The Woman I’ve Become

I’ll be honest—when ChatGPT first suggested that this would be a good blog post, I was a little worried.

What? Who? Like… hunh?

Then I took a moment to reflect.

What would past versions of me have to say about the woman I am today?

And, well, they’re not all impressed.

Child me wonders why I’m not married. That was our big dream—to be able to say, “We’ve been together for 50 years!”

Teen me thinks it’s cool that my kids actually want to spend time with me, so we have her vote.

20-something me is judging. HARD.

30-something me? She’s fucking proud.

And to all those versions of me, I can say: I tried. I did the best I could.

Mini Nadia, I was married. It’s a little hard to explain, but I picked a guy because I thought it was time to choose from what was available. I’m not saying he wasn’t a good person, but he definitely wasn’t my person.

So yes, I had the beautiful dress, and I got to see my family dress up and celebrate with us. But I also had the sleepless nights, the silent loneliness, the kind of exhaustion that doesn’t come from a lack of rest but from trying so hard to make something work that was never meant to.

Mini Nadia, what I’m trying to say is—I kept the frog, even though he never turned into the prince. Because I didn’t believe the prince would ever come.

Parts of you were hurt, and they followed you all the way here. Parts of you that made you feel like you were asking for too much. Like you were broken. Unlovable. Too much and yet never enough. Like if you just stayed quiet long enough—figured out who you needed to be around someone—they would love you.

Mini Nadia, you believed love was something you had to work for.

And work hard, you did.

But somehow, everyone you loved left. And that only reinforced the idea that you just didn’t work hard enough. Fight enough. Love enough. That you weren’t enough.

Mini Nadia, it took us a long time, but we don’t believe those lies anymore.

I’m sorry it took me so long to see you, accept you, and love you.

And you know what really brought it home for me?

I thought about my daughter. If she came home, heartbroken over some boy, and told me she was unworthy, unlovable… My first thought was, I’d dropkick her for saying such foolish things!

And then it hit me—why, then, do I believe that about myself?

Teen me, you started something without even realizing it. When you signed up to lead the Carnival Committee, you lit a spark in us.

It was way outside your comfort zone, but you took deep breaths and pushed through. And I don’t think I ever stopped to thank you—to celebrate you—for that.

Following that, you became Student Council President, joined the Richelieu Club, organized a Forum Jeunesse (basically a leadership camp), and so much more.

You were doing the whole “say YES and figure it out later” thing way before it was a cute, Instagrammable quote.

Thank you for showing me who we could be.

You were trying to figure out who you were and who you could be in this life.

You had to grow up quickly, so this phase of your life was short-lived. But it laid a foundation stronger than you ever realized.

20-something me.

You became a mom before you even got to be a young adult. You traded one responsibility for another—only this time, it was a life.

Ethan came into your world to show you what true love really is. (And almost 19 years later, he still does.)

But with this little bundle of happiness also came a lot of tears. Friendships ended. Other moms in mom groups judged. You were so alone in a time when you needed a village.

But you did what you always do—you put your head down and made your way through.

You built a life for yourself and for him. You gave him everything you could. You weren’t celebrated, thanked, or told you were doing a good job.

But you knew. And you kept going.

You can’t take all the credit for the incredible young man he’s become—because he has a lot to contribute to that—but you deserve a whole lot of it.

Your 20s were all about other people.

It started with Ethan. Then you met the man who would become your husband.

Then your daughter came along—a real Velcro baby, glued to you every second.

You were surrounded. Overstimulated. And still… so alone.

Your 20s were all about questioning yourself:

Why aren’t I happy yet?

You had the man. The kids. The house. The job. The life.

So why weren’t you happy?

The relationship… I don’t even know what words would fit.

You felt broken. Used. Worthless.

And then, this man with the gorgeous blue eyes looked at you.

He took an interest, and you jumped right in.

You made it work.

You kept quiet because—he was doing you a favor by loving you.

You couldn’t dare ask for more.

You spent eight years without real communication.

He was there.

You were there.

That’s it.

No dreams. No deep conversations. No connection. Just two people, existing under the same roof.

You spent your 20s blaming yourself. Trying to hate yourself into happiness.

If I can just be better… If I can just be grateful enough… If I can just try harder…

And then your 30s came.

And you kept waiting.

This year will be better.

It never was.

30 turned into 31. Then 32.

You got married.

You felt alone.

You cried yourself to sleep every night.

And a few months after your wedding, you made a promise to yourself—to save your marriage.

Because you were failing. Hard.

But when you’re fighting alone, the battle is already lost.

So at 33, your world fell apart.

You were left broken. Abandoned. Betrayed.

But after the shock, the numbness, the crying, and the hate—you decided to take your power back.

Your spiritual journey began.

You journaled, you bawled, you drowned yourself in self-help.

You did the work.

You got tired.

You wanted to give up.

And somewhere along the way, you realized—this whole “self-healing” thing wasn’t all it was cracked up to be.

You went from thinking you were broken and unlovable…

To thinking you needed to be fully healed before you could be worthy of love.

So when love didn’t knock, you sighed in despair.

I must not be healed enough yet.

WHAT. THE. ACTUAL. HELL.

So you quit.

You took a step back from the self-proclaimed gurus and just let life flow.

And slowly, you found yourself.

Your 30s were such an amazing part of your journey. So much growth and sel-love happened.

You walked through fire, unlearning, healing, becoming. You learned how to love yourself, not in the surface-level, self-care routine way, but in the real way.

The kind of love that lets you walk away from anything that doesn’t serve you.

And finally… I see her now.

She’s strong.

She’s worthy.

She is enough.

And as I step into my 40s, all I can say is—if I loved my 30s this much, I can only imagine how incredible my 40s will be.

So, to the woman I’ve become—cheers to you.

You made it.

And you know the best is yet to come.

Coffee cheers to 40!