Last month, I turned 50.
It’s funny because my kids asked me if I was sad about getting older. Without even thinking, I answered, “No. I’m sad that you’re getting older.”
They laughed, but they didn’t really understand what I meant.
The truth is, every year that passes reminds me that time doesn’t slow down. As a mother, I still see pieces of the little children they once were. I remember tiny hands reaching for mine, bedtime stories, scraped knees, first days of school, and all the moments that seemed ordinary at the time but have become some of my most treasured memories.
They don’t know this, but I cry.
I cry when they achieve something they’ve worked so hard for because I know the sacrifices, the disappointments, and the determination that got them there. I also cry when they fail because, as a mom, I wish I could shield them from every heartbreak, every disappointment, and every lesson that life insists on teaching the hard way.
Of course, I know that isn’t how life works.
Success and failure are both necessary. Growth comes from the moments we celebrate and the moments we never wanted to experience. As much as I want to fix everything for them, I also know that some of life’s greatest lessons can only be learned by walking through them.
So no, I’m not afraid of turning 50.
In fact, I think I’m finally beginning to understand life in a way I never could in my twenties or even my thirties. There is a peace that comes with realizing you don’t have to have every answer. There is freedom in knowing your worth isn’t measured by perfection, achievement, or the opinions of others.
I look back on my life, and while there are things I wish had been different, I also see how every chapter has shaped who I am today.
The heartbreaks.
The losses.
The mistakes.
The victories.
The prayers that seemed unanswered.
The prayers that were answered in ways I never expected.
None of them were wasted.
If I’ve learned anything over these fifty years, it’s that God has a way of redeeming the very things we thought would break us forever.
Today, I don’t measure success by titles or accomplishments. Those things are wonderful, but they aren’t what matter most to me anymore.
What I want is much simpler.
I want people to see someone they can trust.
Someone they can be honest with.
Someone who doesn’t have all the answers but isn’t afraid to sit beside them while they search for them.
I hope the trials I’ve walked through weren’t just for me. I hope God has allowed me to experience both joy and suffering so that one day I can help someone else carry their burden a little more easily.
If my story gives one person hope…
If my scars remind someone they can survive theirs…
If my honesty gives someone permission to stop pretending they’re okay…
Then every difficult chapter has been worth it.
Fifty doesn’t feel like the end of something.
It feels like the beginning of becoming exactly who God has been shaping me to be all along.
