For a while now, I have always thought of getting old as some horrific monster threatening to strangle the life out of me. Although people around me don’t really say it, I’ve felt this incredible pressure to fit into the same social construct that generations of women before me have traditionally fit into with ease: that of a wife and a mother. Every year, I give myself a self-imposed deadline to accomplish this feat.
But over the years, I can honestly say that not only do I no longer give a single fuck about anyone’s social constructs, I’ve cared less and less about his and her towels, bridal gowns, or the expiration date of my ovaries.
What I do care about is loving well and being loved, waking up to a job that excites and fulfills me, having enough down time to do the things that are important to me, and surrounding myself with enough people, music, art, and poetry to feed my soul.
I’ve decided that there is no room in my life for abstract concepts, so I’ve learned to let them go.
𝐻𝑒𝓇𝑒’𝓈 𝓉𝑜 𝒶𝓃𝑜𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓇 𝒸𝒶𝓃𝒹𝓁𝑒 𝑜𝓃 𝓂𝓎 𝒸𝒶𝓀𝑒 🍻 𝒽𝒶𝓅𝓅𝓎 𝒷𝒾𝓇𝓉𝒽𝒹𝒶𝓎 𝓉𝑜 𝓂𝑒!