Author: Kimmie Olson

Let’s talk about depression.

Sometimes I refer to it as The Deep Dark Hole. It feels like you’re just down there. Surviving. But you’re down in it so hard. You do your best to keep doing “the things” you’re supposed to do. And you just feel “all the things” so hard. I’m not the type of person who doesn’t feel. I’m the opposite. 

I feel all of it. 

Hard. 

Everything.

The good things and the bad things.

ALL THE THINGS…

I can’t turn it off. 

I will admit to a bit of self-destruction because I feel so hard.

If I pick at a tiny scab and it hurts and bleeds, I have control over the pain. I’m choosing it. I’m in control. It’s a way to feel less lost in The Deep Dark Hole. It’s not scary. It’s a tiny scab. It’s one point of focus. I can control that one point. I can touch it. It hurts. I can choose to pick it and make it bleed. I have control. 

But…

Sometimes.

I want to get in my car. Turn it on. Play music. And not leave the garage. Just fall asleep. Quietly. By myself. 

And stop feeling all the things. 

That’s when it’s scary. I feel all the disappointment and pain I’ve caused others. It’s overwhelming. It’s not The Deep Dark Hole. That’s easy. I know how to control The Deep Dark Hole. Use my coping skills. Reach out to my people. Continue to do “the things” I’m supposed to do. 

This?

It feels like The Edge.

All of my failures as a person hit so very hard.

I’ve been here before.

I’ve deleted my life from social media. 

Stopped talking to people. 

Quietly quit life.

But….

I can’t just delete myself from real life.

The pain and all the feelings of self doubt and heartbreak won’t go away. All those feelings will just be passed on to the people I love. Obviously, I can’t transfer all of those feelings to someone else to carry for the rest of their lives. 

So here I am.

In the middle of my midlife crisis. Still trying to figure it all out. What my purpose is here. Because it’s not about being a full time mom, wife, sister, friend. 

Somehow it needs to be about me.

And that is ridiculously scary. 

Midlife has never felt so much,

~Kimmie

P.S. I’m updating this to add that I am 100% okay. But I knew when I started writing again, I wanted to be real and honest with even the messy parts of life – because life isn’t all glitter, sunshine, and rainbows. We weather storms, sometimes severe ones. We learn to dance in the rain. And we start to understand that life is simply life.

Last week my friend Stephanie hosted a Craft Camp¹. It’s a bi-yearly thing she does and this was the third time I’ve been able to go. I don’t know about you, but I always get nervous meeting new people. Like I get REAL nervous. And I end up being super quiet and awkward.

The first time I went to Craft Camp, it was more of a scrapbooking event and I don’t scrapbook. I did bring some index cards, sparkly tape, markers, and glue. I made sweary affirmation cards. They turned out okay-ish. Once I made a few and handed them out, I was pretty much done with sparkly tape and glue. Plus, I really struggle with handwriting after my neck fusion. So Craft Camp 1, with meeting a bunch of brand new people and not really a crafter, was just okay for me.

Craft Camp 2 was a little better than Craft Camp 1. I was a little bit more myself. But I didn’t bring anything to craft. I figured I’d just fuck around on my phone and my laptop for a few days. One of the things cool about Craft Camp is that we take turns cooking a meal for others at camp. My friend, Stephanie and I decided to make a bloody mary bar for dinner. Basically bar food with a bloody. It turned out great! I made my Best in the World Chicken Wings. Everyone loved them! 

I don’t remember why, but I left in a bit of a hurry on Saturday morning. I packed up all my shit quickly. Got home and realized…..I took the wrong chicken wings home. I meant to take my leftover wings, instead I took one of the girl’s chicken wings she meant to share for Saturday night’s Appetizer Night.

I STOLE SOMEONE ELSE’S WINGS THE SECOND TIME AT CAMP!!!!!

Who does this shit?!?!?

I do….

