Yes, I am that woman who does not mind telling her age. I’m too glad to get here to be ashamed of a number.
Besides, all of that stuff about women and age is just patriarchal conditioning to keep us under control. We don’t lie about our ages, shoot Botox into our faces, endure condescending nicknames, and starve ourselves in order to appeal to each other. No…we do it to be attractive to men who want to share their lives with tiny, demure, nitwits who giggle and flutter their eyelashes like vapid little schoolgirls.
Needless to say, I’m over that.
I’m at a point in my life where I am very clear on what I want, what I don’t want, and what I refuse to put up with.
- I want to enjoy my life.
- I don’t want toxic people or situations near me.
- I refuse to put up with disrespect, arrogance, or stupidity…especially from a man.
Oversimplified, but dead on point. I already know that this is going to cost me relationships. I also know that small-minded men are going to hate my guts. I’m good with that. It’s better than the alternative: to live out the rest of my life depleted of dignity and passion.
Thank you to everyone who blessed me with a birthday gift or donated to my favorite nonprofit, the Alzheimer’s Association. That meant a lot.