the other day i said out loud, to myself (on a video i was sending to my best friend lilly), « i’m almost 30. »
in all fairness, i’m 26. i’m closer to other numbers & for most people, still far from 30. i think about how women on TV have always dreaded turning 30, how my mom joked that she was 29 forever, how much aging is viewed in a bad light.
but saying it didn’t have those effects on me. i found myself almost giddy with the realization that soon enough, i’d be leaving my 20s behind.
maybe it’s all the damage i did to myself when i was younger, maybe it’s the feeling of finally growing up. i don’t know.
but i do know that the age that plagues pop culture as the worst thing to happen to a woman does not scare me. it invigorates me.
imagine who i will be, then. in 4 years.
imagine how far i will have come from now. imagine how pretty i’ll be in my little sash that says « dirty thirty » on my birthday, because i’ll absolutely be celebrating the big three-oh.
i spend a lot of my time worried that i’m still just a child, my therapist says it’s because part of me stopped growing up when i was young.
this last week i’ve been actively doing the work to try to heal her, the little girl that got left behind. the divine feminine side of myself that never learned how to be safe or grown because somewhere around age 12, my masculine side took over & never stopped showing up first.
actively leaning into being more girly, allowing myself to feel emotional without immediately cracking a joke or saying « ha sorry i’m crying that’s so dumb » (which i say a lot. because the masculine in me always wants to throw hands, even with my own emotions).