Starting Over at 58? Watch Me.
If I thought it was too late to start over, I wouldn’t be here.
I wouldn’t be peeling back the layers of conditioning, rewriting my story, or waking up every day committed to this journey of healing, freedom, and self-belief.
If I thought it was too late, I wouldn’t be building The Weight of Belief, sharing my story, or working toward the healthiest, strongest version of myself.
But I am.
Because I know the truth: the time I have left is mine to claim.
Six months of freedom
My father, the man my mother tormented for 59 years, only got six months of freedom before he died.
Six months to live without her reign of terror.
Six months:
to breathe deeply
to think his own thoughts without fear
to exist without the constant manipulation, belittling, and cruelty
to finally dream again (oh, how he wanted to travel the world after her death).
SIX MONTHS!
It wasn’t enough time.
Not nearly enough to heal, to undo decades of damage, to truly live.
He deserved more.
He deserved a lifetime of peace.
But he didn’t get it.
I think about that often because I’m almost 58 years old.
If I let the weight of time tell me I’m too old to start again, if I let the years I’ve lost convince me I can’t reclaim what’s left, I would be doing to myself what she did to him—robbing myself of the freedom, the joy, the life I deserve.
AND I REFUSE, dammit!
The belief that keeps us stuck
The idea that it’s too late is one of the most insidious beliefs designed to keep people trapped.
It whispers, “Why bother? The best years are behind you.”
It tries to convince you that change is only for the young, that new beginnings are for people with more time ahead than behind.
But that’s a lie.
The truth is, as long as you are alive, your life is still yours to shape.
Yes, I’ve lost years.
Decades, even.
Time I will never get back.
But I am here now, and I refuse to waste what I have left mourning what I didn’t have.
Every day is a choice.
I can let my past define me, or I can claim my future.
I choose the future.
Creating my own freedom
I wake up every day knowing I am not living in the shadow of my mother anymore.
She’s gone.
And what remains is mine to build.
I get to create the life I was never given permission to have (I had to have her permission for everything).
I get to be strong, to be free, to take up space without apology.
I get to stand in front of the mirror, looking at this almost-58-year-old body, and see possibility instead of limitation.
I get to be here.
Fully.
Unapologetically.
My father only had six months.
I don’t know how much time I have left, but I know this: whatever time I do have, I’M GOING TO LIVE IT!
Because it is never too late.
Not to heal.
Not to become.
Not to live.
And if you think it is, let me tell you: that belief is a prison.
But you?
You hold the key.
To your healing and alignment,
Carole
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This post is part of TWOB Heart & Mind, but it also reflects the deeper transformation that falls under TWOB Soul—because reclaiming my life after trauma isn’t just emotional, it’s soul deep.