[BLOG] I'm just a woman now.

And I'm so here for it.

AI-GENERATED AUDIO PREVIEW (courtesy of ElevenLabs):

As I was putting together my bio for Substack, I ran into a very interesting problem for the first time. Let’s see if you catch it:

One young woman’s digital journey through faith, mental health, and self-development.

You might have missed it. I’ll be flattered if you did.

young | yəNG | adjective: A word that no longer applies to me.

Yes, I’m still younger than a significant portion of the population, but I cannot really call my thirty-three year old self “young” in the traditional sense. I am just a woman now. No descriptive required.

Considering that a) celebrities, b) rare humans with disposable income and c) even rarer humans with no fear of credit card debt are willing to cheerfully follow the Pied Piper of Youth into sterile rooms with too many needles, you might be surprised to learn that this is a most welcome development for me. But it truly is, for a number of reasons.

First, adults no longer confront me about my potential.

And thank God for that.

When I was fifteen, I was tall, thin, pretty, athletic, and smart. Which you would think is a blessing (and it is). But it also meant that I felt pulled in a hundred different directions, had less and less idea of who I was, and lacked the emotional intelligence to be thankful for those blessings. That’s probably why I didn’t particularly enjoy junior high, high school or, frankly, uni. (No, I’m not even remotely English. But I like to pretend.)

Nowadays, I am happily left to my own devices—left to decide who and what I want to be, and how exactly I want to spend my time. As a recovering people-pleaser, the steady tapering off of opinions from both well-meaning and not-well-meaning sources has been singularly delicious.

It turns out that peace and quiet are unsung benefits of aging.

Second, I can officially see myself as the adult.

There is a paid intern at my firm who looks like a model and acts like a princess in the best possible sense. She is there two, maybe three, days a week and is always on a cloud. You can tell from the purpose in her walk and carriage that she is “making it” by her own standards. She is doing the thing. She graduated college and got a job at a big, reputable firm. She’s not a sister, or a cousin, or even a friend, but when I see her, I feel so very proud of her.

She approached me once, early in her tenure with us, and began making small talk. I was delighted (who doesn’t like a smiling face), but a little befuddled when it happened more than once. Then it hit me: “Oh my gosh, she sees me as an adult. As an older colleague. WOW! I guess I made it!”

This young woman is approximately four years past being able to buy cigarettes, one year past being able to drink, and she still can’t rent a car in most states.

I, on the other hand, now use decadal terminology to refer to past events.

No doubt about it. I am finally the adult. Check. It’s a little bit of structure in a world that lacks it more and more.

Third, I can take on a new role.

Perhaps it’s just my stage of life, but when I look at this young woman, I see a bit of myself. I remember being twenty-two, hopeful, and hardworking. No one could accuse me of being particularly sweet, but I was a model. And, like our paid intern, I was pretty smart. The connection I feel makes me want to help her, but help can very easily become just the opposite:

“Of all tyrannies, a tyranny sincerely exercised for the good of its victims may be the most oppressive. It would be better to live under robber barons than under omnipotent moral busybodies. The robber baron's cruelty may sometimes sleep, his cupidity may at some point be satiated; but those who torment us for our own good will torment us without end for they do so with the approval of their own conscience.”

C. S. Lewis

I know myself and I can be a know-it-all. So it would be only too easy propel the same wheel of External Opinion that crushed my sense of self in youth, and attempt to bury this young woman in unwanted/unsolicited advice. So what can I reasonably give her and other young woman like her?

How about my best self?

There seem to be two types of older woman, over all. One appreciates their younger counterparts and the other just…doesn’t. You know the second kind when you see them. Whether it’s picking at a younger woman’s style, criticizing inconsequential points, generating whispers around the office, or constantly endeavoring to curb your enthusiasm, older women are uniquely qualified to burn those coming up after them. I’ve certainly been on the receiving end of it.

Thus, in honor of my younger self, I make the following promises to any young woman who I work with now or in the future:

I promise to fight my demons and insecurity.

I am not perfect, and there may be days when I let another person’s awesomeness make me feel less pretty or less important. But that is not your fault. You are gorgeous and capable and have every option ahead of you. I will pull myself together. Hold up your head. This is your time.

I promise not to haze you.

One outfit, opinion, or mistake does not a career break. Be smart with your choices, but be you. Ignore the people who take pleasure in the drama. If there’s a grain of truth, take note, but don’t dwell on their negativity. For all the apparent busyness, some people are still living in high school. You are not.

I promise to make space for you and your ideas.

Be enthusiastic. If you want to contribute meaningfully and communicate effectively, start by saying what you think. You might surprise some people and intimidate others, but we will recover and be better for it. Nod, smile and disregard those who attempt to dim your energy. I, for one, am excited to hear what you have to say and am excited to make room for you in business and in life!

Speaking of which, I guess it really is time to change my bio:

“One young woman’s digital journey through faith, mental health, and self-development.”

Ugh. That felt so good.

With much love,

A.I.A.L.