I’ll be 41 soon. Just a month and a half to go.
And honestly? I still feel like I’m 18 — confused, not “mature” at all.
Today I was jumping on the bed with our dog, Brownie. My 15-year-old son looked at me and said, “Mom, please calm down.”

Everyone says the same thing — my family wants me to be more mature, my workplace wants me to act like a manager, my son wants me to act like a mother.
So many masks to wear. And so little of me wants to wear any.

I want to scream with happiness when I see a nice ice cream.
I want to jump on the bed with my dog.
I want to laugh out loud in the middle of a serious meeting.
And I want to say to people: Stop being fake. I like being me.