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Turning 50 didn’t seem that long ago.

The milestone, half century birthday, only seemed like it was yesterday. But it was six years ago, and a lot can happen in six years. Indeed, a lot has happened in six years.

It’s a stunning realisation to acknowledge you’re now closer to 60, than 50. And I say stunning because it is stunning. It’s a gift, and it’s wrapped up with incredible wisdom and knowing.

We have been taught to fear ageing in the Western world. And that fear manifests in judgement. In disrespect. In ageism. Especially for women. And I don’t get it. In fact, I go against that narrative every day. I won’t be put in a box that society has created. I won’t let the judgement of others affect how I live my life. I won’t be silenced when I have things that need to be said. In other parts of the world, us older women are sought out for our counsel. Our wisdom. We are seen as the empowered and all-knowing warriors we are. And why wouldn’t we be? We have an incredible inner strength, resilience, and tenacity.

I was like any young woman in her 20s, back in the late 80s. I met my husband young, married at 23, and had my first child at 26. I had started a career that was to be temporary because it wasn’t what I wanted to do long-term, yet life kept me floundering in that job for over 30 years. I loved raising my babies and am grateful I had both kids by age 30.

My 30s were a whirlwind of kids parties, kids sports, and family-focussed activities. My 40s a time of some self-reflection and introspection as my kids became older. And by 49, my kids were adults, and I realised I was completely lost and had no idea who I was anymore.

Which brings me back to the last six years. And I wish I had strapped myself in prior to embarking on these years, as there were a few messy years, where I almost fell out of the roller coaster at ferocious speeds and damaging heights. There were tumultuous times and beautiful moments. There was the best, there was the worst, and there was everything in between.

At 49, with no safety net and in hindsight far more uncertainty than I realised, I left my long-term marriage. I moved to an area I had never lived, and for the first time in my life, I lived alone. I fell into a relationship with a younger man who had more passion than I had ever experienced but also more chaos, complications, confusion, and emotional pain.

It was a defining couple of years because that relationship fundamentally changed me. And the end of that relationship was the catalyst for me to be alone and actually do the really deep work to rediscover who I am and what my purpose is. There’s something so rewarding and healing in learning to be alone and not always bouncing from relationship to relationship.

At 50, I began studying, and at 54, I got my Masters in Counselling. I also accepted a retrenchment in that “short-term” job I stayed in for 30-plus years and started my own counselling practise. Lost my mum, witnessed the birth of my first grandchild, and started writing my first book.

Did I mention the last six years have been huge?

We all endure pain, hurt, heartache, loss, and grief in our lives. It’s how we move through these things that’s important. It’s how we learn to feel and adapt in healthy ways and not compartmentalise and distract ourselves. I’ll admit there were times I struggled. I felt like I was drowning. I felt like I couldn’t breathe. Some days, I felt like I could not crawl out of my pit of despair. But I did crawl out. At first I lay there, exhausted and feeling broken. Then I started to move and have flickering moments of aliveness. I leaned on my beautiful family and friends, when the weight was too heavy. And slowly, it became lighter. I became lighter. The dark shadows got further away.

I showered myself in self-love. I washed myself with self-care. I massaged self-compassion into every cell of my being. I soaked in self-belief. I drank in self-trust. I gifted myself with validation. And when I looked in the mirror, I realised I was worthy. I was worthy of all of these things and more.

Our experiences teach us, if we let them. If we are willing to do the inner work and be brutally honest with ourselves. They can transform us into wholeness where we know how to fulfil ourselves. Or they can leave us with gaping voids where truth becomes a story of bitterness and resentment. Where blame leads us down a path of never accepting responsibility, and our pain is spewed all over others, whilst we desperately search for someone to fill our voids and validate us.

I chose door number one, but sadly there are far too many choosing door number two. Door number one holds the key to all the healing, growth, and wisdom. Door number two keeps you stuck in your bullsh*t. Where self-awareness is non-existent and you become a poorer version of yourself. You vomit your self-loathing over anyone who crosses your path, and that’s not a place to live.

Door number one is hard work. It’s confronting to face your own toxicity and trauma. But once you walk through door number one, you will never choose door number two again because you become a better version of yourself. A better human.

So here I am at 56. It’s an impressive number, isn’t it? Some days have been a walk in the park and others a walk over shards of broken glass, with a burning inferno underneath and a pit of angry snakes whipping around my ankles. But given the choice, I wouldn’t choose differently; I’d choose the life I have had with all the many experiences I have lived. It’s made me who I am. It’s taught me who I want to be and how I want to live. It’s brought me so much incredible love, and whilst some of the lessons have been harsh, savage even, I wouldn’t be the woman I am today without them.

I own who I am. I own my emotions. My feelings. My mistakes. My gifts. I own the 56-year-old body I walk around in and every wrinkle on my 56-year-old face. I own my voice. My perspective. I own my independence. My truth. I own the box society gave me that I refuse to step into. I own my desires. My passions. My purpose. I own every part of the woman I am.

I am blessed. I am fortunate. I am fulfilled. And I am free to choose how I live. What I want. How I dress. And who I share my incredible gifts with.

Fifty-six, fortunate, fulfilled, and fabulously f*cking free. And why shouldn’t I be.

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