The 33rd Year

For me, being in my 30s has been defined so far by alchemy. A melding of all of my previous life experiences, discarding those which dilute its beauty and no longer serve. A mourning for the moments lost to time. A soft forgiveness for the mistakes made due to lack of experience, and a fierce pride for the feats of strength in the face of adversity.

Being in my 30s is combining the holy trinity of the first three decades of my life into the psyche of my future self. Collapsing timelines of dreams unchased, partners unloved, goals unfulfilled. Letting go of the ideas of who I would be and settling into who I have become. Getting to know her and be comfortable in her presence, whether in solitude or surrounded by a crowd.

Being in my 30s is recognizing the crests and valleys of my growth as an inevitable part of the human experience. Realizing that the happy medium we all seek is found within and that life circumstances will always, always throw a curveball. Those even-keeled women you envied so much aren’t living smoother lives; they’ve just learned to weather the storms. You are them, and they are you.

Being in my 30s is seeing all of the younger versions of myself in the mirror, feeling all of her feelings since she first entered this world, all at once. Seeing the young girl who was valued for her mind and teased for her looks. The young woman who was valued for her looks and teased for her mind. Knowing that both of them still exist, still live and breathe just beneath the surface of my skin.

Being in my 30s is knowing my value and refusing to settle for less in love, less in work, less in life. The many strengths I carry, both inherent and acquired, reflect out into the world through the curious gleam in my eyes and the confident demeanor with which I carry myself. As a girl, I was taught to be ashamed of them. As a woman, I will not hang my head down in shame for the crime of existing. I am here and I will take up as much space as I possibly can in the time I’m allotted.

Being in my 30s is indulgence. Partaking in all of the things from which I held myself back when I was younger, from fear, from shame, from pride. Eating the piece of birthday cake at a friend’s party. Paying for the VIP tickets instead of general admission. Saying “I love you” first. Asking for the promotion, the raise, the date that I want, not what my ego thinks I deserve. Thanking that anxious and unsure part of me for trying to protect me, and gently reminding it that we are strong enough for this, we want this, we deserve this, and we no longer settle in this life.

Being in my 30s is radical acceptance. Acceptance of the things I cannot or am unwilling to change. Acceptance of myself and others, exactly as we are, knowing the differences between us may be too detrimental to maintain any semblance of close proximity. I love myself enough to love you from afar if your presence in my life doesn’t match the frequency of what I’m building for myself. We can peacefully coexist, because I accept you, flaws and all. I know this to be true because I accept myself, flaws and all. And that’s the biggest lesson I’ve learned so far in my 30s: it really does start with me. All of the outer turmoil of my life can be managed with ease when I love myself first.