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I Took Her Camping. I Survived. A Husband’s Guide to Loving Through Perimenopause Caralie Sage
Copyright© 2026 by Carolyn Stefanski (writing under the Pen Name of Caralie Sage) All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means without prior written permission from the author, except in the case of brief quotations used in reviews or commentary. Independently Published Illustrations created for this edition by Carolyn Stefanski. This is a work of fiction inspired by common marital experiences. Any resemblance to actual persons is coincidental. Printed in the United States of America. ISBN: 9798185556610 ASIN: B0H7QNCLQ1
Dedication For the Stevens and Mollys of the world who choose to stay, even as the trail shifts beneath their feet. May you listen more than you fix, laugh more than you argue, and keep walking forward, together. iii
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Preface Perimenopause is often talked about in whispers, or not at all. It can be confusing, exhausting, funny, frustrating, and deeply human. And while much of the conversation rightly centers on women navigating the changes in their bodies, there is another story unfolding quietly alongside it, the partners who love them, sometimes clumsily, sometimes beautifully, and often without a clear map. This story was written with warmth and respect for both. Steven is fictional. Molly is fictional. But their moments are not. If you recognize yourself in the raised eyebrow, the misplaced optimism, the two-syllable name, or the quiet decision to stay, you’re not alone. Marriage in midlife isn’t about getting everything right. It’s about learning how to listen differently. It’s about adjusting expectations without adjusting love. It’s about choosing to walk through change together. If this book makes you laugh, feel seen, or pause for a moment of understanding, then it has done its job. With warmth, Caralie Sage v
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TABLE OF CONTENTS 27CHAPTER 8 1CHAPTER 1 4CHAPTER 2 The Sauna Incident ........................................ 7 Bugs, Bears, and Big Feelings ........................ 12CHAPTER 4 17CHAPTER 5 What I Know Now .......................................... 30CHAPTER 9 The Moment of Clarity ................................... 24CHAPTER 7 21CHAPTER 6 36Acknowledgment .............................................................. The Trip Home ............................................... Adaption Man-Style ....................................... CHAPTER 3 The Pitch ....................................................... Optimism Is a Phase ............. ....................... Preface ............................................................................ Dedication ....................................................................... Copyright ......................................................................... Title Page ......................................................................... I II III V38 About The Author ............................................................ The Meltdown (Mine, Not Hers) ................... The Next Adventure ........................................................ 33 Table of Contents ........................................................... VII vii
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Chapter 1: The PitchI love camping. Trees. Quiet. Fire. The sound of nature reminding you that Wi-Fi is optional. My wife loves other things. She loves indoor plumbing. She loves beds that don’t crunch. She loves showers that don’t involve flip-flops and prayer. So when I suggested we go camping for the weekend, Molly looked at me the way someone looks at a man who has just announced he’ll be juggling chainsaws in the living room. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” she said carefully. This is how she speaks now, carefully. Like every sentence might 1 1
She looked unconvinced. “Restrooms,” she repeated, like she was translating it into a language she didn’t trust. Eventually, she agreed. But only under conditions. Very specific conditions. detonate something inside her. I, however, was optimistic. Optimism, I’ve since learned, is a phase. It’ll be relaxing,” I said. “Fresh air,” I said. “No stress,” I said. Molly stared at me for a long moment. “Steve,” she said, slow and gentle, “I am currently a walking stress mess.” At the time, I thought she was joking. She didn’t say no right away. Instead, she started asking questions. Not “What should we pack?” questions. Questions like: “Will there be… bugs?” “Will there be… people?” “Will there be a bathroom situation I can respect?” I assured her the campground had restrooms. 2 I Took Her Camping. I Survived.
