A few weeks ago my sister sent me a private message through Pinterest. We’d been watching an old series on Hulu (it was from way back in 2000, you know, when we thought iced lip gloss and metallic pleather was amazeballs) and getting a kick out of one of the mean-girl characters and her relentless devotion to…herself. She’s a terrible character. I mean, really terrible. Selfish, superficial, oblivious and really, really mean. But she made me laugh. Her irreverent self-confidence gave me pause; how often do I sensor myself using the “what will people think about this” filter? So, when I saw what she’d sent, my first thought was, “This is freaking hilarious!!! This is so [character from that 2000s show]!!! I have to have this at my next birthday party!!!” and my second thought was, “This might be offensive…it says b****”.

 

I’ve heard a few women talk about how they loved their 30s because they really came into themselves. They were ready to be themselves without regard, without needing approval from others. Easier said than done, right? I mean, let’s talk big stuff here…career, spouse, child-rearing, HECK, add in wardrobe style and home décor. It’s really hard to not filter any of that through the lens of “friend-who-has-perfectly-behaved-kids”, “friend-who-is-super-strict”, “friend-who-is-a-fashion-writer”, “friend-who-has-the-perfect-Joanna-Gaines-inspired-home”, “friend-who-is-a-spiritual-leader”, “friend-who-got-the-perfect-career”….it goes on and on and insert anyone in the “friend” space. It could be “relative”, “sibling”, or “stranger”.  At the end of it, there you are. Plenty of opinions, real or imagined and not an ounce of you.

 

 

Tuesday was my birthday. I took the day to break away from social media and everyone’s Facebook opinions of everything, because it’s exhausting. And I wanted to get my sea-legs on the being 30 thing. You guys, it’s hard to move into a new decade. I felt like I needed to just quietly embrace the day with my babies and my best friend. We barbecued, tried desperately to get a good family photo with a remote for the camera (good chance our neighbors think we’re nutty), Sam made my birthday cake and Harrison helped me blow out the candles. A couple of very old friends called or sent a card, and I felt loved. As I sat on the couch holding my babies and watching Fixer Upper, I felt ready to be 30. Ready to quietly venture into this next phase of life, which I know won’t be quiet at all. So, to all of you still on the other side, I’ve this to say:

 

 

I’ve moved on to the 30s, where supposedly I get better with age without showing it too much. I’ll let you know how that works out.