This One Is For Me (But maybe it’s for you too)

 

This One Is For Me

(But maybe it’s for you too)

Most people see me as confident, happy, always moving forward. And that’s true… mostly. But not all the time.

This piece below is something I wrote just for me, but I’m choosing to share it here because maybe, just maybe, it will land in someone else’s heart at the exact moment they need to hear it.

I’m learning that loving yourself doesn’t mean giving up on growth—or on health. It means holding yourself with tenderness, even when you wish some parts of yourself were different.

I want my children and grandchildren to grow up knowing they are worthy of love exactly as they are—but that it’s also an act of love to take care of your body and spirit. Not with obsession. Not with shame. But with kindness.

So here it is: something soft, something real, something true.

This One Is For Me

Maybe one day I’ll share it—

With an audience, or with loved ones…

Or perhaps with one special love.

But for now, these soft, kind, true words are just for me.

I am 55.

And age—well, age feels irrelevant now.

But I know I’m no longer a young girl.

This morning, I lay in bed and touched my own skin.

Felt its warmth. Its softness.

Someone touched me recently—with love in their hands—and said,

“Your skin is so soft.”

They meant it like a compliment, I think.

Soft like marshmallow or ripe fruit.

Like plump, not fat. Like comforting.

I’ve always hated that.

The flabby parts. The waving arms. The tummy.

Hated being touched there.

Even when my grandchildren grab hold and giggle,

I have to stop myself from saying,

“Leave those ugly parts alone.”

But they don’t see me as ugly.

They see love. Safety. Home.

And that person who touched me with love—

I realised something in that moment.

I need to learn to love myself, too.

I don’t have to be toned or tight-skinned

Or some airbrushed fantasy to be beautiful.

To be loved.

I have missed years—

Years of touch given with kindness.

Of real appreciation.

Of someone putting my feet in their lap

And simply being with me.

But that’s the past.

Yes, I’ve lost the skin of youth,

But I haven’t lost my right to love.

To be loved.

Especially by me.

Sure, I would have loved firmer breasts, a smaller nose—

But I have beautiful hair.

I have strong, lovely feet.

I am fit, healthy, grounded.

I carry laughter like a secret weapon,

And I have so much love to give

To someone who’s earned it.

A Note from the Road

Last night, a memory flashed through me—of what it used to feel like going home to someone who drained the life out of me.

I remembered the heaviness. The way I shrank.

How unbearable it was to slowly die while pretending to live.

And then I looked around at my now—this road, this freedom, this breath.

And I felt something I don’t even have the right words for yet.

Free doesn’t even cover it.

It’s bigger than that.

It’s like meeting yourself again

after years of being buried beneath shoulds and shame.

It’s coming home—to me.

If this resonates, feel free to share it—or send it to someone who might need it today. And if you’ve felt this way too… you’re not alone.