The Loneliness of Elderhood

Exploring the sometimes-unique qualities of loneliness as an elder

Lately I have felt such a deep loneliness. As an elder, this can have different qualities to it than loneliness did earlier in my life.

It seems to be much more frequent these days. It is often not a loneliness that can be soothed by others.

Rather, it begs to be heard, seen, felt, and acknowledged.

So, here I am doing that.

I feel lonely for days gone by…for casual glances that speak of attraction and desire, for feelings of looking forward to the future and all that it may hold, for easy laughter in the moment, for friendships that are formed easily and enjoy the light of day together, exploring what is there and what hopes and dreams for the future are there as well. I miss the excitement of not knowing yet looking forward to what may come next.

It’s different these days with fewer days to look forward to. My changing body gives me new glimpses into a future that can be scary. Things are not going to get easier. People are going to leave more frequently. Friends are not so easily found.

There are no more glances that speak of mutual attraction, only those feelings within myself that I keep quiet and that are only for me to see and acknowledge. There is not much space these days, I think, in society’s way of looking at elders, for acknowledging our desires, as if aging has destroyed those. Sometimes I just want to be held, have my face stroked with tenderness, have my forehead kissed tenderly, feel a hand brushing the hair away from my eyes. My body is older, my need for touch and connection never age.

No, a massage will not replace that. I am not comfortable with massages, given the changes in my body. Sometimes I have come out of massages in more pain, and I don’t want or need that. And it’s a touch from a stranger, which doesn’t address what I crave.

I don’t get pedicures very often, as I feel strange when others are touching me yet not looking at me while speaking to each other in a language that I don’t understand. They can only add, at least for me, to the jury within my head that is always ready to judge.

I bought a weighted stuff animal recently. It’s like weighted blankets that can help calm someone. Rather than a blanket, mine happens to be a sloth, which makes me smile. That’s a bonus. It feels comforting and I am grateful for that. It reminds me that we can be creative in finding ways to help ourselves. It’s not perfect, but at least it’s something.

I haven’t danced in a long time. That used to be a way to feel my body more. I think about taking dance classes again, although I hesitate as my body is stiffer and larger, and I am shy about it, as well as feeling some shame. Somehow part of me still buys into that message that only pretty bodies can allow themselves to be seen, to be enjoyed, to be felt, to be touched, to dance. I don’t believe that in my brain, but deep down, I can still feel those old messages that wound and judge. Now they come from me.

That hurts.

I used to have kitties but lost two (both were 17 years old) within 6 months of each other (at the beginning of the pandemic 5 years ago when I had just retired,) and I don’t know if I can go through that kind of devastating loss again. These days, I also wonder about who will take care of them if I precede them in death. That’s a concern that I have heard others talk about who are also in my elder tribe when they consider getting a pet.

I don’t have siblings, so I don’t know if that would help or not, to share these feelings of loneliness as we age together. I do miss having someone hold my history the way that a sibling might. I feel lonely for that these days, lonely for something that I never had but that I see others have.

I feel lonely for myself, as I tend to abandon myself when I feel sad and depressed. I miss the part that takes better care of me than I have been for a while. Maybe that is something that I can work on, once I climb out of this dark hole a bit.

I am still here.

Maybe I can begin to focus on what I do have here and now and keep focusing more on being present to the eternity held in each precious moment, the joy of still being alive, the gift and wonder of my breath, the feel of the wind on my face, the welcome warmth of a hug, the taste of morning coffee, the dance of the birds as I watch them take a bath. I can still feel and delight in the connections that I make with animals and people all around me, as well as with the majestic redwood trees in the park where I walk, who remind me that we are part of them and they of us.

I can appreciate this feeling of loneliness too, as evidence of a life lived, a heart opened, desires known and filled, tears and smiles…all the passion of being human.

I am lonely and it’s ok. It proves that my heart is still beating, still loving, still here, as am I. I have enjoyed all the feelings in my life, all the experiences, touches, companionship, and relationships. I love tasting it all, feeling it all.

