Tomorrow is my birthday. It’s a big one too.
35.
Halfway to 40.
Solidly in adulthood.
I am now the age where I find myself squinting at the cover of Us Weekly while waiting in the check out line, wondering who in the hell the twelve-year-old on the cover is. I am the age where I am now purchasing wrinkle cream as a necessity and not as a preventative measure. I am the age where I find myself scowling at the driver next to me as his thundering bass line drowns out the soothing voice of Terry Gross during my morning drive.
While I am not ready for the nursing home quite yet, I am definitely not young.
And that’s okay.
Now, those who know me may be surprised by that statement. I have been freaking out about my age since I was 15 (oh my god, I am halfway to 30!). When I was turning 25, I ran out and got my lip pierced and a geisha tattoo to prove I was still young and spontaneous. The countdown to the big 3-0 was only softened by getting married a few months before so that I was assured I would not die a dried-up old spinster. Needless to say, aging gracefully has not been my strong suit.
But I have learned something over the last decade or so that I will share with you here; life gets better as you get older. Weird, right? But it’s totally true. Gone is the neurotic self-obsession, the chronic insecurity, the endless need for reassurance that defined my twenties. As a woman in my thirties, I have a clarity about who I am and what I value. My family has given my a deep sense of purpose. Through them I have learned how much I matter, how truly important I am. I do not ever question my worth as a mother or wife, these are roles that I have not only lived up to but excelled at, and that confidence has filtered into other aspects of my life.
The biggest change in my confidence has come in the last six months. Through losing weight and exercise, I have learned how truly strong I am. I have learned that I am capable of doing hard things. I am not a natural athlete, I still have to fight to keep from tipping over while doing stationary lunges, so the fact that I am doing squats and jump-ups on a daily basis is amazing. I no longer reflexively respond with “I can’t do that,” while daydreaming about things I want to do but haven’t tried. Now I think, “I can do that,” and I know with enough hard work and dedication I can. Or at least get pretty close. I don’t think negative things about my body anymore. The constant stream of criticism (ugh, my thighs are huge, my stomach is too fat for these pants, my hips are so so wide) has been replaced with admiration (dang, my butt is round, my waist is so small in these jeans, my back is so strong).
Confession: I may have made my seven-year-old feel my shoulder muscle on the way to school today. And when he exclaimed, “Wow mom, you are getting strong like the Hulk,” I responded with, “Heck yes I am!”
So I face the day tomorrow with pride for the person I have become. And the only phrase that keeps repeating in my head is:
Losing It 