I packed the tent. Molly packed for every possible version of herself that might show up. I didn’t know it then, but this trip was about to teach me many things. Including humility. Before we left, Molly stood in the doorway with her bag in one hand and her keys in the other. She took a deep breath. “Steve,” she said. I smiled. “Yeah?” She paused. Then she said my name the way she only says it when I’m about to learn something the hard way. “Ste...ven.” That’s when I realized I wasn’t just planning a camping trip. I was entering a new wilderness entirely. And I was wildly under- prepared. Conditions that included: Extra blankets Fewer blankets Snacks Backup snacks Emergency snacks A fan A plan for what happens when the fan does not exist in nature 3 Caralie Sage
By Friday afternoon, I was feeling pretty good about this whole thing. The car was packed. The weather forecast looked decent. I had snacks. In my mind, we were already roasting marshmallows and reconnecting with nature like one of those couples in outdoor clothing catalogs who never seem sweaty or annoyed. My wife, on the other hand, was still packing. Not finishing packing. Still packing. Chapter 2: Optimism Is A Phase 4
She stood in the bedroom, staring into an open suitcase like it was a portal to another dimension. “I’m just trying to be prepared,” she said. “For what?” I asked. She looked at me, then back at the suitcase. “For myself.” This should have been my first clue. I had packed efficiently. Tent. Sleeping bags. Flashlight. Cooler. She had packed strategically. There were layers. There were backup layers. There were clothes for being hot, clothes for being cold, and clothes for being hot while also being cold, which I did not know was a physical possibility until recently. She packed pajamas. Then different pajamas. Then pajamas “just in case I hate the other ones.” I decided not to ask follow-up questions. At one point she held up a sweater. “This one?” she asked. “That looks good,” I said. She put it down. “Not that one,” she said. “That one makes me mad.” I nodded. Of course it does. I brought a book. One book. She brought three books, none of which she planned to read. “These are comfort books,” she explained. “Comfort for what?” I asked. She zipped the suitcase with finality. “For existing.” By the time we got in the car, I was still optimistic. Optimism, I would soon learn, has a short shelf life. About twenty minutes into the drive, she adjusted the air vent. Then she closed it. Then she opened the window. Then she closed the window. Then she sighed, the kind of sigh that lets you know the sigh is not about the window. “Are you okay?” I asked. “I don’t know yet,” she said honestly. I appreciated the honesty. 5 Caralie Sage
Somewhere between the gas station and the campground, she reached into her bag and pulled out a snack. Then another snack. Then a different snack. “Do you want one?” she asked. “No thanks,” I said. She paused, then handed me one anyway. “Eat it,” she said. I ate it. This turned out to be one of the smartest decisions I was to make all weekend. As we drove, I realized something important. This trip was not going to be about fresh air or bonding or getting away from it all. This trip was about adjusting expectations. Mine! She wasn’t being difficult. She was navigating a body that no longer followed the old rules, and doing it with more patience than I probably deserved. At the time, I didn’t fully understand that yet. But I was about to. Very soon. Because night was coming. And with it…The sauna incident. 6 I Took Her Camping. I Survived.
Chapter 3: The Sauna Incident Night fell faster than I expected. One minute I was congratulating myself for choosing a campsite with a view, and the next minute the temperature dropped like it had been personally offended by the sun. I zipped up my jacket, feeling smug. “Perfect camping weather,” I said. My wife stared at me. “I am sweating,” she said. I looked at her. She was wearing a fleece. “It’s forty-eight degrees,” I said gently, like I was presenting a scientific fact that might help. “I know,” she said. “That’s what’s upsetting.” Inside the tent, I arranged the sleeping bags with pride. She crawled in, then immediately crawled back out. “It’s too hot,” she said. I paused. “The tent?” I asked. “Yes. And my skin. And the concept of fabric.” She unzipped the sleeping bag completely and laid it flat. Then she zipped it halfway. Then she kicked it off entirely. Then she pulled it back on. I lay very still, like one does around wildlife. The portable fan was whirling as fast as was possible, and my wife was frantically fanning herself with a map with her other arm. “I’m boiling,” she said. I reached for the tent window. “No,” she said. “Not open.” I froze. “Okay.” Two seconds passed. 7
Reader, learn from me. Do not say that! “Actually,” she said, “open it a little.” I opened it a little. “No, that’s too much.” I closed it slightly. “That’s not enough.” I adjusted it again. “Why does air have an opinion?” she asked. I did not answer. After a while, she sighed and sat up. “I feel ridiculous,” she said. This was my moment. I could say something reassuring. Something loving. something supportive. Instead, I said, “Maybe it’ll pass?” She turned to me slowly. “I am currently a human sauna,” she said calmly. “There is no ‘passing.’ There is only survival.” I nodded. I nodded a lot. Minutes later, she threw the sleeping bag off completely. “I’m freezing,” she said. I handed it back to her. She wrapped herself in it like a burrito. “I hate this,” she said quietly. This was the first time I noticed the humor in her voice had slipped away. She was uncomfortable in her own body, trapped between hot and cold and exhausted by the effort of managing it. 8 I Took Her Camping. I Survived.
