10 Best Books for Building Confidence in Your 40s

I turned 37 in the apartment with the dry-erase marker stains on the kitchen table, and I remember thinking: three years from 40, and I am not who I thought.

I turned 37 in the apartment with the dry-erase marker stains on the kitchen table, and I remember thinking: three years from 40, and I am not who I thought.

I still remember the moment I realized I wasn't as rational as I thought I was. It was during a heated debate with my best friend about whether to invest in.

I was 36 years old, standing in the cereal aisle at Safeway, when I completely fell apart. A man two aisles over had raised his voice at his child.

Not because anything terrible had happened. I'd had a perfectly nice birthday dinner with friends. But afterward, I sat in my car staring at a face in the.

It was just coffee. Regular, fancy, or decaf. Oat milk or regular. Small or large. Maybe a pastry? But which pastry? The croissant looked good, but the muffin.

Last year, I had to tell my manager that a project she championed was failing. Not slightly behind schedule. Failing. The client hated it, the team was.

I was 32 years old, sitting in my car in the church parking lot, unable to go inside. For 32 years, I'd walked through those doors every Sunday.

I woke up at 3 AM drenched in sweat, heart racing, convinced something was terribly wrong. My sheets were soaked. My pillow was wet. My body felt like it had.

The morning my divorce was finalized, I sat in a coffee shop staring at a latte I hadn't ordered. The barista got confused. I was confused. Everything about my.

I was sitting on the bathroom floor at 3 AM, staring at a pregnancy test that showed one line instead of two.