Growing up, growing old, and growing beautifully into existence
An intimate reflection about turning thirty, learning the self-love dance and embracing whatever life throws at you.
Photographs of a beautiful dinner party appear before my eyes. The guests look beautiful, like the cast of some romantic movie. They’re all dressed in white; the girls with their trendy little dresses and their sleek pony tails or highlighted locks in a perfect balayage. The guys with their off-white tucked-in t-shirts, their neutral-color trousers, and their perfect smiles. The table is set on the balcony of a Miami condo, overlooking the city skyline. Arrangements of flowers, fresh fruit and tall candles, adorn the table as beautiful centerpieces. The linens match the guests’ outfits and effortlessly wave their way along the table. The fabrics look organic and of good quality. There’s a printed menu on each plate setting; the occasion calls for appetizers like tartare and other small, fancy bites. The sun is setting and it’s getting dark, but it’s still light enough for them to take group selfies with natural light, in front of a golden framed mirror that reminds them how happy and good looking they all are. I smile at their smiles.
It’s a friend of a friend’s thirtieth birthday celebration, and I’m looking at the recap of the event on Instagram stories. I imagine my friend is throwing this birthday bash for her friend; maybe they planned it together, but every detail has been thought of to make the evening special and unforgettable. I tap back and forth through the frames to appreciate every detail. I am in awe of the cake, also decorated with fresh, wild flowers. I notice the decor’s hues are golden yellow and rusty orange, perhaps in homage to the summer that just passed and the fall that is just beginning. Perhaps it’s a symbol for this girl’s changing of seasons, too. She's leaving her twenties and welcoming a new decade, surrounded by great friends, and loved ones, and wildflowers.
Perhaps I’m the only one noticing a connection between the decor, the seasons, the aging. They may not notice any changes yet. They’re focused on the moment (as they should), and want to immortalize it forever with Instagram-worthy photos of the occasion. This is how they want to remember this day and their friendship in the years to come. I reminisce about the my thirtieth birthday. I savor my own memories as I enjoy these girls making theirs.
I was also surrounded by friends. We met for drinks at an outdoor bar in Wynwood when it was still possible to hang out unpretentiously in that neighborhood, and the streets were not overcrowded with underage drinkers. The pictures from that night are dark and blurry. I’m wearing a terrible outfit, which I will forever blame on the the volatile Miami winter that arrived sooner than expected and threw me off my game. Yet, I wore a big smile in all of my photos. On the eve of my birthday, I felt so happy, and powerful, and beautiful, and smart. I allowed myself to love the woman I was becoming. I was embracing who I was.
Here’s an entry from my journal when I was 29 (translated from Spanish):
Learning How to Be a Woman
I spent the last few years of my twenties learning how to love myself. In order to do so, I had to break the mold in which I had been living for most of my life, trying to fit in it and fill it out. This mold was made with ‘perfect specs and beauty standards’, so it was evident I would never be able to become a perfect fit. The mold exposed all my flaws and described all my insecurities and imperfections; it kept convincing me that I was not enough. Not a good enough person. Not enough of a woman.
I don't have to explain by whom or how this mold was created because it is clear to me now that I am not the only woman that has lived trapped in it. A lot of us have grown up with the idea that we are not enough, that we are not what’s expected, that we are not it. But now that I am 29, outside of the mold and with a new sense of self-confidence, I am feeling worthy of deciding my own future. Not only did I break the mold, I have decided to break family and societal expectations without feeling like a failure… [some of the decisions I am making] may seem like a rebellious act or even immature behavior. “What does she know, anyway?”
But it’s been a few years since I ended a very long and toxic relationship with my ex and with myself, and although painful, it was the best decision I have ever made. The day I finally ended my previous relationship, I began a better relationship with myself. I forgave me for the pain I caused him and myself. Having agency over my choices makes me feel strong, wise, and confident.
