This year I turned 40. Here’s what I want the world to know about it.

In my twenties, I picked up a gratitude journal and instantly resented it.

I found the practice too shallow for my heart to bare.

My Italian roots whispered to me that a life well-lived produces gratitude like a nutrient: One wouldn’t need to search for it if one were planted in the right soil.

And so I embarked on the journey of soil-searching.

I travelled from Toronto Canada to the East coast of Australia and that journey would come strip me of who I was; Take me across the world, force me to detach from my home, my family and friends; burn down the person I thought I would be only to rebuild the person I’d become

In that time I shed countless hopes and goals. I faced debilitating anxiety and many dark nights of the soul.

I lost myself before becoming this version of me, and every step of the way felt increasingly so important.

And now, here I am, many years older.

And the gratitude is overwhelming.

Reflecting on what it feels like in this space right now, no words can describe it. No journal need contain it. I feel a deep embodying of … well, myself. I have learned along the way that everything happens in the right time, the right place, and there is no need to force anything, but also that sometimes you have to force the initial steps to get somewhere. That’s another thing this milestone has brought to my attention: An acceptance of ‘both-ness;’ That there often is more than one experience of something, often occurring concurrently.

I have learned that perfectionism, which disguised itself as ambition for me, is actually meaningless self-sabotage. I have also learned that my imperfection is perfect, too.

It’s surreal, this place I find myself in. I feel bigger than I was. More weighty, less important and yet more relevant at the same time.

Since turning 40 I’ve released that old angst of youth. I feel relaxed, like there is nothing to strive for, nothing more to edit.

I feel proud — both of the woman I’ve become, but also of the girl I was; The girl who hated herself, who stressed herself out for being imperfect. The one who pushed to always do more and be more. I’m proud of her, of her struggle and the way she got up every time she fell down. Even proud of the lack of grace, the tears, and the relentless enduring. I have accepted that girl, then watched her dissolve and die, becoming the woman who embraces herself today. Every flaw, every weakness have become my divine right to own and yet still be as deserving and worthy as I am.

That’s what 40 feels like to me so far.

I think 40 is a gateway for most women. If you’re not here yet, please don’t fear it.

It is a time where the nonsense of youth runs its course and we become full of something more substantial, more grounding and perhaps more here. A profound sense of self develops and it seems to be unshakable.

The world wants us to fear ageing. The media wants us to chase a version of youth that sells products and ideologies that keep people in resistance of themselves. What fails to be mentioned is that ageing is liberation.

Worthiness. We feel it in our bones. Even those of us who once felt so small are graced with it. I believe it is because maturity is the initiation into a state of being liberates us from the noise of expectation, and like any initiation, you can resist it only for so long.

Pushing it away and hoping it never comes only prolongs the anxiety of youth.

But once you surrender, you are re-born.