47

​47. 
 
I couldn’t be more grateful for those two numbers. 
 
I ran around yesterday lovingly yelling, “I’m 47!” My family laughed. I’m still a child at heart so it was fitting.
 
My birthday—on 9/9—is supposed to be influenced by some massive cosmic astrological event. Sweet, right?! Now, don’t get me wrong, I’m happy about that, but I’m really happy that I’m still here to write this post. That I’m happy and loved unconditionally by those closest to me. And that I’m free from the drama of a narcissistic/sociopathic relationship. 
 
We ordered Domino’s pizza, ran errands (read: bought trash bags), watched the movie Twilight with the kids (while Scott fell asleep), and we hung out in our dear friends’ hot tub for a few hours in the middle of the day. 
 
Total jackpot birthday. 
 
There was a time in my life I didn’t think I’d have any of this. And I know many women right now who are wondering if they’ll ever feel free and loved in all the ways any of us deserve to be. 
 
“You will,” I tell them. When the time is right, and you’re ready/able to move on from an abusive relationship, you’ll do it. I know you will. 
 
Yesterday, my agent started sending out my book proposal again after the literary industry took a summer hiatus. She picked the date without even knowing it was my birthday. I love when that kind of thing happens.  I’m excited to see what’s around the bend regarding my stranger than fiction memoir. 
 
“I’m 47!” 
 
I’m still yelling it because I believe in all week birthdays. Thankfully, so does my family. 
 
And because I believe in celebrating every precious year that I am exactly where I’m meant to be. 
 
Eating Domino’s pizza while watching Twilight with the loves of my life.