And I was lying there, warm, silent, and profoundly unhelpful. “I’m sorry,” I said. She looked at me. “For what?” she asked. “For not knowing how to help,” I said. She smiled, “That’s okay,” she said. “Just don’t try to fix it.” I wrote that sentence down to remember for another time. There are moments in a marriage when a man understands his purpose. This was mine. This was the moment that I realized that along with everything else, romance also changes over time. Sometimes love looks like fanning someone through a tent zipper at 2am. 9 Caralie Sage
Eventually, she fell asleep. The tent was half-open. The sleeping bag was half-on. The air was… negotiable. I lay awake, staring at the ceiling of nylon and listening to the sounds of the woods. Crickets. Leaves. Nature, doing just fine without us. As I was drifting off to sleep, I remember thinking that I was learning about a new version of the woman I love, one who needed different things, sometimes contradictory things, and always a little more patience. from me. I closed my eyes. Morning would come. And with it…the bugs. 10 I Took Her Camping. I Survived.
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Chapter 4: Bugs, Bears, and Big Feelings Morning arrived with birdsong. Cheerful, persistent birdsong. The kind that suggests everything in the world is functioning exactly as intended. My wife did not share this enthusiasm. She opened one eye, groaned, and said, “Why is the sun so loud?” I pretended not to hear that. I unzipped the tent and stepped outside, breathing in the crisp air like a man in a commercial for rugged happiness. “This is nice,” I said, stretching. Behind me, I heard a sharp inhale. “Something touched me,” she said. “What?” I asked, scanning the ground. “I don’t know,” she said. “But I didn’t consent.” I turned just in time to see a mosquito land on her arm. She froze. I swatted it. Too late. From that moment on, the campground became hostile territory. Every rustle was suspicious. Every buzz was personal. Every insect was clearly sent as part of a coordinated attack. “I can feel them,” she said, swiping at the air. “There’s nothing there,” I said. She turned to me. “That’s what they want you to think.” I offered bug spray. She sprayed it. Then sprayed more. Then handed it to me. “Spray me again,” she said. I sprayed. “More,” she said. I sprayed until she smelled like a chemical experiment. 12
"This better work,” she muttered. It did not. We sat at the picnic table for breakfast. I cooked eggs. She poked at them. “I’m not hungry,” she said. Five minutes later: “I’m starving.” I slid the plate back to her. She ate three bites. Then pushed it away. Then pulled it back. Then sighed. "I don’t know what I want,” she said. “I know,” I said. A bee few past. She jumped. "Was that a bear?” she asked. “No,” I said. “That was a bee.” “Well,” she said, “I don’t like either of them.” 13 Caralie Sage
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I suggested a short hike. She looked at the trail. Then at the sun. Then at me. “How short?” she asked. “Very short,” I promised. It was not short enough. Halfway down the path, she stopped. “I’m hot,” she said. Then immediately: “I’m cold.” Then: “Why is my shirt touching me like that?” I waited. This was my new strategy. Waiting. A family passed us, smiling, hydrated, unbothered. The woman waved. “Beautiful day!” she said. My wife waved back weakly. “Yes,” she said. “If you’re not a human mood ring.” The woman just smiled. We continued walking. At a bend in the trail, my wife stopped again. Her shoulders slumped. “I hate feeling like this,” she said quietly. “I’m not trying to ruin this,” she added. “I just… don’t feel like myself.” I opened my mouth. Closed it. Then did something smarter. I sat down next to her. “You’re not ruining anything,” I said. She looked at me, surprised. “I’m learning,” I added. “Slowly. But I’m learning.” She laughed, a real laugh this time. “Good,” she said. “Because I don’t know what I’m doing either.” We sat there for a while. Bugs buzzed. Birds sang. Nature remained aggressively unhelpful. But something shifted. I stopped thinking about what the trip should be. I started paying attention to what it was. And what it was… was my wife, doing her best in a body that felt unfamiliar, and me finally realizing my job wasn’t to manage the situation. It was to be supportive. 15 Caralie Sage
We headed back to the campsite. Slowly. Together. I didn’t know it yet, but I was about to make a critical mistake. One involving the words: “It’s not that bad.” 16 I Took Her Camping. I Survived.
Chapter 5: The Meltdown (Mine, Not Hers) By early afternoon, I was tired. Not camping tired. Not fresh-air tired. I was emotionally-unprepared-for-this tired. We had survived the bugs. We had survived the hike-that- wasn’t-a-hike. We had even survived lunch, which involved her being starving, nauseous, annoyed by chewing sounds, and offended by the texture of bread, sometimes simultaneously. I thought we were doing okay. That was my second mistake. It happened by the fire pit. I was stacking wood, feeling useful. She was sitting in a chair, staring at nothing. “I don’t feel right,” she said. I stopped stacking. “What does that mean?” I asked. She shrugged. “I’m hot. And tired. And irritated. And sad. And, I don’t know why.” This was the moment. The crossroads. The moment where a man either knows… or says something unforgivable. I chose the latter. “Well,” I said, carefully, “it’s not that bad.” The words hung in the air. The forest went quiet. I swear even the bugs leaned in. She turned her head toward me slowly. The look on her face was not anger. It was disappointment. Which, I would later learn, is far worse. 17
“Not that bad,” she repeated. “Yes,” I said quickly. “I mean....” She stood up. “I am managing a body that feels like it’s been hijacked,” she said, very calmly. “I am trying to be pleasant. I am trying to participate. I am trying not to cry in public.” She took a breath. “And you just told me it’s not that bad.” I opened my mouth. Nothing came out. “I don’t need you to explain this away,” she continued. “I need understanding. I don’t need managing.” She looked me dead in the eye. “I need you to believe me.” I nodded. I nodded like my life depended on it. Because it might have.18 I Took Her Camping. I Survived.
