There’s a new kind of relationship I have with the mirror lately.

It’s not playful like it was in my 20s, when I’d catch my reflection and smile like we had an inside joke. It’s not quite like my 30s and 40s either. Back then, I was constantly scanning for something to fix, treating my face like a project.

It’s different now. Slower. More tender. In some ways, it is more brutal.

I notice things I didn’t before.

The sag under my chin. My skin feels thinner and a lot drier. My hair isn’t as full as it once was. Some mornings, my eyes feel like the Sahara before I’ve even opened them, and my lips are chalky chapped by the time I pour my tea.

It’s a lot. And it’s hard not to scrutinize.

But here’s the thing—I’m also more at home in myself than I’ve ever been.

I love how soft I’m becoming. I love the shape of my body now, even though it’s different. I love that I’m in my grounded season, moving through the world gathering a heaping helping of unbotheredness.

It’s also weird.

And I am in love with 50-something me. I’m also not entirely comfortable with all these physical changes.

Both things are true at the same damn time.

There are days when I catch my reflection and think, “Damn gurl, look at you, all grown and grounded and shit.” And other days when I don’t recognize myself at all.

I used to think confidence meant always liking what you saw. Now I know—it means staying kind to yourself even when you don’t.

I’m not trying to go back. I don’t miss being young, not even a little bit. But I was not prepared for the whiplash of how quickly things change.

One day, you wake up and estrogen has ghosted you. No forewarning. No breakup text. Just poof—gone.

Then comes the flush of heat, tenderness, a new kind of fatigue, and dehydrated skin. And a glorious softening.

Joy that is both buoyant and resilient. And don’t get me started on the sensuality remix! It’s sultry and subtle. Less performative and deliciously accessible.

But wait—there’s more…

My bullshit detector is on ten! And it’s so much easier for me to walk away from things that don’t feel aligned.

I value unhurriedness. Silence. And people who just get it, without needing long explanations.

I don’t miss the accoutrements of youth, but I do miss the ease.

Forward & Back, 2025 by Stacey Herrera

In this season, looking and feeling good takes a bit more zhuzhing. It takes more time. More attention. Sometimes that feels burdensome. Other times, it feels like devotion.

I’m learning to be gentler, and it suits me. To treat my reflection like someone I deeply love, not someone I’m just trying to tolerate.

I’m practicing not picking myself apart. Practicing accepting what is. Not every day, but more days than before.

Underneath the filters, products, and pressure I’m just me. Trying to do right by the woman who greets me in the mirror.

And I deserve recognition and reverence for my efforts.

Think about how much time we spent trying to earn love by performing the attraction dance. Trying to contort ourselves to match society’s version of pretty. And all the ways we believed we had to be desirable to be worthy.

Thank goodness that ship has sailed.

I love feeling good in my skin for no other reason than it’s mine. Because I’m proud of how far I’ve come. Because I choose ease. And pleasure. And shapewear.

And also because I accept that hydration is my love language.

I’m not just drinking the water. I am carrying the emotional support water bottle. Moisture everywhere. On my skin, in my eyes, in my life. I’m moisturizing metaphysically at this point!

I don’t have time to chase youth. I am too busy chasing presence, peace, and glistening-unthirsty skin.

On good days, I can look at myself and say, “I see you. I’m with you. And nothing is happening right now. We’re okay.”

Aging isn’t punishment. Or betrayal. And it’s beautiful.

Okay, maybe you’re thinking, “Yeah, but I don’t feel beautiful right now.” Maybe you’ve been avoiding the mirror. Maybe you’re tired of trying so damn hard.

If that’s you, I get it.

So many of us are navigating this reckoning with our bodies right now. Not just what they look like, but what they’re holding. What they’ve carried.

And how little time and space we get to be okay with that.

Nobody really talks about how intimate aging is. How tender. How personal. We joke about it—we say things like, “not getting older, getting better.”

That helps, sometimes.

But you know what I wish? I wish we’d stop trying to make it cute and just say the real. 

Aging is scary and strange. Hard and powerful.

So if you feel like you’re still figuring it out, welcome. You’re in good company.

I wonder if part of what makes midlife so bizarre is that we’re finally seeing ourselves without all the noise.

No more performing or pretending.

All that’s left is us.

Softening. Sensual. Here. And worthy because we exist.

We need more spaces where we can be honest about all of this. 

Where we can say, “My hair is thinning, my skin is dry, my face looks different—and I still desire to be desired.”

Where we can admit that it hurts sometimes. And that we’re doing our best not to let that hurt turn into shame.

Because we deserve to feel beautiful now. Not once we “fix it.” Or when we find the right serum or the right light.

Right NOW. In this body. With this skin. In this lifetime.

And if nobody has told you lately, you’re beautiful. And you’re doing beautifully.

Even if you’re tired. Even if you’re frustrated. Even if you’re still learning to love what you see. I know I am.

We’re doing the sacred work of making room for the grief and grace.

So if all you do today is look in the mirror and not flinch, you’re winning.

That counts and it’s enough.

xo,

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