There was never a single moment, or a major insight on the days leading to New Year’s, or on a birthday, or a milestone achieved. It was a slow, emerging truth I quit resisting.
I am aging. And that is not a tragedy.
For years, I lamented the softness of my skin and the changing lines of a face I no longer recognized in photographs. I missed the firmness, glow, and smoothness of youth, which wrapped around me like a second skin. I yearned for the girl who moved through the world without realizing the burden she would one day bear.
But now that I’m nearing 50, I see her differently.
I no longer see myself as a lesser version. I am more.
At this age, I have increased knowledge and become more present. I’m more accepting of my flaws. This kind of self-acceptance in midlife didn’t happen overnight: it bloomed slowly, from the roots of every hardship, every choice, every shift in perspective.
With age comes experience, and with experience comes wisdom. These aren’t simply intellectual ideas; they are embodied experiences that influence my creativity. My writing and art are richer today because I’ve lived rather than just relied on techniques. I don’t just write from theory or imagination but from the scars and marvels of real life. I write from the experiences of heartbreaks, little delights, and the gentle discoveries that only time can teach.
As a woman approaching 50, I’ve learned that aging gracefully doesn’t mean staying youthful. It’s about honoring the life I’ve carried. My body has carried life, birthed babies, nursed them through illness, and made room for love, grief, and exhaustion. My skin has experienced both pleasure and suffering. My heart is shattered yet still pulses with hope. I’ve been silent and loud, scared and bold, gentle and hard.
The decision that altered everything wasn’t about reclaiming lost youth but about releasing the need to chase it.
Now, I wear my years like a well-worn sweater: tattered at the edges, stretched in spots, but warm, treasured, and wholly mine.
I struggle with fatigue and aches. Occasionally, I wish I could turn back time. But then I recall what I’ve gained: clarity, discernment, and self-compassion. I’ve gained a deeper, braver love for my body, my truth, and my desires. This is what aging and self-growth look like: forgiving the past versions of myself while stepping fully into this one.
If I’m lucky, I’ll live another 20 to 40 years. Perhaps less. But I no longer pursue time; I walk alongside it.
That was the decision: to embrace aging rather than shy away from it.
And I’ve never felt more alive.
That's it for now. If you read this far, thank you. I appreciate it so much! I'm a non-native English speaker, and English is my third language. Post ideas and content are originally mine.
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