is a space where I want to really embody the “pause” and find space for our creativity, together in community with other women. MidCircle is a community for midlife women who write—at any and all levels. I’ve made a lot of changes for the upcoming year, so please check it out here! You can try it for a month or two and cancel anytime if it’s not your cup of tea.