Reclaiming 54: The Birthday Post I Couldn’t Have Written Three Months Ago
Today I turn 54.
And this post is very different than the one I would have written even three months ago.
Back then, I was still holding my breath. Still moving through the world in survival mode.
Still trying to make sense of what had unraveled—marriage, home, family, identity—and how to piece it all back together.
Back then, I was building—but not from wholeness. From sheer will.
And then something shifted. Not all at once, but slowly, like the thaw after a long winter.
I started to feel the ground again.
I started to believe that healing wasn’t just possible—it was already happening.
That being “seen” wasn’t a luxury. It was a lifeline.
And that maybe, just maybe, I could soften the grip I’d had on control… and trust again.
Not just trust the world. Trust myself.
My instincts. My worth. My voice.
Today, I feel something I haven’t felt in a very long time:
Hope.
Not the naïve kind, but the kind that’s been through it and still chooses to believe.
The kind that wakes up every morning and says, “Let’s try again.”
At 54, I am mending a frayed nervous system, rebuilding trust from the inside out, and learning what love looks like when it isn’t earned or chased—but received.
I am no longer interested in proving, pleasing, or performing.
I want real connection. I want soul-level work. I want beauty and boundaries and fire.
And I want to be a voice for every woman in midlife who’s ready to reclaim her life—not with shame or apology, but with clarity and courage.
So no, this isn’t the post I thought I’d write.
It’s better. Because it’s honest. And free.
Here’s to 54. To becoming.
To breaking cycles.
To feeling safe in our skin.
To finding home in our own lives again.
And to every woman doing the same—I see you.
You’re not starting over.
You’re rising.
If this resonated, you’re not alone.
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