I’ve been writing about identity loss and midlife and what happens to women on the other side of a long marriage. I’ve been writing about it because I need to. The version of this story I keep finding in the world isn’t accurate, honest, and it definitely isn’t built for women.

Something started happening a few weeks ago that I didn’t fully anticipate.

Women started writing to me.

Not just comments. Personal, individual DM’s. The kind you send when something hits close enough that a public reply doesn’t quite fit and might even feel awkward, but you’re still compelled to reach out. The kind where you start with “I don’t normally do this” or “I haven’t really told anyone about this”. Those DM’s.

I’ve read every single one and what I keep seeing across different women, different marriages, and different versions of the same story, is a particular kind of loneliness. I recognize it immediately, because I lived it. It’s the loneliness of being high-functioning and completely unrecognizable to yourself. It’s when you’ve built a life that looks entirely fine from the outside, but on the inside it feels empty. You are, at your core, alone, and around you swirls everything you thought it “should” look like.

These DM’s were from women who held everything together so well, for so long, that nobody around them even noticed when they stopped being okay.

But I noticed. Because I was one of them.

I’ve been writing about identity loss and midlife and what happens to women on the other side of a long marriage. I’ve been writing about it because I need to. The version of this story I keep finding in the world isn’t accurate, honest, and it definitely isn’t built for women.

We hear about the midlife crisis narrative. Or the glow-up arc. I see so much “reinvent yourself at 40” content that treats a woman’s entire interior collapse as a branding opportunity. It’s so off the mark, and so slathered with other newer, shinier, upgraded and 2.0 versions of identities to cling to.

None of my work is about that, and none of my writing is about that. I’ve been posting on Threads, Instagram, TikTok, Youtube, and even LinkedIn about something that’s slower and messier and more disorienting than any of that. Where you come out the other side retrieved, remembered, and transformed because of it. You’re more yourself than you’ve been in years, and completely unprepared for what that actually feels like.

That’s what I’ve been writing about. And apparently a lot of you have been waiting for someone to write it.

The DMs you’ve been sending me, the ones where you say I thought it was just me, that’s the thing I keep coming back to. Because it was never just you. You were in a room by yourself, and although your isolation is real right now, your experience isn’t.

That’s the problem I’m solving.

The Arguably Feral Women Skool community is the room. It’s for accomplished women who are at the threshold navigating divorce, identity loss, the disorienting experience of rebuilding a life that actually fits, and who are done doing it alone.

I built this because when I was in the middle of my own divorce, this room didn’t exist. I looked for it. I needed it. And I kept finding things that were close but not quite it. They were too interested in my transformation as a product. This is not that.

If you’ve been reading my posts here and recognizing yourself in any of it, like the piece I wrote about mom guilt, or the woman underneath the roles that I talked about, this community was written for you as much as these articles were.

You can join the Skool group here. It’s free for now while I’m building it. If you join during this time you’ll be considered a founding member, and it’ll be free for you forever: Join Arguably Feral Women: The Village on Skool

You’ve been in the room by yourself long enough. This is the village we always wanted. I’ll see you there.

What does it actually mean to stop shrinking? Liz Theresa has been doing it for 15 years.

Liz Theresa is an intuitive visibility expert, brand strategist, and host of the Liz on Biz podcast. She's also a founder and business owner, and has been leading her company since 2011. In this conversation, we get into what it really means to own your space, stop negotiating yourself down, and show up like the main character you already are.

Liz talks about the moment she pivoted her entire business model, why women apologize for taking up space in ways their male counterparts simply don't, and what her grandmother's message from the other side had to say about negotiating.

This episode has opinions. Liz has opinions. I have opinions. You're welcome.

Topics covered:
▶️ Branding as visibility healing
▶️ Why women over-apologize and under-charge
▶️ The actual cost of shrinking
▶️ Paying to be on podcasts (we go there)
▶️ Cancer, motherhood, and what raises the stakes
▶️ Seasons of discernment
▶️ Why money is not the struggle

About Liz:
Working with Liz Theresa is the #1 solution for businesses who want to rise and be the stars of their industry. Her expertly trained website and visibility agency is passionate about providing high quality digital marketing solutions that help entrepreneurs build internet fame, earn more money, heal their brand presence, communicate effectively with their target audience, and show up in the best way possible.

Learn More and Get in Touch with Liz:

https://liztheresa.com/

About Thomai:
Dr. Thomai Roi is a threshold coach helping accomplished women who have been stuck in a marriage that ended a long time ago move forward without shame, guilt, fear or resentment. She works with high-achieving women navigating the messy, sacred space between who they've been and who they're becoming.