I’m sorry,” I said. Not the quick apology. Not the defensive one. The real one. “I don’t know what this feels like,” I said. “But I know it’s real. And I know you’re not choosing it.” Her shoulders dropped. Just a little. That’s when I finally got it. That most important something to my wife, that thing. she couldn’t say or explain to me. It was about being believed. She sat back down. I handed her a snack. She took it. She ate it. This was progress. “I don’t want to ruin this,” she said quietly. “You’re not ruining it,” I said. “I am.” She snorted. “Good,” she said. “Because I don’t have the energy to apologize.” We sat there, side by side. No fixing. No re-framing. Just two people and a fire that refused to cooperate. Later, as the sun started to dip, she leaned her head against my shoulder. “I’m still glad I came,” she said. I smiled. “Me too,” I said. And for the first time all weekend, I meant it, not because things were easy, but because they were honest. I didn’t have this figured out. But I was starting to understand something crucial. My job wasn’t to make this phase go away. It was to walk with her through it. Even if that meant admitting when I screwed up. Especially then. That night, I didn’t try to fix the temperature. I didn’t comment on the bugs. I didn’t offer solutions. I just stayed. And somehow, that was enough. Tomorrow, I would learn something new. Something practical. Something that would change how I acted from then on. It involved snacks. And silence. And Google.19 Caralie Sage
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Chapter 6: The Moment of Clarity Morning came quietly. No dramatic temperature swings. No bug ambush. No emotional wildfire before breakfast. Just stillness. My wife was sitting on a log near the fire pit, wrapped in a blanket, holding a mug of coffee like it was a life raft. I watched her from a distance. She looked calm. Tired, but calm. And for the first time all weekend, I didn’t rush in with commentary. I just observed. She was working. Managing sensations. Managing emotions. Managing a body that no longer followed familiar rules. All while trying not to inconvenience anyone. Especially me. I walked over and sat next to her. Didn’t ask how she slept. Didn’t ask how she felt. Just sat. She took a sip of coffee. “This is good,” she said. “I remembered creamer,” I replied. She smiled. “That was thoughtful..” I felt like I’d won a medal. A few minutes passed. Then she said, “I feel better this morning.” I waited. She continued. “Not great. Just… better.” “I’m glad,” I said. Knowing, that “better” didn’t mean solved. Later, while she was brushing her teeth near the car, I Googled. Quietly. Respectfully. Like a man diffusing a bomb. “What is perimenopause supposed to feel like?” “How long does it last?” “Why is everything annoying?” The internet had thoughts. 21
Some helpful. Some terrifying. Some clearly written by people who had never met a woman. But buried in it all was one simple truth. This phase wasn’t a problem to fix. It was a transition to support. I looked up from my phone. My wife was standing there, arms crossed, eyebrow raised. “Are you Googling me?” she asked. “I’m Googling for you,” I said carefully. She considered this. “Okay,” she said. “But don’t tell me what you find.” “Fair enough”, I said. I reached over and took her hand. She squeezed back. “This wasn’t the camping trip you imagined, was it?” she asked. 22 I Took Her Camping. I Survived.
