I knew I was getting older… but not because of the lines on my face.
It wasn’t the mirror that told me.
Not the polite young man offering his seat on the bus.
Not the fashion trends I no longer understand,
Or the songs that now feel more like noise than melody.

No, it was something quieter.
Something deeper.

It was the day I stopped needing to prove myself.
When I no longer chased those who drifted away.
When I let go—not in anger, but in peace.
When silence became more comforting than explanation.
When I stopped needing the last word.

Aging didn’t arrive loudly.
There was no grand announcement.
No fear. No sorrow.
Just a soft settling… like dusk after a long, bright day.

I stopped waiting for apologies that were never coming.
I no longer felt the urge to fill silence with noise.
I understood—everyone carries their own unseen burdens.
Those who want to stay, stay.
Those who want to speak, do.

I let go of the need to be liked.
To be understood.
To belong everywhere.

Now, I choose peace over approval.
Stillness over performance.
Joy over obligation.

My body?
It is no longer a battleground.
It is a journal—written in stretch marks, in scars, in softness and strength.
It has carried me through love, loss, birth, heartbreak, healing.
How could I not revere it?

Now, I live on different terms.

No more rushing.
No more “shoulds.”
No more guilt for choosing myself.

I sip my coffee slowly—hot, not reheated.
I reply when I’m ready.
I walk without urgency.
I listen to my needs.
I hug myself without shame.
I belong to myself now.

And for the first time in my life… that is more than enough. ✨

(repost)