I’m not cute anymore and I’m not young and my body has battle scars. My wrinkles speak volumes of my experiences. 

I am a living, walking, breathing embodiment of history. My struggles and my triumphs. And it’s written all over my face.

I am proud of what those creases in my forehead and the laugh lines near my eyes represent. 

Longing to be young again isn’t even a thought. 

Wanting to look like I did 40 years ago is unreasonable.

Living my best life is indescribable. It’s empowering. Embracing all the physical attributes of a woman in her 60s and owning it requires bravery. And I. Am. Brave.