Meggen In The Middle
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Meggen in the Middle was born out of a growing exhaustion with shrinking myself to fit other people’s formats, expectations, and comfort levels. Here, I get to tell the truth more fully — even when it’s messy, uncomfortable, unresolved, or still unfolding.
This is a space for people navigating transitions, questioning old identities, grieving former versions of themselves, and trying to build something more honest in the middle of modern life.
If you’ve ever felt stuck, silenced, burned out, unseen, too sensitive, too much, or like your life no longer fits the shape it was once supposed to — welcome. Pull up a chair and come sit in the middle with me.
I publish at least once a week — sometimes more when life cracks something open worth writing about. Source
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| Scope | National |
|---|---|
| Language | English |
| Country | United States of America |
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| Frequency | Weekly |
| Days Published | N/A |
Recent Articles
Search ArticlesWhat We Make Room For
There’s something growing inside of me. I don’t mean that metaphorically. I mean that literally—and it isn’t another life. I’ve had inklings. Moments when I’ve thought, Something looks like it’s inside of me. Over the last year, I’ve watched my body change, my belly expand, things look different. There have been mornings when I’ve looked at myself and genuinely thought, Whose body is that? I thought a lot of it was perimenopause.
Assholes: What Are They Good For?
Sometimes protecting your peace means refusing to move. The human rectum and anus are extraordinary pieces of equipment. I realize this is an unusual place to begin an essay, but stay with me. Anatomically speaking, the rectum stores waste until the body is ready to get rid of it, while the anal sphincters perform an essential service: they hold things in when they need to stay in and let things out when they need to leave.
Meggen In The Middle
New to Meggen In The Middle? These three pieces are a good place to begin. ✦ ✦ ✦ This Isn’t a Forbes Article Why I needed a place to write the things that don’t fit neatly into a headline. I’m Not Trying to Be Your Guru On questioning certainty, listening to yourself, and why I’m much more interested in curiosity than having all the answers. We Are All Just Full-Sized Babies Walking Around Wounded On the youngest wound in the room—and what happens when our grown-up selves hand it the wheel.
A Soft Little Pause for Winter
A Winter Pause in Rhyme: Gratitude, Quiet, and What Comes Next A quiet winter corner for words, warmth, and one last rhyme before the year turns. ‘Twas the tail end of winter, or close enough now, When the year feels like chapters still asking for “how?” How did twelve months unravel with such furious pace? How did I keep moving while barely leaving a trace? December is magic, but she’s honest too — She’ll shine up your joy while revealing what’s true.
Back Away From the Cage — She Doesn’t Play Nice With Others
Back Away From the Cage — She Doesn’t Play Nice With Others That’s the warning label I imagine some people might slap on me if they were being honest. Not because I’m cruel. Not because I lack empathy. But because I don’t perform well inside small enclosures disguised as community, belonging, or just how things are. Back away from the cage. Not because I bite — but because I don’t stay.
Midlife Plot Twists No One Warns You About
Midlife plot twist: she’s the main character now. There are certain things you expect to happen in midlife. A few fine lines. A few questionable decisions. A sudden realization that you’ve owned the same spatula for over a decade and feel oddly loyal to it. What you don’t expect is how quietly everything else changes. The plot twists. The subtle recalibrations. The shifts no one warned us about—perhaps because everyone before us assumed we’d figure it out on our own.
The Steep Cost of Being the Strong One
The moment you realize survival was never meant to be your whole identity. On grit, exhaustion, and the quiet collapse no one sees coming. There’s a part of survival no one warns you about. They’ll praise your grit. They’ll admire your resilience. They’ll marvel at how you “always land on your feet.” What they don’t tell you is how much it costs. Not the inspirational kind. The cellular kind. The bone-deep kind.
Meggen In The Middle
Management has been notified. We have been quiet long enough. This may surprise you, considering how much time she spends talking about listening to her body. Apparently that conversation has largely been taking place from the ankles up. We would like the record corrected. We are her feet. Both ostensibly size five and a half, although finding a shoe that actually fits us would suggest otherwise. Right would also like to dispute the official measurement.
All the Versions of Me
Bürgenstock, Switzerland. I have been thinking a lot lately about how many versions of myself I carry around. Not two. Hundreds, probably. There is the woman who doesn’t need anyone, and the little girl who still hopes someone will show up. There is the person who has become quite comfortable with being alone, and the person who sometimes wonders what it would feel like to have a deep sense of belonging.
I Get The Middle. That Doesn't Mean I Like It.
Sometimes an essay doesn't tell you what it's about until the very end. This was one of those. I get the middle. It doesn’t mean I like living there. I understand paradoxes. I get that people can be both generous and disappointing. That love and grief can occupy the same room. That most things worth discussing, and most things worth having, are complicated. They’re often costly. And they rarely fit neatly into tidy little boxes. Intellectually, I get it. Emotionally, however, that’s another story.