41 on the 31st

Reflections on power, softness, and building a life rooted in truth.

I turned 41 on the 31st of July.

It’s a quiet, potent number. Not flashy, not loud. But steady. Seasoned. Certain.

There’s something about this age—this season—that feels like arriving. Not with a bang, but with a knowing. A slow unfolding of a life that feels true.

Not perfect. Not all figured out. But deeply mine.

41 feels like honouring the wholeness of my journey—the jagged edges and the sacred pauses, the quiet rebuilding and the private triumphs. It feels like making peace with the parts of me that were once hidden, dismissed, or dimmed. It feels like weaving them in now, not just as acceptable, but essential.

Softness is no longer a liability. Power is no longer performative. Both are mine—and they can coexist.

This year, I feel more committed than ever to:

• Living a life aligned with my own inner compass, not external timelines.

• Letting clarity come from devotion, not urgency.

• Redefining what strength looks like—as a woman, a mother, a leader, a soul in motion.

• Building slow, from the inside out.

• Creating spaces (in my home, in my work, in my words) where women can remember their own salt and gold. Their own sacred strength.

There’s more unknown than known right now. And I’m okay with that.

Because this season is not about control—it’s about truth.
And truth always makes a steady home, eventually.

So here’s to 41.
To fierce softness.
To power, remembered.
To the life I’m still becoming.