I took care of the bushy little upper squirrel lip of mine. I’m a baby. The too-hot wax, microwaved far too long, singed into my lip—I took it like a champ. But when it came time to pull it, I got stage fright. Where we all know one big rip—Magic Mike extra pull the pants down quick energy—would’ve been the move. Instead I shuffled millimeter by millimeter to the finish line.
After a cotton ball soaked (aggressively) in baby oil, I dabbed the soothing slick over skin cells that felt like they were jumping out of a burning building.
Now I’m free to lick away at the baby-butt smoothness, no longer spying a five-o’clock shadow. My self-care meter gained another bar. A modest bar—but still.
Major contributors: daily walks, push-ups, sit-ups, balancing routines, and weight loss. More and more, my tightening body feels like the me I know myself to be. A powerful badass.
Along with stepping into this chiseled, empowered version of myself comes fear. Fear of an unexpected health issue—autoimmune, debilitating, life-altering. But isn’t that just life? The unknown always waits in the next moment. Whatever it is… it will be what it is.
So I’ll ride these healthier habits until they buck me.
I’m going to IKEA! Weird how I say that with the intensity and joy of a kid skipping into a theme park. I used to live a hop, skip, and jump from one—I could wander for an hour on a whim. Out here in the boonies, the trip is too long for casual meandering. Still, I love interior design. The mini curated rooms—from college dorms to full-blown living rooms—scratch some strange, deeply satisfying itch in me.
When it comes to goals, I set the bar low on purpose. The real focus is repetition—building habits that make the bar irrelevant. Especially when I’m stuck or resistant. It’s the end of January, and the habits I’ve built are peeling pounds off my body. My balance exercises have me standing like a flamingo on a lazy summer day. And I want more.
The mindset I’m in now—the one where I believe I can do anything, be any weight I want, have the endurance and strength of someone truly dedicated—I’m there. Adjustments will keep happening, sure. But the biggest obstacle—my belief in myself—is no longer stuck. It’s a greased gear, spinning smoothly.
So yeah. A victory post.
A solid pat on the old back for a job well done.
Love, Jaclynn
Going On 40 