THIRTY & THRIVING



Today marks my 30th trip around the sun, and the end of my twenties. Leading up to this day, I have been sitting in some deep reflections of my life up to this point and I have landed on some declarations about how I want to step into this next phase of my life.


I've spent the last decade "finding myself" and "learning how to love myself". I have done countless hours of self-inquiry and personal development courses so that I could unlearn what the media and society has conditioned me to believe: that I'm not good enough the way that I am.


And I have learned a lot. There is no doubt that the experiences that I've had through this journey have helped me to form different views about the world and have taught me some amazing tools to connect with myself, but what I've realized recently is that I have been missing a very important piece:


The active CHOICE to love myself.


I was doing all this "work", but what I didn't really notice, was that I was still setting up conditions that I had to meet, in order to accept myself.


Over the last year especially, since becoming a mother, I have been making the choice to let the voice of my inner critic be the loud one and the one that I listen to.


You're not pretty anymore. People must think you look haggard. Your wrinkles are ugly. You're not skinny enough. You haven't achieved anything great. You suck. You're a loser and nobody likes you.


Like some really mean shit.


And not ONE word of it is the truth. I KNOW THAT. But I chose to believe it more than the part of me, the other inner voice that does speak the truth.


Honestly, I'm getting too old for this crap.

I don't want to spend another decade fighting with myself and believing a bunch of bullshit.

It's exhausting, it's enough and I'm done.


I only get this one life and that's it. How much of it do I want to spend hating myself? It's a complete waste of my time and my energy.

Am I really going to live the rest of my life worrying about the way my body looks? Or how many wrinkles form on my face? FROM AGING, because God forbid I actually look my age.


Hell no.

I won't do it. I could have another 60 years, that would be most ideal, but I could only have 30 or 10 or even 1. We don't know how much time we have. When I do pass on from this life, do I want people to say:


"Carly, what a bright light, but she never let herself truly shine because she didn't think she was pretty/skinny/young/good enough. She had dreams and desires but she never went after them because she was afraid to fail and afraid of what other people thought about her. We wish she could have seen herself the way we saw her."


Nope.


I want them to say:


"Carly, what a bright light and my God, did she shine. She radiated love and confidence. Because she loved herself so fully, everyone who knew her, felt it and loved themselves a little more too. She did what she wanted, because she wanted to. She was creative in many different ways and she tried them all, simply because she loved to learn. She wasn't afraid of failing because she wasn't trying to be the best at anything, she just did things because they brought her joy."


So here I am.

THIRTY.

I'm stepping into this new decade of my life actively choosing radical, I repeat, radical (even though it should just be the norm) love, acceptance and confidence in myself.


The search is over.

I already know myself.

I am here, I've been here the whole time.

I am in awe of who I am and who I'm becoming.

It's about damn time.





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