Lydia is 47. From the outside, her life looks composed — a stable marriage, two teenagers, a successful career in marketing. But lately, something feels off, and she can’t name it. She wakes up each morning with a subtle dread, a hollowness she tries to fill with coffee, lists, and relentless doing. Her sleep is light and fitful. She startles easily, cries unexpectedly. Some days, she feels invisible — to her husband, her kids, even to herself. Other days, she’s furious, not sure at whom. Her body feels foreign — her energy is erratic, her patience thin, her desire gone. Her thoughts loop between “What’s wrong with me?” and “Is this all there is?” She tells herself she should be grateful — she is grateful — but gratitude doesn’t reach the ache beneath her ribs. There’s a quiet grief she can’t articulate: grief for the woman she used to be, the one who dreamed, flirted with possibility, laughed easily. She misses her own aliveness.

When She Finally Reaches Out For Therapy, She Says:

“I don’t even know what I’m looking for. I just know I can’t keep doing this version of my life. It looks fine, but I feel like I’m disappearing.”

Clinical Framing

Lydia’s story embodies what many midlife women bring into therapy: