Years.
6 years.
6 years in the ring was how long it took to realize I was fighting a battle I would never win.
6 years to realize I was punching thin air — I was trying to run and dodge punches while staying in one place.
6 years to realize that there was no opponent. That there were no cheering fans.
There was never an opponent. There was never a crowd.
It was just me.
Me, punching the air, running in place — trying to fight with no strength.
Striving for cheers, yearning for my medal — searching for applause from the crowd.
6 years it took to realize that the only person standing in the ring was me.
That I was fighting myself.
That everything I wanted was on the other side of my own self-inflicted limitations.
That the best version of me was on the other side of my own punches.
That the only cheers I ever needed were within me.
That I would never be happy until I stopped fighting a losing battle, until I stopped searching elsewhere for love.
6 years.
I realized the other night that it’s been nearly 10 years since I was 20. I thought about who I was when I was that age. What I thought about, looked like, loved.
While I’ve changed immensely since then, accomplished many goals, gone through the toughest parts of my life thus far (see 6 years in the ring), and had numerous incredible experiences — it also doesn’t seem like it was all that long ago.
That got me thinking.
In that same amount of time, that 10 years, I’ll be nearly 40.
Then 50.
Then 60.
& on.
And I’m excited. I like growing, getting older, having experiences and moving forward.
What I realized however, is how fast those nearly 10 years had gone.
That it didn’t seem like that long ago.
That in that same amount of time, before I know it, I’ll be looking back on my life as it is right now, thinking the same thing.
I’ll be nearly 40, thinking it was just yesterday I was 28, living in Boston — figuring out my life.
This is what I gathered from this realization.
Before we know it, we’ll be our parents, our grandparents. Before we know it, we’ll be the future version of ourselves.
I realized that I wanted to like that version.
At first, this scared the shit out of me, inducing anxiety in the form of a speeding heart rate, reaching for my phone to write down all of the things I need to accomplish, panic texting a friend, etc.
Then, I took a breathe. I took a breathe and thought about how lucky I am to have this realization, right now. That everything I want is on the other side of me — of me letting go of anything or anyone holding me back.
Of me setting myself up for success.
Of me no longer punching, of me stepping out of the ring.
And I have that power.
I have the power to dictate where my time goes the next 10, 20 — 50 years.
I have the power to dictate what I do in order to like—to love—the future version of myself I will meet one day.
I have the power to love myself, as I am, right now.
I imagined myself looking in the mirror at the age of 70. Wrinkles from a life well-lived, gray hair—a truly grown woman with a full life behind and ahead of her.
I imagined what I would regret. I imagined what I wouldn’t.
I realized that I know what I want.
And, I realized that the things I don’t know I want, the things I have questions about, the things that might never happen for me?
Those things are okay.
I realized that it’s okay to have questions, to wonder if things are going to happen for me. It’s okay if some things never do.
Here’s what’s not okay.
What’s not okay, is looking in the mirror in 10, 20—50 years, and knowing you didn’t live your life in a way that allowed all of the good things in life to flow in. That you didn’t control what you could control, and let go of what you couldn’t.
That you tried to rush things, that you never went for what you wanted—that you never faced your demons.
That you didn’t step out of the ring.
That you never stopped holding yourself back.
That you never started loving yourself, as you are, right now.
I want to get a book published. I want to teach. I want to speak. I want to create.
I want love. I want a family. I want a life well-lived.
But more than any of those things, I want to wake up when I’m 70, look in the mirror, see my wrinkles from a life well-lived, my gray hair shining bright, and I want to know that no matter what happens on paper, I did everything I could to be the person I wanted to be.
I want to know that I did the work. I want to know that I set myself up for success. I want to know that I lived a life of self-love and balance and presence and letting things come and letting things go and allowing my goals and dreams to change and being completely and wholly honest with myself and what I want along the way.
I want to know that I didn’t rush the answers. I want to know that I thought enough, but that I also didn’t think too much (lol, still working on that).
I want to know that I woke up from my 6 years of punching and running in place—of fighting myself.
I want to know that I stepped out of the ring. That I quit trying to hear the roar of the crowd.
I want to know that I stopped reaching for Instagram likes and dates and job titles and accomplishments and purchases to make me feel validated.
I want to know that I stopped reaching outside of myself to feel validated—to feel happy.
I want to know that I reached within myself for every ounce of validation and love I ever needed.
That I did things for me.
That I stepped to the other side of my own self-inflicted limitations.
That I stopped holding myself back.
That I stepped out of the ring.
My life goal, truly, is to change someone else’s life. To help someone see that they are worth it. That they deserve it. That they can do it. That they are wildy more than enough.
In order to do that, I have to be living that way for myself.
I have to be walking my talk.
I refuse to wake up in 10, 20 —50 years and realize I never stepped out of the arena. That I spent my life feeling like I was in a dream where I needed to run but I couldn’t, where I tried to fight but I had limp arms.
And so, I took inventory of my life. I looked at the things, the people, the habits that were in my life. I took inventory of what I was allowing, of what I was enabling—of what I was perpetuating.
What was bringing me more energy? What was moving me forward? What was pushing me closer the future me I want to be?
What wasn’t?
What needed to go, what needed to stay—what was missing?
What situations were in my life, or had been in my life, that I needed to learn from? What were they teaching me about where I still needed to grow — still needed to be set free?
I took inventory and then I acted.
I acted so that I can look in the mirror in 10, 20 — 50 years, wrinkles from a life well-lived, gray hair shining bright—and know that whatever happened in my life I showed up.
I reached within. I did what I could. I forgave myself when I couldn’t. I didn’t rush. I let go.
I stepped out of the ring, onto the other side of my own limitations.
I refused to hold myself back.
I loved myself, as I am, right now.