“No,” I said. She smiled. “Better or worse?” I thought about it. About the bugs. The blankets. The snacks. The words I wished I could take back. The ones I was glad I’d said. “Different,” I said finally. She nodded. “Yeah,” she said. “That’s kind of the theme right now.” There was no need for apologies. It seemed we had landed somewhere better than apologies, we had landed in acceptance. Loving her through this phase wasn’t about grand gestures. It was about: Paying attention Believing her Adjusting without resentment And maybe… packing extra snacks. I still loved camping. She still loved indoor plumbing. But somewhere between the fire pit and the Google search, I learned how to meet her where she was, not where I wished she’d be. Tomorrow, I would put this knowledge to the test. Because theory is easy. Practice…takes snacks, and fans, and a lot of listening. 23 Caralie Sage
Chapter 7: The Trip Home The car was quiet. Not the uncomfortable quiet. The kind of quiet that doesn’t need managing. The kind that says everything that needs to be said has already been said, at least for now. My wife leaned back in her seat, sunglasses on, one leg tucked under the other. She looked peaceful. Not symptom-free. Not magically transformed. Just… steadier. 24
“ I’m glad we went,” she said suddenly. I smiled. “Me too,” I said. This was new. Because a few days ago, I would have said that out of obligation. Now I meant it. The road stretched ahead of us. Fields. Trees. Billboards advertising things we didn’t need. She reached into the center console and pulled out a snack. She offered it to me. I took it. We were officially a team now. “I didn’t think I could do it,” she said. “Camping?” I asked. She shook her head. “Trying. Explaining. Holding it together.” I glanced at her. She wasn’t looking for reassurance. Just acknowledgement. “You did,” I said. She nodded. “Barely.” “That still counts,” I replied. At a red light, she turned to me. “Thank you for seeing me,” she said. Not “helping.” Not “fixing.” “Seeing.” I swallowed. “You didn’t make it easy,” I said. She laughed. “I know.” “And I didn’t make it worse,” I added. She grinned. We stopped for coffee on the way home. She stayed in the car. I brought it out to her. Exactly how she likes it. She took a sip. “This is perfect,” she said. I felt absurdly proud. When we pulled into the driveway, she didn’t rush inside. She sat there for a moment, hand on the door handle. “I don’t know how long this phase will last,” she said quietly. I nodded. “I don’t either.” 25 Caralie Sage
“But,” she continued, “I know I’m not doing it alone.” I reached over and squeezed her hand. “Never,” I said. Later, lying in bed, with climate control, blessed climate control, she turned to me. “You know,” she said, “you learned more on this trip than you ever did in Boy Scouts.” I laughed. “That’s because they never taught ‘Advanced Emotional Survival,’” I said. She smiled and closed her eyes. And for the first time since this whole thing started, I felt something settle in my chest. This wasn’t a crisis. It was a chapter. And we were writing it together. There was only one thing left to say. One last lesson I needed to put into words. Something for the men who might read this one day. Something simple. Something important. 26 I Took Her Camping. I Survived.