Remembering is not a bad thing, even if it brings nostalgia and wistfulness. What a gift and joy it is to have lived this life so far, to have others in my heart bound there by love, to wake up to another new day each morning.

I am still here, still alive, still feeling, and so very grateful.

The Passion of Age

Sexuality, rage, aliveness…. all still so much a part of me

Photo by Nicolas Nieves-Quiroz on Unsplash

I am now in the land of elderhood. I didn’t know what it would be like. It’s different than I imagined.

I didn’t know that I would keep all the younger versions of me still inside, still feeling, still reacting, still loving, still alive.

I am the child filled with wonder and awe. I can stare up at the crowns of redwoods forever, gaze into the eyes of an animal and see their soul, watch a sunset and feel the sacredness of that moment.

I remember the delights of youth, the excitement, the playfulness, and the passion.

Ah, passion.

No one told me that the passion would still be with me, that in some ways it seems to grow in depth and richness. No one told me that my body can still shiver from the whisper of a breeze, the nuzzle of a furry friend, the gentle touch of a friend on my shoulder, and the gaze of someone who I feel attracted to. What? Is that still there? Really?

Indeed it is there…ripe, succulent, delicious to feel inside. I feel the color of it, the heat of it, the vibration and trembling of it. No one else may see it, but that doesn’t have to mean that I don’t see it, feel it, appreciate it. If I happen to find someone to share this with, as we both acknowledge this, that’s great. If I don’t, that’s ok. It’s still there to be experienced, felt, and cherished.

I hear the whispering of the wind through the trees, as I feel my own skin reacting and shivering in response.

I delight in the connection of eye contact with another being, often 4-legged these days, as we see each other in ways that are beyond words. I smile as they delight in a belly rub or ear scratch, delight in their response to my touch, their licks on my face. their tail wagging in excitement.

I enjoy the warm embrace of another human as we drop our masks in that moment and allow touch to cross boundaries, feeling the physical presence of each other.

I honor the sensuality within me. I enjoy long showers where I treat my skin and body with care and love, soft pillows and sheets that I can nestle into at the end of a day (or whenever needed), standing with my back to the fireplace getting “toasty buns” and how delicious that warmth can feel in the chill of a morning or evening. I smile at a cup of hot chocolate (with marshmallows sometimes) and the sensual comfort that this can bring. I honor the feel of a tree, its branches and leaves as I place my hands on it. I feel the sun on my face, the wind blowing through my hair.

I notice the trembling I feel inside at the kind touch of a stranger on my shoulder when they relate to something that I may have shared, the warmth I feel when reading someone’s response to my writing and their vulnerable sharing of what it touched in them.

When I volunteer at the zoo, I marvel at the touch of a child coming up to me and feeling comfortable as if they know me, leaning into me as we both watch the animals.

I also feel the aliveness of the pain of loss that goes directly to my heart, feeling the essence of who I may have lost, the feel of their spirit still within me, the ache in my heart where they will now permanently live.

I feel the loss of friends and loved ones that comes ever more frequently on this aging path, as well as the pain of trying to contain the sense of my own mortality and expiration date. This makes me honor the preciousness of each moment so much more and want to taste it fully, drink it in, feel it in all its forms.

I watch and hear injustice and cruelty that I see around us at times, especially lately in our political environment, the selfishness and complete lack of empathy and compassion, the pain of human inflicted suffering, the cruelty of war and sending our young to fight the battles of the old safe politicians. I feel the fire of the rage and pain within me.

I recently was delighted at hearing a stranger’s comment passing by as I walked in my favorite redwood park. The younger woman of the two felt compelled to say that she had a feeling when I walked by her that God had told her to let me know that He’s got you. I don’t identify as particularly religious, but I heard the feeling and intention beneath what she said and took comfort in that. Then the older woman talked about having left broken eggshells at one of her favorite trees to symbolize her broken parts. She said that she was giving it to the Universe to heal, letting go, allowing herself to be more than those broken pieces. How eloquent and beautiful her ritual sounded. All this was shared with two women I had never met, a deep connection in a random moment. I felt the Universe/God speaking to me, letting me feel heard, seen, and loved. Later, I could feel the depth of my tears and where they came from, taste their saltiness, allow the release from deep within.

