I've been thinking a lot about my body. About my aging body.
In ways and connections I never have before. In ways I frankly don't want to.
The aches are frequent and more apparent, less tolerable. I wonder weekly if I'm about to hit menopause, and what the hell is that going to do? The creases in my skin are more prominent and the colour is dull and marked more often that I'm ok with.
My hair, now almost entirely grey, is the one change I was able to embrace. I do love not having to book colour appointments, obsess about my roots, cry over bad home dye jobs that didn't work out. It's curly or wavy. It's long. My partner expresses his love of it frequently.
There seems to be a new relationship building. One with acceptance and compassion. One that might possibly give a lot less fucks than I ever have, and yet, cares more deeply and compassionately for me. The me I am now. The me I will become.