By the time I reached the doorstep of fifty, I had already lived what felt like several lives. There were seasons I didn’t think I’d survive—times when grief was louder than joy, when loneliness curled itself around my mornings, and when I questioned if the light at the end of the tunnel was really for me.
But I’m here. And I’m not just here—I’m alive, fully and fiercely.
In my younger years, I wore strength like a badge. Not the soft, flowing kind—this was steel-forged survival. I was the fixer, the doer, the one who could handle anything. But beneath that armor were stories I hadn’t yet given myself permission to tell: of trauma, of betrayal, of trying to shrink myself to be more palatable, acceptable, lovable.
Turning 40 began the unraveling. I lost some things I thought I couldn’t live without—and found parts of myself I didn’t know existed.
Grief entered like a tidal wave. Not just from loss of loved ones, but also from shedding versions of myself that no longer fit. I grieved dreams that didn’t come to pass. Friendships that faded. Love that didn’t last.
But grief wasn’t the end—it was the teacher. It softened me. It slowed me down. It taught me to say no without guilt and yes to peace.
It’s strange how pain opens doors you didn’t know existed. I traveled. I wept. I sat in silence. I rebuilt my faith, my joy, and my voice.
Somewhere along the way, I stopped trying to earn rest. I stopped seeking permission to be happy. I stopped confusing busyness with purpose.
Fifty is not a finish line. It’s a homecoming. It’s me choosing softness over suffering. Grace over grind. Connection over comparison. It’s me realizing that my value was never tied to my productivity or my proximity to perfection.
I choose life in every sense of the word. I choose solo travel with sunrises and passport stamps. I choose laughter that echoes. I choose community. I choose the audacity to be soft, vulnerable, and still powerful.
This chapter isn’t about proving anything. It’s about being. Fully. Boldly. Joyfully.
And finally, it’s about thanking the woman I’ve been—she carried me here.
If you’re approaching a milestone, know this: it’s not too late to begin again. Your healing doesn’t expire. Your dreams are still valid. Your presence is enough.
Here’s to 50. To freedom. To life.
According to Me …LaShonda