Recently I inhaled the scent of a lilac. This was a special gift for me, after having lost almost all of my sense of smell due to some sinus surgery decades ago. There was joy in that moment of being able to inhale that heavenly scent, the flower gifted to me from my sweet young neighbor…just because.

I hear the music of birds and its melody touches me, helps me to stop and listen. What else can I hear in that moment? I am reminded to slow down, pay attention, listen with all of you, all of your passion.

We heal mentally, spiritually, and physically with our sensuality and all of our senses. We become one with whatever we are experiencing. We become lovers to the tree, the flower, the earth itself. We are entwined and soak each other in, connect and are together, separate yet one.

May we feel this all. Becoming an elder can bring a new depth to our passion, if we tune in, and a new awareness of how precious each breath, each sense, each moment is. Do we lose this as we age? I think it’s rather the opposite. We feel it more, we contain years of it and how it changes forms and textures, and we can soak ourselves in this.

May we feel spent at the end, having lived fully, passionately, vibrantly, messily, joyfully, embracing each moment with every fiber of our being.

The Need for Touch

A human need, no matter what our age

At the age of 72, ( I keep talking and writing about that number to help it sink in), I realize more than ever how important touch can be.

I live alone and am grateful for all that this brings. But I do find that I miss human touch. I don’t mean sexual, necessarily, although if that were to present itself in a way that felt safe and ok, I would be open to it (even though that may shock younger readers to know this. We are old, not dead!).

What I really miss is the gentle touch, a hand on my shoulder, a soft physical acknowledgment of our togetherness in this moment. The sensuality of feeling something alive and soft touching you, human or otherwise, is such a gift.

I love to touch. I will put a hand on someone’s shoulder when saying goodbye, give hugs often when they are welcomed, touch someone’s hand if they start talking about things that are vulnerable or painful, to let them know in a more visceral way that I am there and hearing them.

I have lived with cats for many years of my life. I have loved their purring and snuggling up against me. Sleeping with a furry buddy at night is a pleasure that is beyond description, to reach out and feel that presence beside me, hear a purr in response to my touch, or a nuzzle in the morning. This is such a wonderful way to start and end a day.

I have known the pleasure of human physical touch, both in romantic relationships and friendships, and am grateful.

But these days, unless I intentionally create opportunities for touch, it is not so frequent. I miss it.

I am a woman of solitude and enjoy a significant amount of alone time. It is where I renew myself, where I replenish myself after I have ‘peopled” too much. So, it’s not a lot of contact that I crave, but it is a meaningful, present-filled contact that I miss, a way of being together that words alone cannot fill.

In my career as a social worker, and especially in my last position in a nursing facility, there were times that words were no longer available for some of the patients. So, I touched gently, where I could and when it felt like it would be welcomed or accepted. I like to think that my touch reached people in a place where my words could not.

I stop and lean against the redwood trees when I go for walks in the park. I feel both of our roots in the ground as we inhabit this space and moment together. The feelings that flood through me can bring me to tears and I’m grateful to let them flow.

I have, since I retired, enjoyed doing more of the things that I love. Writing is one of my passions, as are painting and reading. But these are all solitary activities. I also volunteered at the local zoo, as part of the behavior observation team, with elephants. I felt such a deep connection with these majestic creatures, but again, for the zoo’s very appropriate safety reasons, I wasn’t able to touch them much.

So, I need to be more intentional these days on getting the touch that I crave.

Today I reached out to another possible volunteer option, at a local wildlife rescue place, where some of the positions seem to allow handling or helping with animals in the hospital. I hope to be able to do that. I think that the healing will go both ways.

We are human and much of what we need does not really change over the years. With aging and wisdom comes the realization that we must acknowledge those needs, feel them, and then provide the self-love and care to get what we need.

