This Is 45

Giving less fucks, having more fun, and finally becoming myself

I turned 45 recently, and for the first time in a long time, I don’t feel the pressure to become someone else.

I think that’s the biggest shift.

For so many years, I lived trying to earn approval. Trying to be easier, smaller, more agreeable, more polished. Less emotional, less “too much.” I spent years worrying about what people thought of me. Whether I was pretty enough, successful enough, thin enough, accomplished enough, likable enough.

It was exhausting.

At 45, I’m realizing something important: a lot of the rules I lived by were never mine to begin with. So this year, my motto is simple:

Give less fucks and have more fun.

Not in a reckless way; in a liberated way. In a “stop abandoning yourself to make other people comfortable” kind of way.

This birthday felt less about aging and more about arriving.

Wear the damn bikini

My body has changed.

Perimenopause, stress, hormones, aging, motherhood, autoimmune disease- all of it leaves a mark. For a while, I treated my body like a problem to solve instead of a home to live in. This year, I want to stop wasting precious time criticizing a body that has carried me through so much.

My body is strong. My body is beautiful, and I’m done waiting to feel “perfect” before I fully live in it.

No apologies for walking away from people who hurt me

This one took years to learn.

You are not obligated to stay connected to people simply because of history, DNA, or guilt. Peace matters. Safety matters. Your nervous system matters.

I spent too much of my life tolerating behaviour that hurt me because I thought being a “good person” meant enduring it.

Not anymore.

Stop playing small

This might be the biggest lesson of all.

I have spent years dimming myself without even realizing it. Holding back ideas. Waiting for permission. Talking myself out of opportunities before anyone else could.

Now I keep asking myself: what if it all works out?

What if the thing I’m scared to say yes to changes my life? What if being visible helps someone else feel visible too? What if I stop assuming failure before I’ve even tried?

Go out without the wig more

This one feels deeply personal.

I’ve worn wigs for over a decade, and I genuinely love them. They’ve helped me rebuild confidence and reconnect with femininity after hair loss. But sometimes I still catch myself believing everyone is staring at me without one. Truthfully, most people are too busy thinking about themselves.

The freedom isn’t in whether I wear the wig or not. The freedom is in knowing my worth doesn’t change either way.

Be sillier. Dance more. Eat the cookie.

Somewhere along the way, I became a tightly wound version of myself.

Responsible. Efficient. Productive. Burnt out.

I don’t want to spend this year only accomplishing things. I want to actually live it.

More dance parties with my kids.
More laughing until I cry.
More spontaneous moments.
More desserts without guilt.

Life is hard enough already.

Take the compliment

I still catch myself deflecting kindness sometimes.

Minimizing. Making a joke. Redirecting attention; like accepting love or praise too fully might somehow make me arrogant. I don’t want to do that anymore either.

I’m not the awkward, insecure teenager I once was. I’ve survived too much and worked too hard on myself to keep shrinking every time someone sees something good in me.

Shoot your shot

This year, I tagged a major brand publicly and asked them to include women with alopecia in their campaigns.

It was honestly uncomfortable, vulnerable, and terrifying. They didn’t respond (at first), but hundreds of women did. That taught me something important: sometimes the courage to ask matters more than the outcome itself.

You never know who’s watching and who needs permission to do the same.

This is the year I come fully into myself

Not a filtered version. Not a quieter version. Not the version built entirely around other people’s comfort.

The whole person.

The woman who’s healing.
The woman who’s ambitious.
The woman who’s weird.
The woman who’s vulnerable.
The woman who wants joy and peace and meaningful work and a great relationship and deep friendships and honesty and laughter and purpose.

All of her.

I spent too many years believing I had to earn my place in the world.

I don’t anymore.

A question for you

If you gave less energy to fear, guilt, or other people’s opinions, what would you do differently this year?