I have several clients my age, or close to it. Women. Our biology overlaps, and it lends itself to girl-talk-type conversations—but also to deeper, more meaningful ones. Because we relate. Deeply. Growing up in similar times, in similar ways, can create uncanny parallels.
With one woman this week, we talked about where we once were, how far we’ve come, and how grateful we are to ourselves. We agreed to reflect, write our appreciation to ourselves, and then read it together at our next session.
Well, here goes.
I know how hard I’ve worked. I see it daily, in a million different ways. I feel it most in my body—the pond-like calm of still water. A place where choices and decisions are made thoughtfully—about myself, about others, about the future. Like a heron on a riverbank, waiting, trusting—it will come.
The trust I feel in the world around me comes from this solid, brick-built self. Its core is like a tree trunk, rooted deep—past soil and rock layers, anchored far below.
I’m able to do so much—and also so much less. Because I’ve been there, done that—through hardship and struggle—and I’ve applied those lessons. Now I taste their sweetness, rich and earned, every day. I don’t take it for granted. The strength of my network means I can’t fall today. They won’t let me. I’m too important to them, as they are to me. We are interconnected. It is us.
I’m almost speechless at how grateful I am. If anything, I want to repay myself. And because she is a part of me—the one who remembers, who nudges—I promise to do right by her. To apply her lessons. To do the hard things. To continue the habits that got me here.
So much of me wants to point to the people who helped shape me—because without them, I wouldn’t be who I am. And that’s true. But I also want to thank myself for finding them. For holding on to the right ones. For recognizing the fit—the never-let-go-of kind. Because nothing about my life means much without them, and without who I became alongside them.
For choosing a positive mindset. For going into the scariest, most shame-filled, most isolating parts of myself—and freeing me. I have worked so, so hard. Pulling myself out of burning buildings again and again—even when others pushed me back in. I rose. Out of the ashes, and then did it again.
I thank myself for not giving up. Because this life—this very real life—was once a distant dream. And now I get to live it. To breathe it. The flowers are sweet. The beer is cold. And I will cherish it, embrace it, for as long as my body allows.
As always…Love, Jaclynn
Going On 40 