Let me be straight with you. I’ve changed. Not in an overnight, rebrand-yourself-on-a-whim kind of way, but in that slow, painful, necessary way that happens when life stops making sense and you realize the version of yourself you’ve been showing the world isn’t telling the whole story anymore.

 

You might’ve followed me for the nostalgia. The jokes. The reels that made you laugh or shake your head in shared Gen X exhaustion. Maybe you liked that I could make fun of myself or remind you of something you hadn’t thought about in decades. And for a long time, that felt good to share. It gave me something to hold onto when a lot of other things in my life were falling apart. But behind all of it, I was unraveling.

 

I’ve been through some things. The kind of things that force you to look at your life and ask questions you’ve been avoiding for years. I was grieving. I was burned out. I was tired in a way that sleep doesn’t fix. And I got to a point where I couldn’t pretend anymore. Not online, not in my work, and definitely not in my own head.

 

So I got quiet for a while. I pulled back. I watched myself start to change. It wasn’t dramatic or pretty. But it was real. I stopped chasing what I thought people wanted to see from me and started thinking about what I actually needed to say. I realized that while I loved creating content that made people laugh, I didn’t want to build my life around pretending I was fine when I wasn’t.

 

Now I’m doing something different. It’s still me. Same sense of humor. Same smart mouth. Same love for all things deeply human and slightly unhinged. But now I’m bringing the rest of it too. The grief. The mess. The sensuality. The shame. The rebuilding. The parts we usually hide when we want people to like us. I’m not trying to be likable anymore. I’m trying to be honest.

 

The Second Act Playbook isn’t a brand. It’s a lifeline. It’s the thing I wish I’d had when I was falling apart and no one knew what to say. It’s for people who’ve been through something and are still figuring out what comes next. It’s for the ones who are tired of surface-level advice and shiny Instagram coping. It’s for you if you’ve ever looked in the mirror and thought, “I don’t even recognize myself anymore,” but still showed up anyway.

 

I’m still going to make you laugh. I’m still going to remind you of who you used to be. But more importantly, I want to help you reconnect with who you are now. The version of you that’s still here. Still trying. Still deserving of something real.

 

Thank you for sticking with me through every version. And if this version, the one that’s a little raw, a little wiser, and a lot less performative, feels like something you need, then welcome to the second act. You’re right on time.

 

All my love,

Chelle