🔸Join the No F*cks 40's Club on Substack:

The No F*cks 40's Club by AFW

The space for women who are over 40 and out of f*cks in the best possible way. Brought to you by Arguably Feral Women. Get exclusive first access to live events, webinars, and meetups before they're announced anywhere else.

🔸 Follow and Connect with Thomai
Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/thomairoiofficial
Threads: https://www.threads.com/@thomairoi

This can be hard to say out loud. It doesn’t make the marriage the villain and it doesn’t make me the victim. If that were the case, this would be a way easier story to tell.

The truth is messier. I was a willing participant in my own disappearance. I made myself smaller, quieter, and more manageable because, well, it worked. It had worked for a really long time. Doing this kept the peace and it kept life intact. And I was really good at it.

By the time the marriage ended I had been a pharmacist, wife, mother, stay-at-home mom, and an entrepreneur. I had built businesses, and although I did close many of them I can see that I was competent in everything I stepped into. Except when it came to myself.

The roles themselves weren’t wrong. Some of them I chose with my whole chest and have even chosen again (like entrepreneurship, and getting remarried). But there’s a difference knowing you’re partaking in a role and actually becoming it. The divorce cracked that open for me.

Leaving my marriage broke the calcified outer shell of what I thought was “me” that had accumulated over the years. That wasn’t the hard part though. Through that crack, I had to finally look at what was actually underneath everything. And that’s the part that felt terrifying.

I expected wreckage. Carnage. Dumpsters on fire and sirens echoing in the background. I was surprised though; that’s not at all what was there. Instead, I found a woman who had been waiting this entire time. She had been watching me perform and hoping I’d eventually get tired enough to stop. It was almost maddening how patient she was.

She wasn’t who I was at 25. She also definitely wasn’t some pre-responsibility version of me that I could retrieve if I just read the right book or attended the right retreat. She wasn’t nostalgia and she wasn’t a project. She was the low hum I kept ignoring.

She was the one that showed up every time I said “yes” when I meant “no.” I heard her every time I aggressively softened an opinion before it left my mouth. She was right by my side whenever I caught myself performing uncomfortably so that the room stayed comfortable. And she never stopped showing up. I’m so grateful she was so relentless.

I’m sharing all of this because I know someone out there is reading it and is either feeling their chest tighten (because it rings true) or are feeling their chest loosen (because… it still rings true). If you’re feeling any sort of way about what’s here, I want you to know: You didn’t lose her either.

You can’t. She’s not lose-able. That woman underneath is integral, critically structural, and she’s your foundation. A lot of people talk about how finding ourselves involves “reinvention” and I completely disagree with that idea. Reinvention implies you need to become someone new, and that’s not true or what’s needed. We can’t trying to “fix” something by continuously chasing change. What’s actually required is retrieval.

I needed excavation. I went back down through the layers of roles, compromises, and narratives I told myself to find the woman that was there before any of it. It didn’t condone anything that did or didn’t happen in the past. But it did make it abundantly clear who I was being in the present.

The woman underneath has opinions you stopped voicing and priorities you stopped honoring. She remembers what made you feel alive before you decided it was selfish or too much. She’s been incredibly patient, and she’s ready whenever you are.

I say this not because anything was particularly difficult to do on this list. It just happened to exist on the first gorgeous day we had after a really long, brutal winter. The sun was starting to peek out. There were definitely more birds flitting around. And my kids were in their rooms. On their screens. Doors closed.

My mind starts to wander. Wander might not be the right word actually. It more so starts to debate. It brings up the argument of why I need to get all of those things done, and then the counter argument of how all of those things can wait because it is my sole duty to ensure my children enjoy their childhood. Amidst my rumination I briefly snap back into the present to find myself in the kitchen instead of working (because my kitchen sink happens to be my favorite spot to have existential crises, especially when it’s full of dishes). I’m leaning against it and staring out the window located right above it, thinking: “Should I bring them somewhere?”

“Should I make them go play outside?”

“Am I a bad mom right now?”

“Is this a day they’re going to talk about when they’re in therapy?”

I didn’t do a single thing on my list for the next hour because I was paralyzed in my own thought-cycle, stuck between the rock of my to-do list and the hard place of wanting to do anything but. I stood there marinating in the feeling that regardless of what I chose, it was the wrong choice. Because no matter how long the list was, I should be doing more. I should always be doing more.

So let’s talk about what mom guilt actually is. We throw that phrase around like it’s just a normal part of being a mother. Like it comes with the kid itself. We don’t get instruction manuals on how to be parents or raise children, but we do get a complementary supply of guilt. That seems to be the standard-issued package most women receive at least.

