Way back in the year 1984, I was sat in a school assembly, and the Headmistress, Mrs Ethmyadis, asked us all how old we would be in the year 2000. It seemed an impossibly long way into the future, and my brain could scarcely comprehend it. It would be a time when we would surely travel by hoverboard, all our jumpers would be silver, and robots would cook our tea for us. In the assembly, Nicola Pugh shot her hand up and declared we would be 24 years old in 2000, and my brain fizzed with shock at the thought of ever being that old. The future has now happened, and is now a whopping 26 years back in the past, waving at me in the rear-view mirror.

For any keen mathematicians reading this, you might have correctly deduced that being 24 years old in the year 2000, plus it being 2026 right now, means that the fresh faced 24 year old I was is this year turning 50. Yep, it’s my birthday on Saturday, and since it’s my birthday, I’m going to indulge myself a bit for a few paragraphs, if that’s OK with you?

Frankly, if it’s not OK with you, that’s absolutely fine, because I’m increasingly finding my ability to give a toss about what other people think is vastly diminished, and that’s no bad thing. Like many perimenopausal women, I’m discovering a new, or at least previously very well hidden, side of myself, and I like her.

Sometimes I find myself looking in the mirror and seeing my Grandma looking back at me. She was a fierce and fearsome woman, carved out a career in a time when women shouldn’t really. She was widowed relatively young and had my Dad to raise. Once she found her feet again, she travelled the world, set up social groups for other women of the same age, and stood proudly as a strong, independent woman. When I see her looking back at me in the mirror, it gives me some power. She was powerful, and so am I. There’s no arse that cannot be kicked if the time is right.

Over the last few weeks, in a lot of the conversations I’ve had, people have asked if I’m worried about turning 50. I’d say not. It’s just a number, and I’m not suddenly going to turn into one of The Golden Girls overnight (but if I do, fingers crossed it’s Dorothy). Inside, I feel at least twenty years younger than I am. ChatGPT suggested I looked about 38, and I’ll take that, even if it is just AI nonsense.

I’ve spent my life doing what I should do. I got a job, got married, bought a house, had a baby. I made myself less to please or appease other people. I hid my many lights under several bushels, and now I am done with all the hiding of lights, and it’s like bloody Blackpool Illuminations around here. It’s marvellous.

There’s so much I could write about my life here, but there are posts you can scroll back to read about some of the harder life things that have happened over the last few years. I could wax lyrical about perimenopause and all the joys that brings, but I won’t. Life is too short, but HRT is brilliant; don’t be shy about asking for it.

As I approach my half century, I think about the people who I love who aren’t here to celebrate with me. I think about all the wonderful friends and family I have in my life. I think about how blessed I am to have my wonderful, wonderful son, my lovely partner, my small but perfectly formed family, and my friends who have held me up during the roughest of times. And I am rich beyond whatever Jeffrey Bezos has in his Monzo account, because I am loved and I am able to return that love in abundance.

Growing old is a privilege. Not everyone gets to do this, and I hope very much that I’ll get to carry on growing old until I get bored of it. I always think that growing up is a bit of a trap, so I resist that as much as I can. Being quite silly keeps you young in so many ways. And 50 isn’t as old as it used to be. I am loving who I am right now. I’ve had half a lifetime of being cowed, and now I’m just a bit of a cow, and I love that for me.

So, happy birthday to me. Thank you for reading my meandering thoughts on my big birthday. If I can leave you with a recommendation, it’s wear sunscreen. Baz Luhrmann got his advice for life absolutely bang on. You might not have listened to this since 1999 (when I was 23), but it’s worth another listen now, I promise. Dance.

Love you xx