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Thoughts on Turning Thirty (Almost Two Months Later).

Thoughts on Turning Thirty (Almost Two Months Later).

So, this past March, I turned thirty years old. 

On that same day, my spring allergies hit me with the full force of a freight train. 

I had spent the morning pampering myself, doing my hair, and applying artificial press-on nails (ask my girlfriend and she’ll tell you I’m slightly obsessed with these). 

But the moment I stepped outside with my dog (and found a dollar bill in the grass – a good omen for abundance and success!), the pollen, like a well-trained guerilla force, attacked.  

So, I started my birthday shopping trip by going to the pharmacy to pick up allergy medication, and constantly apologized to bewildered shoppers for sneezing behind my mask. 

Picture it for a moment:

“It’s not Covid, I promise, I’m triple-vaccinated, it’s just allergies!”

(*Insert accompanying body language and facial expressions*)

At least it wasn’t as embarrassing as last year, when I spent most of my days sniffing and sneezing at the co-working space I went to for a while. 

I guess that when I spent the first two and a half months of this year releasing all the energy that I didn’t want to bring into my new decade of life, I forgot about my spring allergies!

But hey, at least I released some of the heavy stuff that had plagued me most of my twenties. 

Like people-pleasing, constant self-sacrificing, self-sabotage, ties to toxic people, vows of poverty, a negative body image, and a hefty dose of generational trauma and curses. 

(I did some pretty intense full moon rituals, like writing things I was releasing on pieces of paper, using Break-Up oil, and throwing the papers in a trash can that isn’t on my property.)

(Dancing naked under the full moon wasn’t exactly an option, but I did a little skip while my dog was doing her business.)

And later that evening, I celebrated surviving my twenties and making it to thirty (which, not to sound dramatic, I wasn’t sure at times I would) by blowing a candle that I had stuck into a delicious single portion cheesecake, and toasting with kombucha poured into a champagne glass. 

(Sidenote: There was no way I could have put thirty candles on that thing!). 

(Side sidenote: And I’m not drinking any alcohol in 2022. Partly for health and as a spiritual cleansing, but mostly because I’ve somehow become a total lightweight when I turned 27, and I’m now gone after a single glass of wine!) 

(Side side side note: there was also this incident earlier in the day where I went to the store to buy some tofu (I’m not vegetarian/vegan but I love tofu!), and had to lie to a Rent-A-Cop at the door who was trying very hard to get my phone number and to figure out where my accent was from, by telling him I had a “husband in the Navy”, because you can’t simply tell pushy guys that you’re a lesbian, they’ll only get pushier.)

(Side side side side (?!) sidenote: can you believe that in 2022, we still have to lie to guys about being in a relationship/married to other guys, because it’s the only excuse they’ll take, and because our safety is in question when we’re rejecting a guy who tries to get us to sleep with him while we’re shopping, parking our cars, walking our dogs, or just – gasp – daring to exist in our public (or even private) spaces? That’ll have to be a whole other blog post.)

So.

Thirty. 

Two months later, it feels like nothing and everything has changed. 

I’m still the same goofy, disorganized, dreamy redhead I’ve always been. 

(*Though the redhead part might have to come with a little caveat – I recently let my stylist do basically whatever she wanted with my hair color (I promise I wasn’t drunk – not drinking in 2022!), so I’ve now got this sort of copper blonde ombré where my natural roots (and, like, five white hairs) are coming out, then my hair becomes red, then my ends are blonde.)

But I also feel like there’s an added layer of something different. 

I made it to thirty, and I am finally giving myself credit for surviving the years of adversity and chaos my abusers put me through. 

It’s not only about survival, though – my past, present, and future selves are cheering me on for pulling myself many steps above mere survival, to a place where I may not be 100% where I want to be, but I have so much of what I used to pray for. 

I feel stronger because of the boundaries I set to protect my mental health and my energy, especially in the past year. 

Setting certain boundaries was extremely painful, but it had to be done. 

And with the peace that I felt when the sources of toxicity, drama, and anguish were cut off from my life, came a strong sense of power. 

Empowerment.

Personal power. 

The aura I feel around my thirtieth year of life is a bright yellow. 

The color of the solar plexus chakra. 

When giving myself Reiki, I can see my solar plexus chakra finally glowing powerfully, after so many years of only emitting a pale flicker. 

Three is also the number of the Empress. 

The Trinity. 

Abundance, power, and peace. 

I’m still a work in progress. 

I’m still unlearning and releasing.

I’m still healing, and have accepted that this is a lifetime’s work. 

But I am stepping into my Higher Self, my Empowered Self. 

The version of me that my child and teenage self looks at with stars in their eyes. 

I am becoming my Inner Empress. 

Embodying her, meshing with her through a process of magic and alchemy. 

So today, almost three months into my thirtieth year of life, I am open and ready for all the joy, blessings, and beauty that this decade is bringing in. 

I am thankful for the joy, blessings and beauty it has brought in so far. 

I’m ready to expand, as a business owner, as a human, as a future mother, as a creative and creator, and as a soul.

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