At Forty: Fully Alive

Today I turn 40. Not just a number, not just a cake and candles—this feels like a threshold, a reckoning, and strangely, a rebirth.

Forty is a mirror that doesn’t lie. It reflects everything: the growth I fought for, the pain I carried silently, the victories no one else saw, and the quiet resilience that got me here.

There’s something about this age that invites reflection—not with nostalgia or regret, but with a strange, mature clarity. I’ve lived enough life to know what it means to survive, and now I’m learning what it means to live.

Learning to Be My Own Parent

One of the deepest lessons in these four decades has been learning to parent myself.

I didn’t always have the support I needed. Sometimes I had it in fleeting moments; sometimes it never came. There were years I spent waiting—for someone to rescue me, to see me, to guide me. But over time, I realized the one I was waiting for was already here.

So I became the voice I needed. I learned to soothe my own fears, to set my own boundaries, to hold myself accountable with compassion. I stopped chasing perfection and started nurturing growth.

The Power and Pain of Support

Support has come in many forms over the years: unexpected friendships, quiet encouragement, and love that didn’t always look the way I thought it would. And then, there was the absence of support—a lesson in its own right.

The lack of support taught me how to stand. It taught me discernment, boundaries, and self-respect. It taught me that I can keep going, even when no one is clapping. Even when no one is watching.

Overcoming in Silence

There are stories I carry that no one knows. Private griefs, invisible battles, and quiet triumphs. I’ve broken down and built myself back up more times than I can count.

There were nights that whispered, You won’t make it. And yet—here I am. Not untouched, but undeniably me.

At 40, I honor those battles. I honor the version of me that kept going when it would have been easier to give up. I don’t need to be unscarred. I just need to be real.

Becoming

I’m not who I was at 20, or 30. Thank God.

I’m no longer chasing validation or waiting for permission. I’m shedding what no longer fits—the old fears, outdated roles, and other people’s expectations.

I’ve learned to breathe in joy without apology. To rest. To say no. To say yes. To trust my own voice.

Forty isn’t the end of youth or the start of decline. It’s the beginning of depth. Of knowing. Of becoming.

A Toast to the Journey

So here’s to all the versions of me that brought me here. To the ones who stumbled, survived, healed, and grew. To the child, the rebel, the dreamer, the warrior.

Here’s to the freedom that comes with knowing myself. To the love I’ve found—both given and received. To the life I’m still unfolding.

At 40, I’m not just older. I’m freer. Stronger. Softer. Finally, fully alive.