On Being Women

5+ Decades

Thousands of miles, smiles, laughter, and tears.

Life’s journey!

What a ride... Star date: 2025 Personal Log... I stand alone in the bedroom, thick with the lingering scent of love and passion spent.

I stand newly showered but barely awake; the full-length mirror offers me a hazy view, and I am struck by an open, unapologetic gaze:

Pale eyes partnered with bright red lips draw my eyes down, away from the windows to my soul.

Phew!

Saved.

Safe.

Mirror, mirror...

tell me lies,

hide the pain

behind goodbyes.

Mirror, mirror,

be unclear,

mask the truth,

hide the fear.

Mirror, mirror,

not cracked nor broken,

bad luck still

when hearts are broken...

Truth, brutal and unbending, revealed to me in a glimpse, seeks me out where I’m standing in high heels in my birthday suit.

Soft lights, deliberately dimmed, barely there to conceal in shadows: back arched, shoulders square, hips curved. I take myself in.

Curious eyes are looking over shoulders that have borne burdens too many to mention...

bore nonetheless with incomprehensible ease. Mirrors don’t scare me anymore.

Eyes meet kind reflection, and my gaze holds firm.

So this is what 59 looks like?

This is what it feels like?

Time to suit up, paint face.

The mascara brush hovers over now-sparkly eyes.

I hold my gaze, see me.

I keep looking.

Discard the blackness. No masks for me today.

I stretch like a cat.

My body longs for a treat: “Happy Pineapple Day, beautiful!”

I’ve earned my scars and stripes (faded but ever-present) on my eyes, hips, and heart... I’m rooted here as I came into this world.

I roar loudly:

I am woman!

Never still!

Never retreating.

I move forward with grace; determination steeled, courage unwavering, and resolve hardened by time.

Sixty looms ever larger.

“Bring it!” I say out loud to Karma, relying on her to set records straight.

My slate is blank, cleared of smudgy characters and misdeeds paid for in blood and sweat; my stories told in a voice of truth.

“Come at me hard; I am no longer afraid.”

My fists are clenched, knuckles showing white, lips tight and pursed.

Fear has been tamed, and my fighting spirit restored. Women on foreign soil will take care  of me today ...women I hardly know...and I’ll smile at them in gratitude. I thank God for women: this sisterhood, this sainthood, this motherhood, this band of women of which I am a part.

To the women I share this journey with, you are my strength, my resolve, and my grace.

You save me in a million ways every day.