I'm More Confident In My 40s Than Ever Before

I own about 5 bikinis. Not because I think I look great in bikinis, but because they are more comfortable than a one-pieces for me. Those have a tendency to ride up my ass crack and have never given me the support in the bust I want. Which means after a day at the beach, my back hurts, my vag burns, and I’m crabby.

Also, if you wear a bikini, it’s easier to walk into the ocean and tug on it just so and let the sand wash out of your special places after making castles with your kids.

As a teenager, and during my pre-kid days, you wouldn’t have caught me wearing a bikini unless I was sunbathing by myself behind a large building where no one could drive by and see me.

Sure, one-pieces hide more of my flaws, but I’ve realized this newfound self- confidence was one of the greatest gifts I could have received when I turned 40, and I wasn’t expecting it. So I celebrated by buying a damn bikini whenever I see one I like — without even trying it on, because who wants to put themselves through that kind of hell?

My younger self was expecting me to reach the big 4-0 and want to get all my body parts lifted and sucked away. I thought for sure my lines would be filled, and botox would be injected into all the places it could be injected to.

But that’s not how this party is going down. I don’t give a fuck about just my looks, which is why I don’t care about my gray hair, fine lines, and the fact my ass has dropped a full two inches.

See how that works? The newfound confidence that spreads over a woman as she ages makes it possible for her to say no to bullshit and the many forms it comes in.

And because she’s been around long enough to know things like true relationships and comfortable pants make her happier all around, the fact that her boobs aren’t as perky as they once were doesn’t matter half as much as her 20-year-old self thought they would.

It’s fucking glorious to get here: An age I thought was going to scare me away every time I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. Instead, I feel more alive than I ever have.

Women who have been around for 4 plus decades know how to smell twaddle-cock miles away and predict when something is going to fuck them up in all the wrong ways. And they are able to stop it from happening.

They aren’t so concerned with someone else’s happiness if it means compromising their own values and beliefs because they’ve done that so many times, they’ve lost their appetite for it. They feel their power coming back when they say no. They know they don’t have to put up with fake-ness, toxicity, or a bathing suit that gives them Lycra burn in their vagina and asshole area.

Most of us have had fake friends, fake food, and faked orgasms enough times to realize real is so much better. We’d rather be alone than settle, and that gives woman a glow from the inside. Bottom line: realizing it’s time to honor yourself is the new sexy.

It’s funny because I look back to when I was a really little girl and I actually honored myself all the damn time — until I learned I should silence that voice inside of me that made me laugh too loud, speak up too much, and disagree with people when I was uncomfortable.

It was replaced with someone who cared too much about the way she looked, and how she compared to others. Her moods were determined by what others thought of her, not of what she thought of her. And I let it happen for long enough.

Women’s tenacity can be pounded out of us, and it can take a while to find ourselves again.

But when you do, you realize how much you’ve missed her. And you’ll be damned if you are going to go back to compromising yourself to fit into a box.

Being more self-confident in your 40s is a subject I’ve talked about with my girlfriends a lot, and it seems we are always in a state of disbelief, because we somehow thought these would be the years where we would shrivel up and all the fun would be over.

Boy, were we wrong. The party is ramping up, and I’m so glad I’ve held on to just the right amount of fucks in order to enjoy me in all my imperfect glory.