But if you really sit with it, doesn’t that start to seem weird? Like, where did this guilt come from? Who actually gave us this? Do my kids really need to be doing a specific activity during this next hour so that I can justify something somewhere somehow? And what the heck am I justifying? After a while standing over my sink, my brain paused long enough for me to ask myself, “Where is this coming from?”

I can tell you that most of the time, it’s not coming from your kids.

Your kids are fine. They’re in their rooms. They’re fed. They’re safe. They’re clean. And they’re actually enjoying themselves. (I know I loved to play video games as a kid no matter what the weather was like outside). For many of us, the guilt we feel is coming from a story we create about what someone else would say if they saw this moment. It’s your mother or mother-in-law’s voice. It’s the other parents at school. It’s some other kid asking yours “What did you do this weekend?” and the imaginary reaction of sadness or embarrassment. It’s some image of what a “good mom” is supposed to look like on a sunny afternoon, where every day like this demands a craft project, a farm visit, a nature walk and homemade snacks.

But no matter where we think the guilt is coming from, it isn’t about your kids. In truth, the guilt isn’t actually about what other people’s thoughts are either, regardless of what they might be. That judge, jury, and audience is completely made up and isn’t even there. The guilt isn’t about anyone else but you judging you. And it comes from you, too.

I had to remind myself constantly of what I’m about to say because of how often and relentlessly I learned to regurgitate, “It can’t possibly be that simple.” But as long as your children know they are loved and they have a safe space to speak their minds and pursue the things that interest them, one could suggest that they’re living in an environment that supports those core things. And if that’s the case, regardless of what anyone’s individual childhood is comprised of (cities, farms, parks, living rooms, crafts, chicken nuggets, video games, books), the aforementioned core things are not only present, they’re also pretty great.

I think it’s also important to declare here that there is no perfect balance. There is no version of this where you as one person handling all of this gets the thriving business and the home-cooked meals and the enriching afternoon activities and the self-care routine and the quality time every single day, all day, no matter what. That woman does not exist because it is literally impossible for one person to do it all, or even two people if you’re married or with someone. This idea of the accomplish-it-all-parent is a lie, and we keep punishing ourselves for not being her (a.k.a. mom guilt).

What actually exists is the push and the pull of day-to-day life. Some weeks you’re locked-in on work and the kids are doing their thing. Other weeks you’re fully present with them and your inbox is a disaster. And both of those are absolutely fine. During either week, you’re being a mother building a life where your kids get to watch you be whole. I’d quantify that as “good”, wouldn’t you?

So the next time you’re standing in your kitchen, staring outside, completely overtaken by the feeling that each minute of your pleasant afternoon that passes is another opportunity you missed to be a “good” mother, I want you to ask yourself a few questions:

Are my kids safe right now?

Do they feel they can come to me for what they need, emotionally or otherwise?

Did I put a roof over their head and food in their bodies and let them enjoy a day indoors while I worked on securing their future?

What exactly am I feeling guilty about?

Parenting is not a sprint from one enriching activity to the next. It is a marathon that lasts years, and some miles just look like this. Some miles are boring. Some miles are screens. Some miles are you in the other room grinding on something that matters so that next month, next year, five years from now, your family is in a better position because you didn’t let guilt talk you out of doing the work.

So I’m going to say it. Here it is: Let them be.

Do what you have to do.

Leave the guilt behind.

It is not helping anyone.

It’s not helping your kids. It’s not helping your business. And it’s definitely not helping you.

The guilt is a story written by you about other people’s opinions. These opinions, real or otherwise, cause you to associate meaning to your actions. This meaning is based on whatever you believe you should be in order to be a “good mother”, and that “should be” is continuously informed, molded by and executed from those other people’s opinions over and over again.

In short: You’re not mothering authentically because you don’t believe yourself to be mothering authentically, or else none of those opinions would matter and none of this guilt-ridden meaning would exist. Some days you’ll take your kids to the park and it’ll be magic. Some days they’ll be on their iPads and you’ll be working on a deadline and that will be its own kind of magic. When combined, both types of magic craft a woman who refuses to shrink. And that’s the best demonstration you can give to your kids.

If this lands in your chest the way it did for me when I really took a hard look at my own mom guilt, subscribe. I talk about this stuff all the time. It’s messy, honest, and filterless.

I also have a weekly prompt happening in the chat (subscribers only. It’s free right now so join before that changes). This week I’m asking:

When you imagine the work that would make you feel most like yourself, what does it look like?

I’d love to hear your thoughts👇

For me, it felt like I couldn’t complain. I had built something, after all. I technically did the thing. I should be grateful. Just keep going, I’d tell myself. So I did.

While I was taking action on the outside, though, I wasn’t growing on the inside. I was just maintaining. I knew everything looked impressive on paper, but I had this gnawing question in the back of my head… Is this really it?

