Now That I Want to Live

Choosing Life After Years of Wanting to Disappear

I’ve heard of the midlife crisis… chalked it up to convertibles and lovers with fresh skin. But that was always for them. The ones who built white picket fences and wanted to burn them down. Not for women like me. Women who were already burning.

Logically, I understood it. The chaos. The scream that no longer stays trapped in the throat. The realization that the sand in the hourglass is no longer falling… it’s crashing. Like bones on tile. Like breath against glass. Like truth.

They say middle age is 38 now. A quiet funeral for youth, dressed up in Botox. I passed that seven birthdays ago. And yet, for the first time… I’m finally choosing to live.

Not survive. Not perform. Not numb. Live.

At 45, I am finally feeding myself foods that nourish, not just quiet the growl. I am tending to my mind like a garden — pulling out weeds of old programming, whispering ancient songs to the soil. I sleep. God, I sleep. And my addictions no longer own me. Not sugar. Not wine. Not the praise of men. Not the craving to disappear.

I have come home to my body. To the temple I once raided like a thief.

The Shoulder That Told the Truth

But last week, I pulled something in my shoulder. And it didn’t bounce back. It whispered a truth I wasn’t ready to hear: this body is aging. And death is not a distant metaphor. It is around the bend. A companion. A mirror. A hush in the hallway.

I know… this sounds dramatic. I don’t live here. I don’t camp in grief. But today, this is where I am. The truth is heavy on my heart. Not in a way that breaks me, but in a way that humbles me.

I spent the last five years not wanting to be seen. Not wanting to be heard. Wanting only to dissolve. To become ash in a world that didn’t care to know my fire. And now… I crave to be noticed. To leave a mark. To be witnessed.

The Crone’s Awakening

This is the crone’s awakening. Where every wrinkle is a breadcrumb back to self. Where every slow movement is a prayer. Where every ache is a warning bell that I finally want to be here long enough to age.

And that’s what undoes me. I didn’t want to live. And now I do. Fiercely. Desperately. Gratefully.

They say youth is wasted on the young. And now I see why. Because when you finally stop dying in secret, when you finally choose life with every cell, you realize how little time you have left to live it.

— AudraHealing out loud, so you don't have to heal in silence.