Warning! Some f-bombs and other naughty language sprinkled here and there.
I recently spun around the globe one more time in what seems to have been a ridiculously fast year—celebrating my 53rd year.
I don’t feel 53, but then again, I’ve never defined my age physically or numerically, as I believe we are our energy, and energy does not need to age.
Energy is who we are; it’s what we exude. Our energy is how we see ourselves. It’s our essence. It’s how we make people feel when they are around us. It’s our way of being, and it stems from our attitude about ourselves and life. It’s a warmth, a magnetism, a vibrancy. Our energy can captivate or drain people, depending on our own self-awareness, spirit, and openness toward life.
I have had a pretty incredible 52 years. Of course, it hasn’t been without significant loss, pain, heartbreak, and lessons. But when I reflect on all that I’ve shared, had, lost, and have, I know I am rich with blessings. And I know without the culmination of everything, I would not be who I am.
At 53, I choose to break down any stereotypical ageist bullshit. If you look at me and see a middle-aged woman, that is your loss. If people choose to see someone who is past her prime, that’s their misfortune because I’m here to kick down the fucking door of ageism that we may have perceived as “old.” How I see myself is what matters, and what do I see?
I see someone who is 53 and fucking fearless.
I don’t mean I’m never afraid. Of course, I get scared, but I am fearless because I no longer sit in comfort zones. I no longer avoid following my passions for fear of failing. I no longer fear the truth in all its beauty, ugliness, and messiness. I no longer allow others to walk over me because I’ve built myself some healthy ass boundaries. I have no fear being vulnerable or opening up to love. I’m your kind of ride-or-die girl.
As terrified as I am sometimes and as overwhelming as life can be at times, I’ve learnt to stare fear down. If it sits me on my ass, I’ll take a deep breath and stand straight back up because, like Brené Brown says, “We all have those face down in the arena moments; it’s how we get up that counts.”
At 53, I’ve almost completed my holistic counselling and coaching course. I’m volunteering for a crisis support line. I indulge often in my love of writing, and I’m getting through writing that first book! I have two incredible kids and a tribe of loyal friends and family. I also now have two amazing communities within the counselling/coaching space and here in Elephant Journal. I absolutely cherish all the connections I have made.
I will not be hiding away, thinking my best years are behind me. Don’t get me wrong, parts of my past will always form some of my best years, but I’ll be damned if I don’t have some of my best years in the future. Like I said, I’m kicking that fucking-bullshit-midlife-stereotypical-crap straight to the curb—where it belongs. And if you don’t know who I am, I’ll be the one barefoot on the beach, hair loose and free, sun on my shoulders, and arms outstretched to the universe, without a care of what anyone thinks.
I am a passionate woman—full of zest and vitality. I wear what I want, and I live the lifestyle I want. When in a committed, loving relationship, I surrender to my inner goddess. And why shouldn’t I? I’d actually challenge the status quo of a woman’s feminine prowess and peak those in their younger years because quite frankly, I am bold enough to say that at 53, I know exactly what I want, exactly what I like, and I’m confident with who I am. It’s taken me awhile to get here, but I have arrived.
I look in the mirror and, of course, my body has changed. I see the soft curve of my belly and the stretch marks that have been with me ever since I carried my babies. I have more curves these days, and whilst I keep fit, I could do with more toning. But this is just my physical body, and I am so much deeper and so much more than that.
And who am I?
I am a woman who has slow waltzed with every one of my shadows. I have consoled every one of my broken hearts. I have lovingly cleaned, cared for, and healed all my wounds. I have metaphorically kissed goodbye and gracefully let go of those who hurt me or no longer formed part of my life. And the end result is a woman who stands in her own power. A woman who doesn’t need to or want to turn back the clock because she’s lived those years, and she knows she has some bloody beautiful years ahead of her.
So why am I 53 and fucking fearless? Because I’ve worked bloody hard, and I’m unapologetically myself, in all its raw and messy authenticity, and when fear rears its unwelcome head, I look her dead in the eye and say, “Hello bitch, challenge accepted.”
See you at 54 and fucking fascinating.