35

35.  Once upon a time, that seemed incredibly old to me.  It was not only old, but out of reach.  As a drug addicted teen and narrowly focused girl, I didn’t expect to live, or want to live, beyond 27.  Thinking back on that makes me so sad, but also brings tremendous compassion to those still suffering.  I know how they feel.

30 was a milestone because it was a new decade.  It was exciting, sexy and for all logical purposes, new.  So many say that their 30’s are the best years of their lives, so I anticipated that with hope.  Then 31 came and I was a little less mesmerized and 32 was depressing.

My mom had me when I was 32, so in my mind, that meant that I was supposed to have a family and be more “stable” by that age.  Then I turned 33 – still no kids, I was probably truly single at that time and I was sad.  Then I turned 34 – I was grateful to be with Mike and in a career that satisfied me with great potential, but I couldn’t shake the nagging undertone of “you should’ve had X by now”.

And now I’m 35.  I have a vision board across from my bed taped to my wall with kids on it, engagement announcements and family.  I have a fear that I will be too old to have a family, and I do have some shame that I haven’t been tied down yet, but my recovering and wiser self trusts that the Universe has planned everything for me, not against me.  My wiser self knows that everything is exactly as it should be, and had anything happened any sooner, I would not only have not been ready, but I wouldn’t have appreciated it either.  (Don’t you love my scheduled blogs that tell you exactly where I am when I am there)?

At 35 I am extremely independent.  Financially, I can take care of myself and plan for my future – by myself.  I know I don’t need to anymore, but I’ve set myself up so that I can and that means a lot to me.  I don’t have to wait for anyone to do something or to get something or to go somewhere.  I can do it myself.  At 35 I have a stable career with growth tracks.  I am not bouncing around, wondering where I’m supposed to be or who I’m going to be when I grow up.  I am certain that Insperity is my forever home, and my career as an author is just budding.

At 35, I have the most connected relationship to my body and my health than I ever imagined possible.  I have an expanding relationship with food, a flexible mindset and more balanced approach than I ever thought I could have.  For a long time, I wrote off the idea that I would ever be free from an addiction of any kind, or the compulsive desire to harm myself in some way.  For a long time, I wrote off the idea that I could be OK in my skin and not need to change it.

I still want to look different, and I still want shredded abs.  But I also respect this ass and these legs that push me up hills when other people quit.  I still respect this midsection that keeps me fueled for hours upon hours without complaint.  I still respect this body for undertaking tasks that prior to experiencing them, never occurred to me as something I’d not only enjoy but pursue with grace.  So, while I very much do want to lose weight, I also don’t want to sacrifice the freedom that I’ve gained or the energy that I have at the expense of chasing something so finite and possibly even temporary.  If this is as good as it gets, it’s pretty damn great.

At 35, I acknowledge that I am sane.  I work very hard on myself, but I am also mature and wise and thoughtful.  I show up – for my family, my friends, Mike, the dogs, my bills, work, and myself.  I am comfortable living my life, and no longer waiting for someone to give me permission to do so.  I am learning how to stay vulnerable – not just on screen, but in all of my affairs.  I am learning that it’s OK to have a story, it’s even more OK to share that story, and it’s not only OK but it’s vital for survival.  I am learning that shit happens, and we can still continue.

I have a lot more lessons, but that’ll have to wait until next year.  To say I know more now is the same as saying I still know nothing.  Everything has changed, yet everything is the same.  I still feel like a little girl sometimes, peering out through the same vulnerable eyes.  I still feel like a timid middle-schooler when I don’t know people or what I’m going to experience, but my adult self now coaxes that little one into acting her way forward.  Action is the solution to fear.  Action is the solution to feeling better.  People are Gods with skin.  We’re all in this together.  And I can’t wait to see what else comes my way this year.