I divorced a domestic terrorist and reinvented my life after 40

+ But first: How an entrepreneur with a day job raising "2 tornadoes" gets some sleep already

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Starring Marina Pen

Age: Rocking my 40s and very peri

Occupation: Co-founder of NNABI, a perimenopause wellness company. Also a full-time brand strategist working in advertising. And a mom of two boys.

Location: New York, New York

Lifestyle in a nutshell: Wife, mom of two small tornadoes, brand strategist by day, wellness founder by night, and perpetually chasing sunlight, sleep, and some version of balance.

Follow me here: @nnabi.life

Self-assessed sleep rating: 8 out of 10

Why did you rate your sleep an 8?

I sleep like my life depends on it, I’ve worked hard to earn that 8! These days I average 7 hours a night, sometimes 8-ish if the stars align. I try to be in bed by 10 PM, which isn’t always easy with two young kids, a startup, a full-time job, and perimenopause in the mix.

But I’ve learned that sleep is the foundation everything else rests on — my energy, my mood, my focus, even what I crave to eat the next day. A few years ago I thought I could function on less sleep, and I paid for it with brain fog, burnout, and zero patience. Now, sleep is non-negotiable.

It’s not always perfect — there are still 3 a.m. wakeups, a snoring partner, and the occasional midnight Lego injury, but it’s consistent. And that’s my win.

Got a sleep tip or hack?

So many, all earned through trial and error. Here are five that really work for me:

• No alcohol at night. It wrecks my sleep quality. I’ve swapped it for non-alcoholic cocktails (Lapo’s is my current favorite).

• A hot shower or sauna blanket session to release the tension of the day, especially after a day of wrangling emails, kids, household chores, homework and more.

• My Oura ring. It’s helped me get honest about what’s helping and what’s not, optimizing and staying consistent.

• Reading in bed. I always have 2 or 3 books on rotation. I avoid anything that’s going to spike adrenaline or outrage (LOL).

• Meditate. I have my go-to tracks, Lauren Owstroski, Oura meditations, Sara Auster soundbaths, or just plain green noise from Spotify.

On my nightstand

• NNABI Peri Essential 5. My daily non-negotiable, I keep it in my nightstand so I always remember to take it. It's a multi-layered herbal formula that supports your whole-body health for improved sleep, calmer mood, increased energy, and more, and it has helped me tremendously with my sleep quality, among other things.

• My Therabody eye mask. It blocks out light, massages my forehead and temples, and basically tucks me in. I travel with it everywhere.

• A Vitruvi aromatherapy diffuser. Always with some eucalyptus scent, it’s the shortcut to switching gears.

• Bonus: Earplugs.

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I divorced a domestic terrorist and reinvented my life after 40

By Jessi Brooks

Let me be clear: I didn’t have a breakdown. I had a breakthrough.

This wasn’t some clichéd midlife crisis, either. This was a full-blown revolution — the kind where you burn the old rulebook, crawl through the ashes, and claw your way back to life. And like all worthwhile rebirths, mine started in hell.

The terrorist in the kitchen

For most of my adult life, I was married to a man who could charm the devil himself — and then convince everyone that I was the real problem. On paper, we had what some might call a “difficult marriage.” Behind closed doors, it was psychological warfare. He was an expert manipulator who knew how to shrink a soul one invisible cut at a time.

He didn’t need fists. He didn’t even need guns — though, yes, those existed once too. What he had was far more dangerous: control. Control over the money. Control over access. Control over the story being told. He was a walking, talking gaslight wrapped in dad jeans and disarming smiles. The kind of man who could convince friends, family, and even strangers that I was just “overly emotional.”

To the outside world, he was helpful, funny, and generous — the guy who’d stop to change a flat tire for a stranger. But to me, he was a trap door. One wrong word and I’d plummet into days of icy silence, months of walking on eggshells, and years of slowly disappearing inside myself.

Most people don’t understand the kind of terror silence can hold. It’s not peace — it’s punishment. It’s the kind of quiet that hums with threat, like a bomb you’re not allowed to acknowledge. I spent years trying to become invisible, trying to disappear so I wouldn’t trigger his next eruption. My nervous system was constantly bracing for impact. And the longer I stayed, the more I forgot how to live any other way.

Escape from Alcatraz (suburban edition)

I didn’t pack a bag and dramatically walk out the front door. Real escape doesn’t look like the movies. It’s slow. It’s calculated. It’s survival in the form of spreadsheets, burner phones, and memorized exit plans.

He tracked my phone. He monitored the finances. He knew every move I made — and worse, …