It’s a gift to be human, to crave touch, to connect, to embrace all that being human involves. Let’s give that to each other and to ourselves while we still can.

The Importance of Connections

They can be found everywhere

It is once again the holiday season, a time when many focus on families, close friends, and loving connections.

I live alone, have no family nearby, and yet feel very connected to others. For me, I realize more these days, as an elder, that connection can be found in the most interesting and surprising places, and that there are no rules for what makes us feel connected. For me, there is no minimum time or length of contact, no frequency that is mandatory for connections to happen.

I visited the mausoleum yesterday, Thanksgiving Day, to honor the memory of my parents. It is a peaceful place and reminds us to live fully while we are here. I see new residents there each time that I visit, of all ages, all walks of life. It is sobering, humbling, and thought provoking, especially as we age.

While I was quietly sitting there, a couple passed by. This is a place where we all go for the same reason…to visit those who are no longer with us, to pay our respect, to remember. As they walked by, they looked my way to see if I would welcome contact or would rather be left alone in quietness. We made eye contact, smiled, and wished each other a happy Thanksgiving. In that moment, I could feel that we shared much more than that warm greeting. We shared a companionship in grief, an acknowledgment of our loss, a welcoming to the sacred space of remembering and shared solitude. I felt much less alone after that brief, but significant, contact.

I think that this happens all the time. We may have a quick conversation with a grocery clerk or someone at a coffee shop, and depending on the conversation, may share a depth that might be surprising. It can change the course of our day, of our mood, of our spirit.

As an elder, I now cherish and appreciate how different my sense of time is, how I am no longer rushed by work or obligations, how I can be more attentive and intentional in my connections with others. When I ask someone how are you, I wait for an answer, and will follow up on what they might say, especially if they say more than the usual “Fine”. It’s such a gift, even for a moment, to connect in that way and share in the moment that we are both occupying right then, to be able to offer someone the gift of seeing and hearing them. We never know what someone is going through and what that moment of being heard and seen might mean to them.

It’s interesting to notice what does help me feel connected. I have a friend with whom I frequently have interesting phone conversations with. We talk about ideas, about changes in the world, about his work. This friend and I used to work together with a team that would take clients on a 13-week process to help them learn more about their patterns in life and how things from the past might be holding them back. So we can relate to that and connect it to the work that he does today as a consultant to business teams, trying to help them work better together.

I appreciate these conversations and my friendship with him. And yet, I noticed the other day, that I felt something missing after we hung up. I thought that was odd, but then I realized that he did not ask me how I was, and then wait to hear my response. I had, before this conversation, always asked him how he was as soon as he would call. But this time, I didn’t. I was quiet and waited to hear what he might want to talk about, or if there was something that he wanted to talk about since he had called. It was a fun talk, but I didn’t feel particularly close or feel that he had any sense of things going on inside of me.

That’s ok. I think that different people can give us different levels of depth and connection and that we can appreciate them for who they are. I also think that it’s important to notice if we are feeling any need or lack in that area so we can then figure out how best to get that need met.

Before that, though, I think that there may be something else that we may be missing… a connection to ourselves. How often do we stop and ask ourselves how we are doing, what is going on, what might we need right then. And if we are not aware of what is going on inside of us, if we don’t have the patience to ask and listen to our own depths, fears, anxieties and pain, how can we hear others? If our own internal waters are troubled and churning and we haven’t taken the time to acknowledge this in ourselves and take care of ourselves, then how can we offer others a quiet place of comfort and peace in which to share themselves. If we have not explored and heard the depths of our own pain, how can we sit with others as they talk about theirs.

I think that this lack of connection to ourselves is a pattern in our society these days. We have much to distract us, much to fill the quiet spaces, spaces where we might better be able to hear our inner spirit if we allow the quietness to speak to us.

Do we teach our children this? Do we teach them how to get to know themselves, their feelings, their internal states. How often are they taught facts and rules and shoulds, but not how to go inside and explore their own depths.

