I thought by now I wouldn’t feel so ugly. I thought by my early 40s I would have a little more confidence and a few less tears. I thought my anxiety would dissolve and I would sink into some lovely state of being. I thought by this time I would be comfortable in my own skin. I thought I wouldn’t feel like an outsider everywhere I go. I thought I would have my shit together. Or if I didn’t, I thought I could at least make it LOOK like I had my shit together.
I was so wrong about all of that.
At best, each day when I look I the mirror I feel passable. Mostly though, my face is the same face I’ve never loved, but with added wrinkles. Sometimes, I have a little confidence but it is always short-lived and the tears? I cry more now than in all my previous years combined. My anxiety not only didn’t dissolve, it has consumed more of me and I have sunk into some sort of state of being, but it is not lovely – it’s just worry on top of worry, counting down time. I have these fleeting moments in space where I am comfortable in my skin, though reality kicks me down before I have time to enjoy it. I don’t feel like an outsider, I AM an outsider, in most aspects of my life. I rarely have my shit together and I am far too tired to pretend like I do .
It is just weird. I thought by 42 I would be firmly settled into ME and the reality is I am still just the same as I ever was. I have a little more patience than I used to, I’m a little less angry, I have a lot more love (both given and received). I have a lot of good and wonderful things in my life and I am oh-so-thankful.
But deep down, in my heart and soul, I am still the same girl…
the girl that is never quite enough.