I wasn’t planning to tell you this story Reader. Honestly, I hadn’t thought about it in 30 years. But here we are, bonding over childhood trauma.

Picture this: Grade 8. Rain. Darkness. Probably wearing oversized Umbro shorts and scrunch socks.

My bestie, Jen and I, were walking home from school after some sort of extracurricular activity we were involved with. Dance committee? Basketball? Volleyball? Homework avoidance? (most likely the last one)

It was one of those torrential downpours that turns sidewalks into rivers and curly hair into full-on mushroom clouds (sadly, I’ve got pictures for proof)

We were trying to dodge raindrops with the kind of optimism only 13-year-olds and Labradors possess. Laughs. Squeals. Soggy backpacks.

And then - BAM.

From the shadows of a park we were passing, a man emerges. Opens his trench coat.

Naked.

Like full birthday suit, zero accessories.

He was doing his best Sesame Street shady street vendor impression (you know, the one who’s like “Psst… wanna buy a bottle of air?”).

Except…this guy wasn’t selling air. And we certainly weren’t buying.

Cue the high-pitched scream-run hybrid all the way to Jen’s house. (think: Olympic sprinters with L.L. Bean backpacks)

We burst into her empty house, soaked, terrified and panicked. Jen grabs the phone (attached to the wall - with a cord and everything) and calls her mom:

“Mom, we just got flashed!”

Her mom - at work and clearly multitasking, maybe wrangling a fax machine, replies:

“Oh, Honey. There’s paper towels in the cupboard. I’ll be home soon.”

PAPER TOWELS? There weren't enough paper towels in the world to wipe that vision from our minds.

Did she think we said SPLASHED? (Which is fair. Who would’ve thought their kid would get flashed back then?)

Eventually her mom got home and the full story was relayed.

I remember the police were called, and we were given dry clothes and probably pizza. The end.

It was so long ago, I honestly don’t remember the post-flashing details.

So why am I digging up my teenage trauma and sharing it with you? (other than proof that my memory is still slightly intact)

Because figuring out how to navigate midlife in a way that works and feels right for YOU can feel a lot like that phone call.

You’re yelling, “I need help!” and the world’s like, “There’s paper towels in the cupboard, honey.”

You’re not being ignored. You’re being misunderstood.

You’re saying “flashed” and they’re hearing “splashed.”

That’s how most health advice feels, right?

You say, “I want to feel better in my body BUT it has to work for MY unique life.”

They reply with: “Just count macros, track your sleep cycles, drink beetroot smoothies, and run a half marathon at dawn.”

Uh, no thanks. I’ll take an oat cake and 8 hours of sleep. (and the cycle continues)

The ultimate goal for your physical, emotional and mental health is not to do confusion. It’s not to do restriction. And definitely not to do beetroot smoothies. (unless you actually want to)

Let’s do balance.
Let’s do real life.
Let’s do paper towels, education and actual help.

Aging in a healthy way, that makes sense for you, doesn’t have to be as dramatic as getting flashed.

It can be consistent, enjoyable, and occasionally hilarious. (especially if you have teenage traumas resurface while you’re on a road trip with your kids)

So, my friend - if you’re yelling into the void and feel like no one hears you, I hear you.

Loud and clear.

Let’s ditch the confusion, keep the buns, and build a life you LOVE waking up to.

Because whether you’ve been flashed, splashed, or just feel a little thrashed…I'm here with you!

Now, tell me - what confusion or overwhelm, as it relates to aging and your health, are you experiencing right now?

What's your most burning question? Hit reply and let me know.

Nat - your flash survivor & paper towel advocate

P.S. I'm always hear to listen to a good teenage trauma story too!