Elders have much to share. Yet they can often be surprised when asked how they are and then have someone stop and deeply listen. It can be hard to hear some of the issues and feelings that aging can bring. Yet there is richness there to explore, gifts to find, and connections to be made, connections that can help seniors feel less isolated for a bit.

There can be animal connections. Although they may not speak with us in our language, they speak the language of empathy, sensing how we feel, coming close to us in times of pain or need, offering comfort and love, and simply being with us.

There can be connections that don’t have to be in person. I am often touched by the comments and feedback that I get from others about something of mine that they read. They sometimes write that they feel heard and seen, that they feel a bit less alone, that there is some relief in knowing that others feel some of what they might be feeling. I feel the same when I read articles that resonate with me, and I try to let the writers know that I am grateful.

Aging can bring the gift of realizing that each moment is precious, that this moment can be more precious than years past or those to come, if we are paying attention. It’s time to realize that the time to be present is now, while we are still here, and that we can give this gift to each other, to share the path for a while along the way, to connect, to reach out and touch each other’s souls, and to realize that we are not alone.

Peeling Back the Layers

Coming home to my core and authentic self.

Ah, the gifts of aging. They may not always be welcomed, but this one is.
I can feel myself shedding the layers of a false self that I learned to add on, hiding behind, to try and be loved and accepted.

Did it work? How could it? If there was love, it was misguided and deceived by the layers that I had learned to wear to feel safer in the world. I didn’t let others see the real me, so how could I trust any love coming my way?

These were all the layers that I learned and figured out that I needed, growing up feeling like I wasn’t good enough, pretty enough, smart enough, everything enough, just plain not enough.

So, pretend and put on masks it was. I found myself trying to become those masks, then wondering why things never really worked out.

The cost of pretending

Masks aren’t real. I don’t hate the masks, as they helped me, in my best attempt at the time, figure out how to survive. Survive I did, but at the cost of being separated so far from myself that I forgot who I was.

Except, thank God, that I didn’t really forget. It just took years and finally, for me, retiring, getting older and joining the land of elderhood, to wake up to the truth, to my truth.

Time grows shorter as I continue aging. What good does it do me to pretend and twist and turn myself into a pretzel to please others, or to at least try and avoid more conflict and negative judgment. That is a no-win proposition. I lose either way. I lose if my masks work (where does the real me go?) or if they don’t work and I still don’t know or trust my authentic self.

Going deep within, during a time of solitude

I retired at the beginning of the pandemic, 2020. No longer was there such a reason to run or hide as much. There was no reason for the masks when I lived alone and didn’t see anyone much anymore, given how we were all isolated at that time. In a strange way, that time became a gift (although I would never wish a pandemic to be the way to get that). But it was what happened, and it started a major shift in me.

Looking back, I see that it was a cataclysmic shift, an earthquake from the cracks deep inside me from all the years of pressure of trying to contain it all. I could no longer do that. I had enough. My soul screamed, and I listened.

I embraced solitude and slowly dug my way down inside as I began peeling back the false nice layers.

Listening to the desires within

I wrote. I painted. I increased my volunteer hours at the zoo to be around the animals who are some of my best teachers in authenticity. I was quiet, watched them, and listened to their language. I began inviting my own inner voice to speak, letting it know that I was finally ready to learn how to listen.

It takes time to learn to trust yourself. I am still learning, but I am learning. I am learning to say no, or to at least give myself time to think about things before I answer. It’s ok to take some time to sit quietly to see what my core may say. I have said yes too much in my life, to many demands and requests, at the cost of my integrity and at the cost of putting everyone else first and not pleasing myself.

I’m also giving myself permission to change my mind as I learn this new way of being. If I say yes to something too quickly and come to feel that something is not right, I can change my mind.

I write from my heart and soul and from a place where ideas seem to channel through me. I have cleared away enough of the debris to finally have space for these truths to flow through me. I’m learning to trust what may come up, and to trust that it comes from a self-loving place, a place of who I was meant to be, and I’m learning to trust the process.

