Tomorrow, I turn 76.
I could be counting candles, or tallying the wrinkles and whiskers that have shown up on my face.
But instead, I’m counting truths — the ones I no longer keep buried.
And, BTW, I’m marveling at my pure white hair — the kind of white even young people would pay for, but hair stylists say it can’t be bought.
Turning 76 doesn’t just mark another year; it marks a significant milestone. It’s a moment of reckoning.
A reflection of what it took to get here, who helped shape me, and what I’ve learned along the way.
At the three-quarters-of-a-century mark, people often glance back and move on. They note this or that while disregarding the value of mistakes.
But this last year? This year was different.
Instead of looking back and throwing it all in the muck pile, I felt every step, every decision, every inner tug-of-war.
This year, I pried open the suitcase I’d been dragging through life.
The year I fell in love with myself again and again.
Because I am me, because of all of it, and I love who I am. Now.
Age 75: The Year I Finally Opened My Suitcase
Let’s talk about the “suitcase.”
Mama Peggy used to say, “You were easy to birth… but the suitcase that came with you? That was difficult.”
She was right. I carried a lot of baggage. Unspoken truths. Suppressed emotions. Stories I didn’t feel safe to tell.
For decades, I kept that suitcase padlocked. Every time I reached for it, the weight of what I was hiding made me fold.
But at 75, I stopped folding. I picked the lock.
I unpacked one truth at a time.
Some were small. Others? The kind of hand you only reveal when you're ready to go all in.
From a rigid Southern Baptist upbringing in the coal mining camps of Virginia… to losing both my faith and my virginity in the same night to date rape at 19.
From truths I’d buried out of shame — that I’m a convicted felon, an ex-prostitute, and once married my pimp — to the freedom of speaking the truths aloud.
Each truth I released? A weight off. A card laid down. A mask dropped.
And this wasn’t some bucket list experience. I wasn’t checking boxes.
These were blowtorch moments — burning away the shame and fear that had kept me bluffing through life.
I walk slower now, sure — but I walk with purpose. I’m no longer trying to outrun my past. I’m facing it. Playing it one hand at a time.
Unmuffled: Breaking Free
75 wasn’t about crossing off a milestone. It was the year I dropped the act.
I let go of the performance. I quit pretending. I stopped trying to mimic those I wanted to be.
For years, I tried to be the “good girl.” The one who kept the peace, smiled through the pain, and never went all-in with her truth.
Some of my truths were dangerous to speak. Others might’ve harmed those I’d long since forgiven.
However, this past year, I stopped playing it safe. The performance was over.
I started telling the truth — first to myself, then to others. To you.
And damn, it felt good.
With every truth I shared, I found freedom. The more I embraced my raw, unfiltered self, the more others did, too.
The most unexpected shift happened after my first confessional post.
Megan Lee, publisher of The Shame Sandwich, commented:
“💕💕💕 I can’t wait to soak up all the healing energy from you sharing your shit! It’s magical how “confessing the ugly” starts such a positive, healing effect for all of us around. 🥹”
That’s when I knew: telling the truth doesn’t just heal you — it gives others permission to lay their cards down, too.
This was also the year I realized the full power of my Emotional Agility™ process.
I’d been taught my entire life to shut down emotions. To bury them. To keep on my poker face.
But learning to be emotionally agile meant allowing my feelings to flow, without apology.
To process the hard emotions without allowing them to control me.
It meant learning to feel them — without letting them run the table.
To hold joy and pain in equal measure? That’s playing like you’ve already won.
My Hubs3 and Our Shared Joy
The relationships that endure? They’re the ones built on truth.
Hubs3 has been my ride-or-die for over four decades. He’s my coach’s coach. My soulmate. My stacked deck and Ace up the sleeve.
If past lives are real, he’s been in every one.
I never have to explain myself to him. He sees me — wrinkles, weight, and all — and still calls me his badass, beautiful trophy wife!
We spend our days in our lift recliners, side by side. Watching action movies. Bingeing explosive series. The kind with grit, firepower… and yes, blazing titties.
But it’s more than entertainment:
It eases his pain.
Makes him smile.
Arouses him at 80.
And I want him to stay. Longer. Happier. Lit up.
What does that have to do with being 75?
Everything.
I’ve learned that joy lives in the simple. In the shared. In the moments that feel like a lucky draw.
I’m no longer chasing shiny. I’m holding tight to what matters.
Reflection: What I’ve Learned
Looking back at 75 years, I’m stunned by how much has changed — and what’s still true:
The lessons Mama Peggy passed down.
The stubborn resilience that carried me through busted hands.
The laughter that’s saved me more than once.
And the MindShifts that helped me play smarter, not harder.
75 wasn’t about survival. It was about revelation. About becoming the woman I was always meant to be — cards on the table, chips in the middle.
It was about growing into my age with grit, grace, and a little heat.
Looking Ahead: 76 and Beyond
Tomorrow, when I turn 76, I’ll celebrate. Not just that I’m still here — but that I’m here as me. Unapologetic. Unmuffled. Truth-teller.
And I’m staying in the game.
I’ll keep unpacking the truths I’ve yet to share. Keep playing with intention. Keep honoring the people I love. Keep betting on joy — not just in the big wins, but in the quiet hands that matter most.
So let me ask you:
What truth is still face-down in your hand?
What would happen if you turned it over?
Come Sit at the Table With Me
If this post stirred something in you — you felt, even just a little — stick around.
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If you’re ready for truth with teeth… pull up a chair.
Turning 76 isn’t the end of the story — it’s just the next hand. One card at a time.
And I’m playing it face up.
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