For most of my life, I made myself smaller. Not in stature, though, yes, I dieted endlessly because society taught me that smaller meant prettier, more acceptable, more lovable. But the shrinking went deeper than my waistline. I diminished myself emotionally, intellectually, and spiritually.
I kept my opinions polite, my ambitions modest, and my presence quiet. I folded myself into corners where no one would feel threatened, no one would feel uncomfortable. I bit my tongue to avoid arguments with my ex-partner when he was treating me badly.
Why? Because somewhere along the way, I internalised a powerful lie: that women, especially as we age, are praised for being agreeable, gentle, and easy to overlook. We’re rewarded for staying quiet, for looking pleasant, and for never, ever rocking the boat.
But I’m done with that.
I’ve stopped apologising for taking up space. And not only that, but I also wrote a whole book about it. Just three weeks after it launched, You’re Going to Die So Do It Anyway won a Breaking Boundaries award. Why? Because it speaks to a truth that so many women are desperate to hear: you don’t need permission to live boldly. You were never meant to shrink.
What It Really Means to Take Up Space
Taking up space doesn’t mean shouting the loudest or demanding attention. It means being unapologetically you.
It means speaking up even when your voice shakes.
It means refusing to be the unpaid caretaker of everyone else’s comfort.
It means wearing what makes you feel alive, not what makes you invisible.
It means entering rooms like you belong in them. Because you do.
Too many of us have been taught that aging means fading. That our opinions, our sexuality, our creativity, even our clothing should become muted as the decades roll on. But I believe the opposite: aging is not a reason to shrink, it’s a reason to expand.
You Are Not Too Much – And You Are Certainly Not Done
Women over 60 have been told we’re too much for decades. Too emotional, too loud, too independent, too bold, too old. And in the same breath, we’re told we’re not enough anymore. Not young enough, not thin enough, not soft or subtle enough, not relevant.
But here’s the thing: who decided that? Who decided that once we cross some invisible threshold, we no longer matter? That we should trade our voices, our style, our ambition for sensible shoes and silence? Not me.
And if you’re reading this, I hope not you either. Because at this stage in life, we are wise, wild, and wholly ourselves if we’re brave enough to claim it.
A Movement, Not Just a Message
You’re Going to Die So Do It Anyway is more than a book. It’s a raw, real, and rebellious invitation to stop apologising and start owning your worth – fully, fiercely, and without permission.
It’s a movement for women who’ve been told to smile more.
For women who are not ready to disappear into quiet retirement.
For women who want to dine alone without pitying looks.
For every older woman who still has something to say, something to create, something to claim.
Every scar you carry, every lesson you’ve earned it’s all proof of your worth. You don’t need to apologise for being seen. You’ve earned your space. It’s yours.
Burn the Rulebook
There’s a quiet rulebook handed to women around menopause, and I burned mine. According to it, by now, I should’ve chopped my hair short, stuck to age-appropriate fashion, and slipped into a quiet, respectable version of femininity. But instead? I wear long extensions, sequin tops, tight dresses that show off the body I love, and bold red lip gloss. Some call it attention-seeking. I call it graceful defiance.
Grace isn’t about disappearing. It’s about owning your body, your voice, your style without shame. You know what’s really desperate? A culture that tries to erase women as they age. That’s the problem. Not me. Not you.
You Don’t Need to Tone It Down
At some point, society decided that boldness belongs only to the young. That confidence, sensuality, and expression are things to outgrow. But I’m calling out that narrative. I feel more beautiful, more sensual, more alive now than I ever did in my 30s. Because now, I’m living life on my terms not theirs and I have glowed up.
My bikini isn’t the problem. Your discomfort is.
When people tell me, “Bikinis aren’t for women your age,” what they really mean is: “You’re not supposed to feel sexy anymore.”
When they say, “Cut your hair,” what they really mean is: “Stop being visible.”
When they say, “You’re too much,” what they really mean is: “You refuse to shrink.”
Good. Let them be uncomfortable, let them stare, let them whisper.
This Is Your Time. Your Voice. Your Space.
You don’t need permission to show up fully in your life. You don’t need to wait until the world is ready to accept you. Because, truthfully, the world may never be ready for a woman who refuses to apologise. So be her anyway.
Wear the leopard print. Grow your hair long. Book the solo trip. Dance in a bar. Say what you need to say. Rock the damn bikini.
Do it because it brings you joy. Do it because it makes you feel alive. Do it because you’ve earned every moment of this life and you are not done.
No More Shame, No More Silence
I don’t dress to impress men. I don’t wear sequins to feel younger. I wear them because they make me feel electric. I don’t diet to fit in. I nourish myself to thrive. I don’t speak softly to avoid judgment, I speak clearly to honour my truth. This confidence? I’ve worked for it. It took decades to silence the shame that was drilled into me from girlhood. And I’m not letting it back in now.
Taking up space isn’t selfish. It’s revolutionary and necessary and it’s overdue.
Final Word: Stop Saying Sorry
This is your time.
This is your voice.
This is your space.
And no, you don’t have to apologise for it. You’ve survived too much, sacrificed too much, and learned too much to shrink now. You don’t owe the world quietness or softness. You owe yourself truth, joy, and boldness.
So take up space. Being bolder as we get older isn’t rebellion, it’s reclamation. After decades of being told to play small, stay polite, and not rock the boat, boldness becomes our birthright. It’s the reward for surviving, for growing wiser, for finally giving ourselves permission to take up space. At 60, 70, or 80, we don’t need to ask if we’re too much, we need to ask what took us so long to stop apologising. Boldness isn’t just allowed as we age. It’s earned. And it looks damn good on us.
Let’s Have a Conversation:
Do you feel like you need to apologise for taking up space? Or are you bold and express yourself without fear? In what situations have you felt like your opinion is valued?
