You're Not Giving Up. You're Choosing Yourself.
Why walking away isn't what you think it is
I remember the moment this happened.
I was sitting in my car in the grocery store parking lot, and realized I didn’t want to go home yet. Not because home was terrible. I just needed five more minutes where nobody needed anything from me.
Maybe this has happened to you.
You’re folding his laundry again and something inside you cracks. Not breaks. Cracks. Like you can actually hear it.
Maybe you’re at that school volunteer meeting you’ve been dragging yourself to for three years, pretending to care about the spring fundraiser, and suddenly you think, “What if I just stopped showing up?”
And then the guilt crashes in like a tsunami wave.
Women don’t give up, right? We keep trying. We sacrifice and show up and make it work, no matter what. That’s what we learned. That’s what we’ve been doing.
Except here’s what I wish someone had told me when I was having my own parking lot moment: There’s a massive difference between giving up and choosing yourself.
And confusing the two will keep you stuck for years.
We were sold a story
Remember all those motivational posters? “What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.” “When the going gets tough, the tough get going.”
We absorbed that messaging so deeply that we can’t tell the difference anymore between healthy persistence and just staying in something that’s slowly killing us.
No one ever mentioned that sometimes the bravest thing you can do is walk away.
That sometimes quitting is the win.
I spent 18 years in a marriage that wasn’t that bad. It wasn’t terrible. There was no villain. It just wasn’t right. And every single time I thought about leaving, that voice would start: You’re giving up. You’re not trying hard enough. You’re being selfish.
But you know what? That voice wasn’t mine. It was every message I’d internalized about what women should do.
This is what giving up actually is
Real giving up is passive. It’s that numb feeling when you’ve checked out emotionally, but your body’s still going through the motions.
It’s scrolling through your phone while your actual life happens around you. It’s saying “I’m fine” so many times that you almost believe it yourself, even though fine is the absolute last thing you are.
Giving up is abandoning yourself to keep everyone else comfortable.
You know this feeling. When you’re so busy managing everyone else’s emotions and needs that you can’t remember what you wanted for lunch. When you’ve been performing “fine” for so long, you’ve forgotten what you actually feel.
That’s giving up. That’s quitting.
But choosing yourself? That’s different
Choosing yourself is active. It’s a decision. And yeah, it’s usually a hard one.
It’s saying, “I’m done with book club,” feeling guilty about it, but also feeling a sense of relief. It’s walking away from the job that pays well but has you crying in bathroom stalls every morning. It’s ending the friendship that’s been one-sided for six years, but you kept trying because you’re not a quitter.
Choosing yourself means looking at what’s draining you and deciding—actually deciding—that you deserve better. Even when better is uncertain. Even when it looks selfish from the outside. Even when people are going to talk.
And they will.
Choosing yourself isn’t selfish. It’s self-preservation. There’s a difference.
Something shifts in midlife
I don’t know if it’s hormones or wisdom or just running out of patience for nonsense, but something happens in midlife.
The things you used to tolerate become intolerable. That relationship you maintained out of obligation? Suddenly, it feels like carrying a backpack full of rocks. The version of yourself you’ve been performing for everyone else? Starts feeling like a costume that doesn’t fit anymore. And not in an “I need to diet” way. In a “why am I wearing this at all” way.
This isn’t a crisis, by the way. I mean, it might feel like one. But it’s actually a recalibration. Your internal compass finally getting loud enough to hear over all the other voices.
And here’s what makes it so damn hard: everyone around you got used to the old version. They liked that version. That version said yes and showed up and didn’t rock the boat.
When you start choosing yourself, it feels like you’re letting everyone down. Your husband. Your kids. Your friends. Your mother. The PTA.
But here’s what I learned: you’re not letting them down. You’re just finally—finally—showing up for yourself with half the energy you’ve been giving them for decades.
The questions I ask myself now
When I’m trying to figure out if I’m giving up or choosing myself, I ask:
Am I walking away from something or toward something? Because there’s a difference.
Is this coming from fear or self-respect? (Sometimes it’s both, which is confusing, but usually one is louder.)
Will I regret this decision in five years, or will I regret not making it? That one cuts through a lot of noise.
What happened when I started choosing myself?
I’m 70 now. I’ve walked away from an 18-year marriage. From a dysfunctional relationship that lasted 12 years after my divorce. From a career path that looked good on paper but made me miserable. From friendships that felt more like obligations than connections.
And I’ve never—not once—regretted choosing myself.
But this is what I do regret: All those years I didn’t choose myself. All that time I spent performing and pleasing and pretending.The women who judged me for leaving my marriage? They’re not living my life. The people who thought I was selfish for changing careers? They’re not paying my therapy bills. The friends who stopped calling when I started setting boundaries? Turns out they weren’t actually friends.
When you choose yourself, some people will call it giving up. They’ll say you’re selfish, or you’re having a midlife crisis, or you’re not thinking clearly.
Their opinion of your life is none of your business.
You are allowed
You’re allowed to outgrow relationships that don’t fit anymore.
You’re allowed to want more. Or different. Or just something else.
You’re allowed to disappoint people who’ve never worried about disappointing you.
You’re allowed to prioritize your one life.
You don’t need permission.
Choose yourself. Today. Tomorrow. Every day after that.
What actually happens
When you start choosing yourself, you don’t lose everything like you’re afraid you will.
You lose what wasn’t serving you. And you gain something you didn’t even know was missing.
You gain yourself back.
The version who knows what she wants. Who speaks up. Who doesn’t apologize for existing. Who says no without a five-paragraph explanation. Who shows up for herself with the same loyalty she’s been giving everyone else.
That version of you? She’s been there the whole time.
Just waiting for you to choose her.
So what would happen if you chose yourself today? What’s one thing you’ve been tolerating that you could walk away from? Tell me in the comments. I want to hear your parking lot moment.
I’m reading every word here. I can’t get to everyone, but thank you for sharing.
I’m building a space for women who are done performing. If this resonated with you, stick around. There’s more where this came from, and we’re just getting started.
Wow, your words really hit home. I too had a midlife awakening to old patterns and ways of showing up for others that led to a lifetime of self-abandonment--and when, at age 58, I reached the tipping point, it cracked me wide open. I couldn't do it any more. I couldn't make myself any smaller. And when I stopped being complicit and pleasing, those I loved who had come to depend on the unhealed version of me pushed back HARD. I left a 25 year marriage, and was made out as the villain--the one who "ran away". But I wasn't running away. I was finally choosing myself, and I was running TOWARD her; the woman who had taken a back seat in her own life for decades FINALLY stepped into the driver seat, and began the process of reclaiming, healing and reinventing herself. It wasn't easy, but I have zero regrets (other than not doing it sooner). Now I am living my best life! Thank you for your poignant words that perfectly described this crossroads moment.
There’s also something magic about 70. ✨ NO is not weighed down with guilt and other emotions. It’s just honest and even innocent in a way. A 50-something colleague asked me earlier this year how I got to a place where I had zero fucks left to give, because she was struggling to keep up. I told her that slowly I just stopped doing this thing or that thing that I thought I was supposed to do and realized nothing bad happened as a result. By the time I hit 70 it just came naturally, unburdened.