My Mirror Moment

This morning, I stood in front of the mirror - barefaced, barefoot, seventy. I paused. Not to critique. Not to smooth or fix or second-guess. Just to witness.

And what I saw looking back at me wasn’t the younger version I once tried so hard to maintain. It wasn’t the face I remember from old photos or the body that once carried children on hips and groceries in arms.

It was me. Fully me.
Layered. Weathered. Glowing, not in the filtered way, but in the kind that comes from living a life that matters.

Because here’s the thing: I used to think becoming meant arriving. That there’d be a finish line where I’d finally have it all figured out. But the truth is, the goal was never to stay the same. The goal is to keep becoming.

There was a time I’d roll my eyes at the things I now treasure. Staying in. Cooking a slow meal. Alone time. Early bedtimes. The kind of joy that doesn’t involve loud music or late nights. I used to think changing my mind was a sign of weakness and that contradicting myself meant I didn't have it all figured out. 

Now I see it differently. Changing my mind is proof I'm still learning. Still evolving. Still becoming. The goal isn't to be the same person forever. The goal is to keep becoming. The goal is to have age refine us. 

I’ve been called a modern-day wise woman. At first, I laughed. I didn’t feel wise. I felt like a woman still figuring things out. But wisdom, I’ve come to realize, isn’t something we collect, it’s something we cultivate. It doesn’t come from the candles on the cake. It comes from the moments we’ve lit the way for ourselves.

My mother believed a woman should never tell her age. She came from a generation that kept quiet. Polished. Proper. She once watched me on television, speaking about a midlife program I was leading, and said, “That was a great interview—but you shouldn’t have told them how old you are.”

I disagreed then. And I still do.

We need to talk about age - not with shame or secrecy, but with power, purpose, and pride. Not aging gracefully in submission, but aging with audacity. With presence. With a style that's deeply our own.

I didn’t always imagine myself here, at this age, in this work, with this voice. When I was younger, aging seemed like something that happened to other women. The idea of getting older felt distant, irrelevant. Until it didn’t.

And now, I realize something beautiful: The minute you stop fighting the mirror, the minute you stop chasing younger versions of yourself -  that's when the real magic begins.

Now I see aging for what it is: A portal. A reckoning. A deepening. A chance to meet ourselves over and over again, and choose to show up anyway.

This next season of my life isn’t about winding down. Here I am in my seventies, fully stepping into the work I've been preparing for my whole life. Not winding down - winding in - to the heart of what really matters.

That's where I am right now: Lit up. Creatively swept away. Some days, I'm so deep in creative flow, I forget to eat and pee for hours on end. That's how I know I'm in the right place.

I've had to heal a lot along the way - self-doubt, old wounds, the myth that I wasn't enough. But here I am now, grounded in truth. Aging out loud, even if it unsettles people.

I don’t just dress women - I address them. With words. With care. With fierce belief in their power. I show up because I care. About thoughtful style. About real conversation. About the women who read my words and feel just a little more seen. 

Society still pushes the idea that youth is currency and style has an expiration date. But we know better. We know that dreams don't have an expiration dates.

And neither does style.

Every time a woman gets dressed for herself - not for approval, not to look younger, not to hide - she pushes back against invisibility.

She’s saying: I deserve to be seen. As I am.

And that includes me.

Because here's what I know now: I'm not everything I want to be yet, but I am a lot of things I dreamed of becoming. And that? That's a powerful thing to recognize.

So this year, I'll keep showing up for the woman in the mirror.

I'll keep getting up.
Dressing up.
Speaking up.
And I won't give up. 

Because she's still becoming.
And she's just getting started.

To the woman I was, I love you.
To the woman I am, I'm proud of you.
To the woman I will be, I'm excited for you.

And if there's one thing I've learned it's this:
There will always be someone who doesn't see your beauty or your worth.
Don't let it be you.