I have envied all my life.

Wanting all the things other people had that I believed would somehow make me more worthy, more lovable, more enough.

Thinner.
Braver.
Stronger.
Powerful.
Articulate.
Athletic.
Patient.
Better at sports, golf, business, conversation, life.

I spent years believing other people possessed something I lacked.
That if I could just become more like them, I would finally arrive at some magical version of myself that felt secure, admired, confident and complete.

What I understand now is that much of what I envied in others were qualities I already carried deep within me, but they simply didn’t look the way I thought they were supposed to look.

Thinner

For years, I believed being thinner would finally make me feel happy in my body.

Now at 60, I can honestly say I love my body more than ever before.

Not because it is perfect.
Not because it looks twenty-five again.
But because I finally stopped fighting it.

I eat when I’m hungry.
I move my body in ways that feel loving instead of punishing.
Long walks, fresh air, movement that supports my body instead of demanding it become someone else’s version of acceptable.

This is my capacity.
And instead of resenting it, I honor it.

My body has carried me through heartbreak, motherhood, stress, joy, work, learning, aging, awakening and becoming.

I no longer measure my worth by shrinking myself.
I measure it by how fully I allow myself to live inside this body with love.

Braver

I used to envy brave people.

People who spoke loudly.
People who took risks.
People who stood unapologetically in who they were.

Then one day I looked at my own life and realized:
I don’t know how I could possibly be more brave.

After years of training, learning, questioning, healing and growing, I chose a path that asks me to stand publicly and talk about women’s bodies, sensuality, self-love and pleasure in a world that still teaches women shame.

I am helping women reconnect to themselves in ways they never knew were possible.

Women are hungry for this information.
Hungry to understand their bodies.
Hungry to stop settling.
Hungry to realize how much of themselves they abandoned trying to become acceptable.

And somehow, I became the woman willing to stand up and say it out loud.

That is bravery.

I am brave.

Stronger

I once thought strength meant pushing harder.
Doing more.
Never breaking.
Never slowing down.

Now I understand strength differently.

Mentally, emotionally and spiritually, I am stronger than I have ever been.

Physically, I have aged, yes.
My body speaks to me more clearly now.
It tells me when enough is enough.
It reminds me that strength is not about punishment.

Strength is wisdom.
Strength is listening.
Strength is honoring limitations without seeing them as failures.

And beyond that, I have found another kind of strength:
The strength to lead instead of follow.
The strength to speak instead of staying quiet.
The strength to vulnerably share some of the most important discoveries I have ever made.

Women have as much erectile tissue as men, only theirs is internal and requires time, understanding, and awakening.
That women have been disconnected from their own bodies for generations.
Loving yourself is not selfish; it is transformational.

I am helping women reclaim themselves.

That is strength.

I am strong.

Powerful

Powerful used to mean status to me.

Money.
Recognition.
Being noticed.
Being admired.

But now I think power may simply be peace within yourself.

To walk into a room without needing to prove your worth.
To stop chasing validation.
To stop performing.
To stop abandoning yourself, trying to be chosen.

I no longer need to be the loudest person in the room.
I no longer need people to envy me to feel valuable.

I want mutual respect.
Authenticity.
Depth.
Connection.

And honestly, that feels more powerful than anything I spent years chasing.

Articulate

For so much of my life, I worried I didn’t sound smart enough.

I would stumble over words.
Lose my train of thought.
Fear being challenged or embarrassed.

So sometimes I stayed quiet.

But what I know now is this:
People are not always moved by perfection.
They are moved by truth.

And once I started speaking vulnerably instead of trying to sound impressive, everything changed.

People listened.
People connected.
People felt seen.

I stopped trying to sound perfect and started sounding real.

That changed my life.

I am articulate because I speak from lived truth.

Patient

Patience is still my growing edge.

My mind likes answers.
Clarity.
Direction.
Resolution.

The unknown stretches me in uncomfortable ways.

But I also know my impatience often comes from passion.
From eagerness.
From excitement for life.
From wanting to fully live while I still can.

I trust deeply.
I love deeply.
Sometimes I give too much because my heart naturally leans toward hope.

But I am learning that patience is not giving up your passion.
It is allowing life to unfold without forcing every outcome.

And I am learning.

Better

In sports, I was often the girl they targeted.

“Hit it to her.”

Chosen because of my high golf handicap.
The weak link.
The safe bet.

And yes, sometimes people laughed.

It’s funny, until it isn’t.

But now?
I celebrate the good shots.
I continue showing up.
I let joy matter more than comparison.

And in business, “better” was never truly about money.

It was about integrity.

Know your facts.
Tell the truth.
Do right by people.
Care deeply.

That was success to me.

And honestly, it still is.

At one time, I envied women who seemed deeply comfortable in who they were.

Women who spoke honestly.
Loved openly.
Took up space without apology.
Trusted themselves.

What I know now is that I was never truly longing to be them.

I was longing to become myself.

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