Learn to say, “That’s not my luggage.” When a friend unloads their crisis, you can listen without carrying it home. When a grown child makes a mistake, you can advise without rescuing. Your emotional load should be light enough to lift with one hand.
Let me tell you about my little machine. I call her "Rosie." (If I have to carry her everywhere, she needs a name, right?). She’s a portable oxygen concentrator—light enough to toss into a shopping cart, quiet enough that nobody stares, and durable enough that she’s been dropped twice on the driveway without breaking. mom pov rhonda 50 year old with portable
Turning 50 is supposed to be the decade of freedom. The kids are driving themselves (finally). The career pressure is leveling out. You start buying the expensive wine because you’ve earned it. For me, though, the big 5-0 came with an unexpected gift: a diagnosis of COPD and a prescription for supplemental oxygen. Learn to say, “That’s not my luggage
Stay breathing, ladies. 💨💪