I now trust that my words have value. I have things to say. And the responses that I get from those who are touched by my writing feel more real, because what they see and read on the pages is the real me, not someone that I formed to try and please others.

I paint and am learning to simply let myself play with that. I’m working on quieting the inner judgments, whether I have “real” talent or not. I enjoy it. Some folks seem to like it, and that is a gift. I finally let the little girl who always loved to draw come out and play again.

I’m learning to trust my intuition. When I get messages from deep inside that warn me about someone, I’m learning to listen. I don’t have to wish them harm or think badly of them. I must know and trust that for whatever reason, we are not a good mix and I can let them go. I can teach that small child still within me that I will protect her from harm in ways that I have not before. I will keep her safe. I will have boundaries and enforce them fiercely.

With those boundaries, when I do allow and choose love, it will be clearer and purer, as I know that I can say no to what does not work for me so that I can better know what does work for me. My yes will be purer.

The rewards of letting go

Peeling back the layers can be painful, but it is a pain that heals. Those layers may have felt like protection, but they ended up being permeable to dangerous things and people. Layers are created out of fear. Boundaries are created out of strength.

Not everyone has to like me. That’s ok. And I don’t have to like everyone. There are those who are in my tribe or herd, and those that belong to another tribe. We can be civil, we can respect our difference, but we do not have to be close. And that’s ok.

What a blessed gift and relief, to discover that the hero (or heroine) that I have been looking for, the one to help save me, has been inside of me all along. I was taught, out of other’s wounds, to not see my own strength, power, compassion, love, and fierce wildness.

I see it now. It is a strength that brings me to tears with things that I see around me. Things in the world that are painful and destructive and things in the world that have such beauty can become an ache inside me….an ache of gratitude, wonder, and awe. These tears come from the strength of allowing my vulnerability to it all, to the joy, pain, and exquisite bittersweetness of this journey of life.

I can even allow myself to see the wonder and awe inside me, as I can see it in others around me. How precious we are, we human beings. We can be capable of great things, both greatly wonderful and greatly horrible. Our choices, our actions, our beliefs, our having worked through enough of our own issues from our past, these things can determine wonder or horror.

I stand before you with so many less layers (and continuing to work on reducing them), yet I feel strong in my vulnerability. I am strong enough to see and hold your vulnerability when you may need it. If I can see and hold and accept my own fragile places within, then I can offer you the same acceptance.

How bittersweet to arrive at this at such a later point in life. And yet, that makes it all the sweeter, I think. I feel a depth of gratitude that I think only having lived this long can bring, a depth that contains a lifetime of joy, pain, sadness, love, loss, and so much more. I have felt it all, still feel it, and am here to embrace it all. It is life, and I am a part of it, especially as I get closer to the end of my time on this earth. How much more precious each moment becomes.

Come, join me

Here, you can take my hand, let me show you what I have learned. Let me talk with the part of you that may be behind those layers. I can hear you, because I can finally hear myself. Come, sit beside me. I have touched my core, and I can show you that it’s a safe and powerful place to be and to live from. This must be in your own time, of course, but I can at least tell you some stories that may help light up your path a bit. You have a safe place to come home to, deep within you. Welcome back, welcome home.

A Letter to Young Women

I am so very proud of you.

Photo by LinkedIn Sales Solutions on Unsplash

As an elder, with no children of my own, I am lucky enough to have wonderful young women in my life and I am in awe and proud of them all.

I have been privileged to work with young zookeepers at our local zoo, where I have volunteered with the elephants for the last 11 years.

I have watched these young people, mostly women (the wages are too low for most men to accept, sad to say, on so many counts). They are amazing. They work with a 15,000-pound creature, which is no small feat. They look tiny next to him, yet have loved him and taught him things, as he has taught them. They provide physical and emotional care. They love and they work hard, very hard.

They do what they must and do whatever it takes to provide care for these wonderful creatures. They put in extra hours as needed. They stay late. They lift, move, push, and shine.

What I want to say to them all.

