Hey, are you going to just stand there or are you going to move already?

There’s always room to learn about oneself—no matter your age or how well you think you know yourself. If you’ve been following my journey, you know I’m constantly evolving, always striving to be a better human. But here’s the catch: while I’m on this fast track of personal growth, the people around me sometimes seem to be standing still or moving at a snail’s pace.

This past weekend was a whirlwind of family, celebration, and love—a multigenerational lovefest, really. And the funny thing? None of it really involved me. Well, maybe just a little.

You see, my significant other’s daughter got married on Friday. She chose her mother’s childhood home in Wheeling, WV, as the backdrop for her destination wedding. Now, don’t get me wrong—West Virginia has its charm. But we live in beautiful South Carolina, where most couples would kill for a coastal wedding. Still, I love my S.O. and wanted to be the supportive partner, so I pulled up my big girl britches, looked myself in the mirror, and said, “YOU’VE GOT THIS!”

But here’s the kicker: this wasn’t just any wedding. It was a full-blown family reunion for my S.O.’s ex-wife’s clan. And no one gave me the full scoop on that little detail. Lesson learned: always get the full itinerary next time.

Now, my S.O. is one of the nicest, most trusting humans on the planet. The kind of person who sees the good in everyone. But that can be a magnet for energy vampires. So, imagine my surprise when, 11 hours into our drive, his ex-wife calls to say our accommodations aren’t going to work out. But don’t worry—she has a “great” idea: we can stay in a cabin with all the kids on this sprawling property, surrounded by her family members. Oh, joy.

Needless to say, that didn’t happen. Instead, we dodged that bullet and rented our own chalet with my S.O.’s sister. Crisis averted.

The wedding itself was beautiful—small, intimate, the kind of ceremony that tugs at your heartstrings. I thought, “Yes! I survived meeting his ex-wife’s immediate family. I’ve got this!” But then I remembered it was only Friday. There was still an evening party and a whole other event on Saturday.

At 52 years old, I dressed to impress in a lovely chiffon dress, sexy wedge heels, and hair that flowed like a goddess. I felt powerful, confident, anything but “cute” or “adorable.” But, of course, those were the exact words the ex and her sisters used to describe me. Now, you could argue it was a compliment, but let’s be real—it was the kind of backhanded compliment that makes you want to roll your eyes.

I’m not responsible for the end of their marriage, so why treat me like I am? We made a brief appearance at the after-party, held in a cabin full of the ex’s family and friends. Thankfully, we didn’t stay long, a decision that made me feel safe and cared for by my S.O.

Saturday… oh, Saturday. Originally, I was told there would be a family concert—my S.O.’s ex-wife’s sister has a “band.” They live in California, and the story was that they were flying out to play for the wedding. Well, not so fast. The band was coming out, alright, but not for the wedding. They were the headline act for the family reunion that had been scheduled months in advance, long before the wedding date was even set. As I would come to discover, the wedding wasn’t the main event; it was just another item on the family reunion agenda. Well, fuck me.

Now, my S.O. wanted to go to this family reunion because his kids wanted him there. And that put me in the classic rock-and-a-hard-place situation. If I complained, I’d be the villain—the bitch who couldn’t just suck it up for one weekend. So, I did what any self-respecting adult would do: I plastered on a smile and went along for the ride.

Let’s talk about the band. “Not so great” would be a generous description. They were marginally okay, at best. But hey, we were in West Virginia, and I wasn’t there for the music. I was there for my S.O. and his daughter. And then there was the crowd—500 first cousins (okay, I’m exaggerating, but it felt like that). Here comes cute, adorable me, ready to navigate yet another social gauntlet.

Almost immediately, I was approached by a close friend of his ex-wife. She looked at me, and with a mix of shock and condescension, said, “I can’t believe you’re actually here. I can’t believe you actually came.” Yes, fuck face, I am here. Get over it.

Time crawled by, and every minute felt like an hour. I couldn’t wait to make our exit. And when the time finally came, it wasn’t the graceful, ideal departure I had hoped for, but it was an exit nonetheless.

Now, here’s where the growth part comes in. I love my S.O., but let’s be real—I wasn’t exactly set up for success this weekend. He’s lucky to have me, and I approached this weekend the way I’ve approached marathons in the past: with preparation, mental training, and the expectation of the unexpected. I made it to the finish line without causing a scene or losing my cool. But am I really at the finish line? Or is this not a marathon at all, but the longest ultra-marathon with no end in sight?

Here’s what I realized: My S.O. was supposed to be the steward of me this weekend. Stewardship is about supervising and taking care of something valuable, and I entrusted my care to him. But as we drove home, exhausted from the weekend, his phone kept dinging with text messages from his ex-wife’s family. I couldn’t take it anymore and screamed, “Don’t they know you’re fucking divorced?! It’s time to tell them!!”

Of course, they all know. Divorce is tricky, especially when you’re dating in your 50s. We all have a well-established backstory, and that’s where it belongs—in the back. Some things need to be left behind when moving forward.

I’m happy to report that my S.O. and I do communicate, and we’re in a good place now. But one thing is certain: there will not be another family reunion for either of us in Wheeling, WV.

In order to grow, one must go… through the storm, like the mighty bison. While cows, their close relatives, huddle together and run away from the storm, the bison, in all its strength and might, takes the storm head-on, charging directly into its path. This image of the majestic bison braving the storm is a powerful reminder of how we can confront life’s obstacles.

Don’t run. Don’t avoid it. Don’t hope it goes away. Take it head-on. This is us. This is me. It’s always been me. I am the bison who charges through the storm of life.

This weekend was my storm. It was uncomfortable, awkward, and filled with moments that tested my patience and resilience. But like the bison, I didn’t back down. I faced each challenge, each uncomfortable situation, with determination and grace. And while it wasn’t easy, it was necessary for my growth.

I’ve learned that personal evolution isn’t always about smooth transitions or peaceful resolutions. Sometimes, it’s about standing your ground, facing the storm, and coming out the other side stronger, more self-aware, and more committed to your journey.

As I reflect on this weekend, I realize that the storm isn’t something to fear. It’s something to embrace. Because it’s in the storm that we discover our true strength, our resilience, and our capacity for growth. And that’s a lesson worth holding onto, no matter where the next storm might take me.

• Boss Up
• Cellar Stories
• Layers of Grief
• Mother Runner
• Roll with it
• What just happened??