Chapter 8: Adaptation, Man-Style Next day, I had a plan. Not a big plan. Not a spreadsheet. A quiet, flexible, don’t-make-it-worse plan. I started with fans. I bought one. Then another. Then one that clipped to things. I didn’t ask where she wanted them. I just placed them strategically around the house like offerings. She noticed. She didn’t comment. This was a good sign. Next came snacks. I stopped thinking of snacks as “extras.” Snacks were now preventative care. I stocked the pantry with things she liked. Not what I thought she should like. What she actually reached for. When she opened the pantry and saw them, she paused. “You remembered,” she said. “I’m learning,” I replied. She smiled. Then there was silence. I used to fill silence. With suggestions. With optimism. With solutions. I stopped doing that. Instead, when she said, “I don’t feel right,” I said, “I’m here.” Not “Why?” Not “What can I do?” Just… here. This felt wrong at first. Like I was failing a test. Turns out, I was finally passing one. I learned new rules. Rules no one had told me about. Rules like: If she takes off a sweater, don’t comment If she puts it back on, don’t comment If she sighs, offer water or snacks, not analysis If she snaps, do not snap back 27
.I wrote these down. Mentally. For when needed. One night, she looked at me and said, “Thank you for not trying to fix me.” I shrugged. “I realized you’re not broken,” I said. She stared at me for a long moment. Then she leaned over and kissed my cheek. That was better than any camping trip. 28 I Took Her Camping. I Survived.
Along the way, somewhere, I stopped thinking of perimenopause as something happening to her, to something happening to us. A shared adjustment. A season. One that required more patience, more humor, and significantly more snacks than I had originally thought. One evening, she laughed. A real laugh. “You know,” she said, “you’re actually getting pretty good at this.” I raised an eyebrow. “At camping?” I asked. She smiled. “At being my husband.” I decided I could live with that. Next up, I would learn the most important lesson of all. One that had nothing to do with snacks, her temperature, or bugs. It had to do with what love looks like when it’s quiet. I still mess up. I still say dumb things. But now I catch myself faster. And when I apologize, it’s cleaner. No explanations. No defense. Just, “I’m sorry. I missed that.” She appreciates that more than me being right. 29 Caralie Sage
Here’s what I know now. Perimenopause isn’t a mood. It isn’t a phase someone “gets over.” It isn’t something that needs correcting. It’s a transition. And transitions ask things of the people who witness them. I’ve learned that: You don’t have to understand everything to believe it Fixing is often less helpful than staying steady Snacks are not optional Silence can be an act of love I’ve learned that fixing, while well-intentioned, can sometimes feel like dismissal. And that saying “I believe you” is more powerful than saying “It’ll pass.” I’ve learned to stop asking, “What’s wrong?” And start asking, “What would help right now?” Sometimes the answer is a fan. Sometimes it’s a hug. Sometimes it’s nothing at all. Most of all, I’ve learned that the woman I married is still here. She’s funny. She’s sharp. She’s resilient. She’s just navigating a body Chapter 9: What I Know Now If you had told me a year ago that I’d learn the most about marriage from a camping trip that involved sweating in forty-eight degrees and declaring war on mosquitoes, I would have laughed. And yet. Here we are. 30
