The messaging consistently tells us that young is often best. That growing old is something to be fearful of, or to avoid. “Anti-age”, “find eternal youth”, “cover the greys”, “top 25 hottest young CEOs”. It’s consistent. It’s everywhere. Encouraging women to think we need to be in our “youthful 20s” forever.

I’m done with it.  

Of course, I think young women are powerful too – this isn’t “anti-young”. I’m just done with the narrative that getting old is something we need to fight.

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I’ve been sitting on these words for a few months now. Editing, fine tuning and procrastinating. Not quite ready to hit publish. Because it’s hard to share a story of bravery, when the outcome was actually… failure.
But first my friends, I need to go back a bit. Because I need to tell you about the young girl who throughout her entire schooling life loved to perform. Being on stage was my happy place. The space I would go,
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Drive home from work.
Listening to podcasts and thinking about how much I’ll get done in the 2.5 hours I have up my sleeve before I have to get the kids.
This is going to be good! I am so inspired! The ideas are flowing.
Home from work.

I’m loving this cooler weather. What’s the temperature going to be for the rest of the week?
*quick search and then a little scroll through Insta*

I’m starving!
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I have to start by saying that this has, without a doubt, felt like the quickest year on record. Don’t you think? It’s absolutely FLOWN by, and when I think back and reflect on what has gone down this year, I actually feel like I’m still in January 2018…. Whoosh.

When I looked back at my 2017 reflections, and the lessons I learnt that year, what I’ve realised is that some of the things I thought I knew –

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“There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you.”

Stop and start. And again… times a few hundred. 

An old story that has weaved its way though my life, and one that I wholeheartedly want to (and need to) rewrite. 

Today isn’t the first day of a new year. Or a new month. Or even a new week. It’s just a run of the mill Tuesday.

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“Owning your seat at the table.”

I’ve heard this phrase used a lot recently, and it continues to hit me right in the heart.

For a long time, I didn’t own my seat at the table. In fact, I wholeheartedly believed that I didn’t deserve to be in the room, let alone sitting at the table.

But with age, and wisdom, and insight, and let’s be honest –

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“One cannot think well, love well, sleep well, if one has not dined well.” -Virginia Woolf

It feels like it’s always been there. That niggle. The voice. You know, the one that says “you shouldn’t have that”.

The voice that shoulds all over a nice meal. The one that labels the things we eat as “good” or “bad”. I don’t even know where it came from.

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