If you had asked me five years ago where I’d be today, I wouldn’t have guessed this. Divorced (again), living upstairs in a house I used to share with someone I thought I’d grow old with, rebuilding my life from the ground up… and yet, somehow, I’m more myself now than I’ve ever been.
There’s this unspoken rule we grow up with—you know the one. The invisible timeline. By 25, you’re supposed to have your career on track. By 30, you’re married with a house. By 35, you have kids and maybe a dog. By 40, you’re settled into a peaceful routine. By 50, you’re supposed to be coasting. Who made up these rules, anyway?
I’ve spent a lot of time comparing my life to that imaginary timeline, and let me tell you, it only leads to guilt and frustration. I’ve hit “reset” more times than I can count. Some of those resets were messy. Some were necessary. Some, like now, feel like they’re finally setting me free.
Starting over at 47 wasn’t something I planned. It came with heartbreak, tough decisions, and painful truths. But it also came with this quiet, powerful realization: I don’t need to follow anyone’s timeline but my own.
There’s something incredibly liberating about no longer giving a damn about other people’s expectations. I’m not interested in checking off someone else’s boxes. I’m interested in building a life that feels good when I wake up in the morning—coffee in hand, pups at my feet, and a man by my side who makes me laugh before I even brush my teeth.
Some people think starting over this late in life is sad. I don’t. I think it’s sacred.
There’s a strength that comes from choosing yourself. From walking away when something no longer feels right. From recognizing that peace is more valuable than perfection—and that healing is more important than pretending everything’s fine.
And you know what else I’ve learned? Reinvention isn’t a one-time event. It’s not just a big dramatic moment where you dye your hair red, quit your job, and start a yoga retreat (although, no judgment if that’s your vibe). Sometimes reinvention looks like washing your sheets, clearing out a closet, or finally canceling that damn subscription you never use.
Reinvention can be subtle. It can be quiet. It can be choosing stillness instead of chaos. Choosing your sanity over staying stuck. Choosing joy over obligation.
Every time I shift, I shed an old version of myself that no longer fits. And in doing so, I make more room for the version of me I actually want to be. The version who doesn’t apologize for needing space. The version who protects her peace like a pitbull with a purse. The version who still believes in love, in hope, in starting fresh—no matter the age.
If you’re in a season where nothing looks like what you expected, I want you to know this: you’re not behind. You’re not broken. And you’re definitely not too late.
You’re just real. And real life is rarely tidy, but it’s always worth it.
So here’s to letting go of the timeline. Here’s to making our own damn rules. And here’s to becoming—again and again—who we were always meant to be.
Love,
Aunty Christine 🫶🏻💜🤟🏻
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