What I want them to know (and do say to them) is…

I love your strength, your passion, your partnerships with each other, your power, your fearlessness.

You are so powerful, compassionate, and you give me hope for the future. You treat elephants with kindness, and you also treat me with kindness. I am not invisible to you, at least in many important ways.

You face such deep losses with courage and openness. We stand, hold each other and cry together as we prepare to lose the last of our herd at the zoo, who will soon be moved to a beautiful elephant sanctuary. There are no words necessary, just being together and understanding the pain of loss, the pain of love, the pain of letting go, and for you all this happening at such a young age.

You inspire me. You fill me with pride for women everywhere.

Role models everywhere.

I watch the young women newscasters on TV and am in awe of their courage, poise, ability to handle tough situations, and stand in their own power in what was such a male dominated field when I was growing up. I delight in thinking about all the young girls who get to see and hear these powerful role models.

I feel such respect as I go to our local coffeeshop and talk with the young family who owns this. The woman proudly displays photos of her service in the navy. Her pride in having this history is evident. And her children know how important that piece of her history is for her. This is who their mother has been and is.

I have many women doctors at this point. I am saddened by the pressure that they also feel to rush patients through (I belong to an HMO) and then end up not having enough time to bring their superpower, as women, to our time together. One superpower of many women is that of being able to be with me, hear me, listen to me, or sit with me in any pain that I might be in. I pray that things can change so that these young people (young men and women) can bring all of themselves into this important profession that deals with people at their most vulnerable.

And now, a woman running for president.

And I am lucky enough to be alive at a time when there is a woman running for president again. And the race is a close one.

I love watching young girls see her as a candidate and as being a strong woman. They get to watch both her husband, and her male vice-presidential candidate, support her. The role models that I didn’t get to see enough of are now available. I am grateful.

I worry about freedoms that generations before you fought hard to attain, seeing that these freedoms are now threatened.

I worry about the still apparent societal pressure and expectations of how you should look, what size you should be, how you should manage to do it all. It makes me sad that you sometimes don’t see how beautiful you are, each in your own unique way.

I see the battles still ahead. Among these are the battles to be heard and respected, not interrupted, and to be able to express your voice and have it be heard and seen as the important contribution that it is.

It all brings me to tears. I, as a daughter of immigrants, had a smaller space that I thought I could occupy in this world. There seemed to be fewer choices in line of work, and in life in general. And with parents coming from another country with different family ideals and values and expectations of women, I tried my best to figure out how to survive and not squash my voice completely. I realized over time that I had forgotten my own voice, being so busy trying to fit into what was mandated, expected, or allowed.

I don’t want any of that for you.

My hope and wish for you.

I want you to know your own spirit, your own passions, your own strength, your own voice. I want you to follow that and have the freedom to do that. I want you to have domain over your own bodies. I want you to stand together and not be divided and conquered. I want you to have yourself at the top of the list as to whom you should please.

I want you to be able to claim your strength, to be able to better discern who and what you may need in a relationship, to mother yourselves and each other. I want you to run free, wear what you want, dress as you please, and know that you are more than enough. You are valuable and wonderful and have every right to claim your space on this earth, in your world, and in the Universe. I want your biology to help raise you up, not to define you by things that you can or cannot do.

I want you to dance your own dance and to be able to dance even if you don’t have a partner. If you find a partner, I want you to be happy, loved, respected, nourished and cherished, as I would hope that you can do for each other.

And if you are not partnered, I want you to know that you are perfectly ok as you are, by yourself. You can build a community around you, have family and loving friends, and you are no less because you are single. It’s ok. You are ok. You are more than ok. Of course, I wish you love and a partner of quality, but more than that I want you to know that your primary partner is yourself. You are at the top of the list of whom you need to pay attention to and take care of and love.

You don’t have to twist yourself into shapes and sizes and values that do not fit you. You can be all that you were born to be. You can be your magnificent self. I may not be able to see where you end up and all that you will do, but I am cheering you on every step of the way. You inspire me. And if I can stand with you from beyond, know that I will be there right beside you, with love.