I’m about to turn thirty but I still look so young. People older than me have always told me that’s a good curse to have, but I resented them for the longest time because they didn’t seem to understand that my youthful appearance did not fit the preferred mold. I am short and my face is round. I am not voluptuous. My skin is not white. I am holding on to“baby weight”, it’s like my extra pounds aren’t even grown up enough. I’m like the Britney Spears song, “I’m not a girl, not yet a woman”. But despite all of this, when I get out of the shower and I catch a glance of myself in the mirror, I can’t stop noticing (and almost admiring) that each curve, freckle and detail is exactly where it should be.
On the eve of a new decade of my life, with a renewed attitude capable of self-love, I’m starting to love my body more. This process has been (and will continue to be) an extremely confusing and complicated dance; difficult to learn and easy to forget. I have to practice it daily and learn how to dance in all kinds of settings. By myself as I stare in the mirror; with my partner in the candle light; in groups, especially in those where I feel everyone else dances better than me.
Reading those words warms my heart. I am turning 35 this year and my self-love journey has continued in a positive direction. Sure, there have been unexpected u-turns and dangerous roads of regression, although my body seems to have finally gotten the memo and I don’t look so girlish anymore. There are some clear signs that the seasons are changing for me, but I’m still free of the mold.
In my thirties I started to belong to myself. When we’re very young, we’re not sure who we’re becoming. In our twenties, it feels like we’re living for other people; trying to hit the milestones that society has imposed on us: Go to school. Get a job. Find a partner. Get married. Have kids. Make friends. Keep said friends. Always look beautiful. And don’t even think about gaining weight. My early twenties were a blur; lots of tears, beauty hacks, fad diets, rabbit holes, panic attacks, and getting in cars with boys that did not deserve to give me a ride. But now, in my thirties, I understand (at least most days) that I can decide what to do with my life; it is so empowering that it can almost feel paralyzing at times.
There’s a photo of birthday girl holding her beautiful cake with the wild flowers, and squiggly frosting, and skinny golden candles. The caption reads, “her best year yet!” In December 2018, I also thought my thirtieth would be my best year yet. I was free of the mold and I was supposed to be “thirty, flirty and thriving”, but in February 2019, life gave me a rude awakening and reminded me we don’t always thrive, some days we just survive. My boyfriend had a stroke and my world turned upside down. I was just settling into a new decade, the first of adulthood for my generation, but at that moment I felt like a child; completely lost and confused as to what I should do. Here’s what I wrote on my journal after it happened:
“Two weeks ago, it was a normal Saturday, the kind of Saturday that you don’t think anything is going to go wrong. The kind of day where you don’t anticipate any major accidents or life-threatening situations. And then Sunday came. And he had a stroke. And my world came crashing down as I tried to swim upstream and navigate a situation that was so foreign to me.”
The year I turned thirty was not at all how I expected it, but my boyfriend recovered completely and we got through this terrifying experience together. He was so resilient throughout, which gave me the strength to make the best out of our days. That year may not have felt like the “best one yet,” but it was still a great year. We still traveled. We celebrated family milestones. We talked about our dreams and shared memories of our lives before we met. We spent time with friends. We got dressed up for Halloween and hosted thanksgiving at our home with all our family.
Life went on, with its ups and downs, and I turned 31 surrounded by friends and family, once again. Not all the fears I had that year went away. Not all problems were resolved. Not all dreams came true. I said good-bye to thirty and welcomed 31 with many lessons learned. As I look back at the wildest year yet, I realize there’s a lot more to life than making my birthday wishes come true. Perhaps what we should wish for is to be able to let go of expectations and allow ourselves to change like the seasons; to shed the predetermined thoughts about how life, relationships, careers, bodies, health, and everything in between should be. To carry the determination and optimism I had at 29, on every birthday, and genuinely let go of expectations, especially those imposed on women. Let’s break the mold, once again, and let’s dance instead.
You are one of the best dancers I know - literally and metaphorically. Don’t you dare slow down!