WOMEN OVER 60: The Power of the Word “Old”

I don’t flinch when you call me that—I lean into it.

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A few months ago, my daughter called with birthday plans. Her voice was bright, full of love.

“MOM. You are gonna be SEVENTY!”

She said it like it was something worth celebrating. Something bold. Something good.

And I’ll be honest: it caught me off guard.

Not because I’m ashamed of my age.
But because… I hadn’t felt it yet.

Or maybe I had, but not in the way the world defines it.

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My birthday is September 11.
And for years, I’ve let that date slip by quietly.
I was living in Manhattan when the towers fell. That heaviness stayed with me. I got in the habit of hiding on my birthday. Skipping the candles. Avoiding the spotlight. Just letting it pass.

So when my daughter declared with joy that I was about to turn seventy, it did something. It stirred something.

That number—seventy—asked me to stop hiding.

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I started sitting with the word “old.”

Rolling it around like a piece of hard candy. Bitter at first, but then… something else. Something sweet and rich and earned.

I noticed how people responded when I said it out loud.

“I’m turning seventy this year.”

Nobody believed me.
Apparently, I don’t look it. Don’t act it. Don’t fit the image.

But that’s the problem, isn’t it?

We’ve built a culture where “old” only shows up as loss. As decline.
Where you’re supposed to fade politely or pretend you’re still thirty-five.

But what if… old is something else entirely?

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Here’s what I’ve found:

Old holds lineage.
It carries the strength of the women I came from—Cajun women with quick tongues and soft hearts who never apologized for their existence.

Old holds wisdom.
Not just facts I’ve gathered, but the kind of knowing that lives in the body. That says: Trust yourself. You’ve earned this peace.

Old holds edge.
A quiet kind. I feel it when I walk through my neighborhood. Doors open. Eyes soften. There’s a hush that follows a woman who knows herself. Who’s not rushing. Not performing. Just being.

I’m not old like they told me I’d be.
I’m old like wine. Like wild honey.
Like a house that still stands after the storm

The Red Barn

.

The truth is, I like myself more now than I ever have.

There’s freedom here I didn’t have at forty.
There’s rest I couldn’t access at fifty.
And there’s joy—deep, ordinary joy—that I didn’t know to look for until now.

I don’t need to be chased, praised, or even understood.

I like my own company. I know what matters.
I eat chips for dinner sometimes and call it abundance.
I light a candle in the morning just because I’m alive.

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I didn’t always feel this way.
I had to rebuild my life to make space for this kind of calm.
This kind of self-belonging.

That’s what led me to create ReFoundation.

Not as a course or a workbook or some five-step plan—
but as a soulful rebuild. A quiet return. A new foundation for living as the woman you are now.

One woman who used it reclaimed a whole room in her house—just for herself.
Another changed her mornings and hasn’t looked back.
Another finally let herself grieve the years she gave away… and began again.

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So no, I don’t flinch at the word “old.”

I say it with a wink now.
With love.
With reverence.

Because if this is what seventy feels like,
I’ll take it.
I’ll live it out loud.
And I’ll keep making room for other women to come home to themselves, too.

🖤
Monica

A note from a reader:

“Monica, you’re not just speaking to women in their 60s—you’re speaking to all of us. Your voice feels like a breath of fresh air, honest and unfiltered, at a time when women need it more than ever. I think that’s why so many are finding their way to you right now—the energy you put into the world is so genuine and full of light, it’s impossible not to be drawn to it.”
—Abigail Zsenai

👉 Begin ReFoundation