There comes a time in every woman’s life when we realize that we’ve made it. I don’t mean “made it” because we’ve realized some level of professional success or a financial milestone. Nope. Nuh-uh. None of that.
What I mean by “made it” is that I’ve reached that delightful stage in life when I just DGAF about bullshit (and most of it’s bullshit). I’m done playing. I’m not messing around. I’m not putting up with nonsense. When I say, I can’t even, I mean I really JUST.CAN’T.EVEN.
My motto these days can basically be summed up as: I’m a grown ass woman, and I’m not here for your bullshit.
And this is what that means:
I’m not here for your drama and exclusion and mom cliques. I don’t need (or want) to be popular, and I know I’m not everyone’s cup of tea, but I also don’t need (or want) to be part of any petty, queen bee bullshit.
I’m not here for the never-ending biggering — bigger house, bigger salary, bigger success. Better this or more that. Nope, I’m not here for any of it. Believe it or not, some of us are perfectly happy with mediocre. Some of us actually prefer small and simple. You do you, boo. I’ll do me.
I’m not here for the parent shaming and mom judging. I’m a “lazy” parent who believes my kids are better off when I’m a bit more hands off. Am I perfect? No, LOL forever. Not even close. But I don’t expect to be, nor do I expect anyone else to be. What I do expect is grace and compassion and empathy. So if you’ve got “thoughts” and “opinions” on something that literally has nothing to do with you, zip it. I’m not here for it.
I’m not here for the beauty bullshit, and the near-constant pressure to change the way we look. I have wrinkles and dark undereye circles. That doesn’t mean I’m looking to be sold some kind of fountain of youth skin care regime. That ship has sailed and that shit just won’t happen.
I’m not here for the unhelpful advice in the name of “health” either. I exercise everyday because it makes me feel good. Bottom line: it keeps from losing my shit on my family on the regular. Don’t tell me I need to do more PiYo or eat fewer carbs. 20 years ago, I was a good 20 pounds lighter thanks in no part to an eating disorder. It has taken me two decades to eat butter on bread without falling into a pit of self-conscious guilt so I’ll savor every last carb and fat gram, thank you very much.
I’m not here for all the your-40s-are-awesome nonsense either. Because while I might not care (as much) about things that don’t really matter, I care a whole freaking lot about things that do. Your 40s aren’t any easier, just different. And because of that, you’ve got to surround yourself as much as possible with people who who know your true heart. So no, I don’t have time for fake or unkind. If you can’t admit when you’re wrong or apologize, well, that says a whole lot about you. Remember: Imperfection and vulnerability are always in season.
So yes, this is the face of someone firmly settled in her 40s who is not here for any bullshit.
And, I tell you what, it feels pretty damn good.
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