Turning forty didn’t change me—it simply unmasked me. It reminded me that I’ve never lived under the pressure to become someone else’s version of beautiful, successful, or enough. The world loves a filter, but I’ve learned to love my truth even more. I’m not here to be redefined; I’m here to be real.
I never lived under the desire to be anything but what I am today.
Not a version of someone else. Not a reflection of what’s trending. Just me — in all my phases, all my moods, all my seasons.
Somewhere, the world started handing out blueprints for how we should look, act, age, and even love ourselves. But I must have missed the meeting — because I’ve been too busy living.
I’ve learned that beauty isn’t the highlight reel. It’s the quiet comfort of knowing yourself. It’s the hair that doesn’t always cooperate, the skin that carries every year you’ve earned, the body that tells its own story — unapologetically.
I don’t chase perfect. I chase peace. I choose joy over judgment. I honor who I’ve been and stand fully in who I am becoming.
And maybe that’s what real beauty is — not in changing, but in choosing. Choosing to stay true. Choosing to love yourself in the raw light of day. Choosing to be at home in your own skin.
Because the truth is, I’ve never wanted to be anything else.
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