Every time this question would come up, I would immediately try to solve it by figuring out what I needed to change. After a sh!t-ton of trial and error, I realized this approach was doing nothing but keeping me busy without actually getting me anywhere. Sounds harsh, but it’s true. I was stuck.

The approach that did change everything was when I instead started asking myself: What am I holding onto that is preventing the change from happening? And in order to answer that question honestly, I built something I call:

✨The Fuck Yes / Fuck No Framework.✨

The rule is simple: If something in my life isn’t a full-body, full-chest fuck yes, then it’s a fuck no. There shall be no middle ground. No “it’s fine.” No “it could be worse.” Just one or the other.

That framework (and the six steps I created for it and walked myself through over and over again) is what gave me the courage to finally face the things I’d been settling for. And then something big happened.

I didn’t just feel better, or happier, or more confident. Sure those were included, but I also did some wild (read: arguably feral) stuff. I hit seven figures three years in a row in my business. I got divorced. I fell in love with a man I didn’t think existed. In three years I built a life I’d wanted for twenty years and had convinced myself was never going to happen.

None of that was possible before. Not because I didn’t have the skills, but because I was the thing in my own way.

I recorded a video walking through this entire framework; all six steps, the personal stories behind them, and the parts where I get into the uncomfortable details that actually matter. It’s 24 minutes. Nothing crazy-long:

Don’t want to watch it and / or hate ads? I totally get that. You can find this episode and the Arguably Feral Women podcast on Spotify, too:

Whichever way to choose to check this out, I’d also say to have a journal nearby (I include these journal prompts that I’ve personally used and have helped me out a TON. Think Cards Against Humanity meets journaling. I’m working on a whole deck… Stay tuned for that. I’ll be posting more about it in this newsletter as it comes along). 😉

Ok, so many things to click! I’ll pause here for now. If you’re a woman who built something real and you’re quietly carrying the feeling that it’s not enough (or that you’re not enough inside the life you created) this video is for you.

I’ll see you on the other side.

— Thomai

That’s just what I did. That’s what I thought I was worth.

I sat alone in my office at 3am folding laundry in the dark, crying quietly so I wouldn’t wake anyone up, packing for a vacation I hadn’t even let myself look forward to yet. Nothing had happened. No fight. No revelation. I was just tired in a way that had nothing to do with sleep.

If you’d rather hear this story than read it, I told it on video. Like everything else I post, it is very much unfiltered:

I had a marriage at the time going on fifteen years. I had (have!) two healthy kids. I lived in a five thousand square foot house (no joke it was huge). We were members of country clubs. Went on multiple vacations each year. You get the idea. Every box that was supposed to mean “you made it” I had checked.

And I had also disappeared completely inside it.

I asked for a divorce in the middle of dinner on that vacation. It was like once I let those words come into existence, everything fell apart at once. And it wasn’t just because I said the words, “I want a divorce.” I put something in motion into the universe that rippled throughout every structure, narrative, and perceived reality I had created up until that point. It all burned down, and I rebuilt from scratch. I was terrified, humbled, and more alive than I had been in my entire life.

I’m not telling you this because it’s a redemption story. I’m telling you because you probably have your own version of 3:00AM laundry. Your own version of “I’m fine” when you very much know you’re not.

You’re also not broken. You’re not lost. You’re at a threshold. My story (and that video above) is about me crossing mine. It’s also why Arguably Feral Women exists, why I’m so loud online, and why The No F*cks 40’s Club happened.

The No F*cks 40s Club is for women who have turned 40 (or are close to it!), and feel something shifting. The performance is getting heavier. The patience for shrinking is running out. The version of you that got really good at being useful to everyone else is getting very, very tired.

It’s for the woman in midlife who has run out of f*cks. Shelves empty. Fields barren. Nothing left.

Good.

This club is brought to you by Arguably Feral Women, a community built on one idea: retrieval, not reinvention. You don’t need to become someone new. You just need to remember who you always were.

Here you’ll find honest writing about what a threshold actually looks like. I can assure you it is not the rainbow quantum shifting, glittery-ascension version. This is the muddy, terrifying, worth-every-second one. The one that gets set on fire. The one that still smells like smoke. The one that there’s absolutely no coming back from.

And before anyone else hears about it: Every live event, every webinar, every meetup Arguably Feral Women hosts is announced here and only here. Not on Instagram, or TikTok, or Threads, or YouTube. Not anywhere else. Just here.

If you felt yourself exhale, and heard your soul go “f*ck yes” as you read this, you’re exactly where you’re supposed to be.

Welcome to the club.

— Thomai

Subscribe now

Share The No F*cks 40's Club by AFW