that’s changing its rules. And that deserves patience, not suggestions. If you’re a partner reading this, here’s my advice: Don’t make it about you. Don’t minimize. Don’t rush her through it. Pack snacks. Believe her. Stay curious. And remember, loving someone through change doesn’t mean knowing the answers. It means choosing to be there.. We still haven’t gone camping again. We will. Eventually. But next time, I’ll pack the fans. And the snacks. And the humility. Because love isn’t proven by how well you plan the trip. It’s proven by how willing you are to adjust the route. A Final Note From Steven: I packed a tent. She packed wisdom. I thought we were going camping. Turns out…we were learning how to love each other through a season neither of us saw coming. And if I've learned anything...always pack the fan and plenty of snacks. 31 Caralie Sage
the end But not really THE END Because every season of life brings another adventure… and Steven and Molly are just getting started. 32 I Took Her Camping. I Survived.
The Next Adventure Steven thought he was learning how to survive a camping trip. It turned out he was learning something much more important. That love doesn't always need solutions. Sometimes it needs patience. Sometimes it needs laughter. Sometimes it needs snacks. And sometimes...it just needs someone willing to sit beside you until the moment passes. The camping trip may be over, but Steven and Molly's adventures are only beginning. Book 2 in The Steven & Molly Midlife Journey Series I Took Her on a Road Trip. I Survived. A Husband's Guide to Detours, Hormones, and Emotional Navigation Steven thought the hardest part of traveling was navigating his GPS. He had clearly never tried navigating hormones, highway rest stops, snack emergencies, and "We're not lost... we're reconsidering our options." 33
Join Steven and Molly for another warm, humorous adventure filled with unexpected detours, relationship discoveries, and the realization that sometimes the best memories begin when the original plan falls apart. Don’t Miss Out. Be the first to know when the next Steven & Molly adventure arrives. Sign in to our quick and easy Waiting List. Just Ctrl-Click Here or copy/paste the following link: https://form.jotform.com/261826022225045 You Will Be Notified of All Coming Soon Books and Resources Thank you for traveling with Steven and Molly. They'd both tell you they survived. They'd also quietly admit...they couldn't have done it without each other. 34 I Took Her Camping. I Survived.
If any of this sounds familiar. Know that you are not alone. And neither is she. Caralie Sage Till We Meet Again 35
Acknowledgment To every woman who has ever tried to explain what she was feeling while simultaneously forgetting why she walked into a room. This book was written with love and respect for you. And to the partners learning beside them: thank you for trying, even when you don’t always get it right the first time. Midlife can be messy, exhausting, emotional, hilarious, and unexpectedly tender. Sometimes the greatest gift we give each other is simply choosing to stay through it. 36
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About The Author Caralie Sage Caralie writes heartfelt stories about marriage, midlife, and the beautifully imperfect adventures that remind us laughter is often the best survival skill. Her books celebrate the humor found in everyday life while honoring the love, patience, and resilience that carry us through life's unexpected seasons. When she's not creating stories, Caralie enjoys designing books and creative projects that encourage people to laugh, learn, and find joy in the ordinary moments that become our favorite memories. I Took Her Camping. I Survived. is the first book in the Steven & Molly Midlife Journey Series. There will be four (4) books total in this series. Book 2 will be coming soon. Carolyn Stefanski, BSN. MSN, authors the educational books for women navigating through perimenopause and beyond with books and resources that are personalized for each person based on the top three (3) symptoms causing the most stress in this wonderful midlife journey. Especially important is the right nutrition plan to correctly feed their raging hormones and provide them with some relief. 38
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