Let’s chat about Craft Camp 3:

I got there Wednesday afternoon. Again. I didn’t bring a craft. Fuck crafts. Wednesday night was pretty quiet. Most people seem to come on Thursday. With the limited number of people around, I got pretty comfortable. I drank a little wine, had a couple shots of honey whiskey, and then……I decided we should all start drinking Cutwaters. One might think this was a huge mistake. But not me! We had a blast! I may or may not have asked the girls to glue some flowers in my hair – okay, I did. Eventually we went to bed, I think around 2-3am. (Which is around the time I usually get up!)

Thursday, I woke up with flowers glued to my hair and I’m pretty sure I was  still drunk. Grabbed some gatorade, went back to bed. Got up later. Still drunk. Got some food, and more gatorade. Back to bed for me. 

More people came and we went out for dinner at The Legion. Bar food was great for hung over self! There was good conversation and lots of laughs. Some people even seemed a bit disappointed they missed Cutwater Wednesday! (They were warned that if they come for Cutwater Wednesday, they will pay for it allll day Thursday.)

Friday night, Stephanie and I upped our bloody mary game. Not only did we have all the regular fun things, including my wings – but I made teeny tiny cheese burgers to go with them. OMG they were so cute:

AND? I didn’t steal anyone’s food this time. I’m getting pretty good at this Craft Camp thing!

Midlife has never felt so good,

~Kimmie, XOXO

1. 
    I’m not a “crafter.” Sure. I’ve tried to make a lot of things in the past, but they never really turn out. Also, I’m not really into collecting things. If I teach myself how to crochet, what the hell am I supposed to do with the things I make? Nothing. So, I gave up on crafts – for now.
   
   ↩︎

I used to think “midlife crisis” meant buying something expensive and pretending it was self-care. Turns out mine looks more like this: I stopped dyeing my hair, started using cannabis as actual medicine (not a personality), and finally admitted I’m done performing “fine” for other people.

This blog is where I’m putting the real stuff. The funny stuff. The messy stuff. The “I can’t believe I just said that out loud” stuff. If you’re in a season of change—empty nest, career whiplash, grief that shows up sideways, or just the slow realization that you don’t recognize yourself anymore—pull up a chair.

So, who the hell am I?

I’m Kimmie. I raised three incredible humans with my husband, Nathan. The kids are grown and out living their lives, and I’m proud as hell… and also a little untethered. Like, what do you do when the job you’ve had for years—being the default parent, the fixer, the emotional air traffic controller—suddenly isn’t needed in the same way?

For a long time, I was also a coffee shop manager. If you’ve ever managed anything (people, schedules, or the fragile egos of customers who think oat milk is a human right), you know it’s a whole lifestyle. I stepped down after a holiday weekend that still makes my stomach drop when I think about it. I did what I thought was the responsible thing. I covered the weekend. I asked for one day—Saturday—so I could see my kids’ great grandma one last time.

“No. I need you here at the store.”

I worked. She passed before I got another chance to see her. And something in me snapped into focus: I’m not giving my life away like that anymore.

• Personal essays about midlife change, grief, identity, and the weird freedom of starting over.
• Short, funny posts for when you need a laugh and someone to say, “Yep. Same.”
• Cannabis-as-medicine talk—not hype, not shame, just honest notes about what’s helped me and what I’ve learned.
• Creative experiments: writing prompts, tiny stories, and whatever else shows up when I stop trying to be impressive.

If you’re reading this and you’re tired—tired of being the responsible one, the quiet one, the “I’m fine” one—here’s your permission slip to tell the truth. To change your mind. To take up space. To be a little loud about what you need.

And if your truth includes cannabis helping you sleep, eat, breathe, or just unclench your jaw for the first time all day? Same. No pearl-clutching allowed.

If you want the “why” behind all of this, head to Start Here. Then come back and poke around the blog. Read what hits. Skip what doesn’t. You don’t owe anyone your attention—not even me.

If you ever want to say hi, yell “ME TOO,” or tell me what you’re navigating right now, email me at kimmie@kimmieolson.com.