12/04/2025
40.
I’m in Lisbon.
Walking slow. Enjoying meals alone. Ordering pastries. Chatting with locals. Letting the world hold me gently, because I finally know I deserve that.
And I keep thinking about my younger selves.
The 20-year-old who was a wreck.
She chased validation like it was oxygen.
She molded herself to be chosen, liked, needed—anything but abandoned.
And then the 27-year-old, sitting alone at dinner for the first time, thinking to herself,
“I hope I feel confident doing this by the time I’m 30.”
I didn’t get there by 30. But I didn’t stop trying.
I didn’t survive by staying quiet—I fought.
I clawed my way through grief, trauma, and confusion.
I burned through versions of myself just to find one I could live inside.
It took longer than I thought.
Longer to stop waiting to be chosen.
Longer to stop proving I was enough.
Longer to simply live.
I’m raising a remarkable child. Still healing. Still learning how to hold boundaries and softness in the same hand.
And here’s what I know at 40:
Don’t wait your whole life to live your life.
Don’t wait until you’re perfect.
Don’t wait until it’s safe.
Don’t wait until you feel ready.
If you want your relationships to feel different, if you want your children to grow up in a different kind of home, if you want to stop repeating or passing down patterns that never served you—you can’t just wish for change.
You have to live it.
In how you speak.
When you rest.
How you say no.
What you accept from others.
How you come home to yourself again and again.
Be the love. Be the boundary. Be the rest.
Be the one your younger self couldn’t even imagine becoming.
I’m not reinventing myself at 40.
I’m returning to someone true.
And I really, deeply like her. ♥️