Own Your Sexy

I am a woman over a certain age (ahem, 40). I am in fact closer to 50 now than I am to 40. How the hell that happened, I could not tell you. As I have blogged about before, I sure as hell do not feel my age. In my head, I’m still like 23. Well, maybe 35. Certainly NOT pushing 50.

I still love loud music. I still love (and miss, in this time of Covid) live concerts. I like dancing. I like to stay up late. I like to wear high heels. I love new music; thank god for my girls to turning me on to new stuff every single day; because I sure do LOVE 80’s on 8 and First Wave on Sirius XM but I really need a good dose of Doja Cat, Harry Styles, and Bakar every now and then to balance out all that New Wave. Oh, and you’re welcome for the links…I didn’t want to make you Google three new tunes that I’m loving currently.

And I like being sexy. I own my sexy like no one’s business. I feel more sexy in my forties than I ever did before. I revel in my sexy and am unapologetic for it. Why the hell should I? I am not here to feel bad for being sexy; hell I earned this shit. The man I love thinks I am a the sexiest woman on the planet. He’s a smart cookie. But that sexy didn’t start with him. He stokes the fires, no question. A partner who believes in you, supports your passions, makes you laugh and tells you you’re a red hot sex goddess should definitely be listened to.

But it’s not about the validation you get from a man (or a woman); you sure don’t need a partner to tell you that you’re sexy. Though we all can agree, it’s damn nice to hear and know you’re desired by the person you love. But let’s be honest, you need to feel that shit in our soul, ladies. When you walk into a room, do you enter with confidence? Shoulders back, chin up? I tend to strut into a room like I’m freaking Naomi Campbell or at least Samantha from Sex in the City. Ask anyone, they will tell you. I am not what anyone would call shy.

Sexy bubbles up from inside of you and you have the power to amplify the hell out of it. Why not? Don’t tamp that shit down. You have swagger, you earned that shit through life’s many trials and experience. No one gives a shit that you’re not a size six anymore; you’re the only one that does. Sexy does not care about your dress size or if you have a couple grey hairs. Sexy does not care if you’re in heels or flip-flops. Sexy does not care if you are wearing a bikini or a damn ski parka. Sexy does not care if you have a fully made up face and perfect goddamn brows. (Though, damn, I know some ladies who have a freaking STRONG brow game.) Sexy is a loud and throaty laugh. Sexy is being flirtatious. Sexy is having sass. Sexy is being smart and not afraid to back down for what you believe in. Sexy is not one size fits all. Sexy is what you fucking make it.

And you know what? You are sexy. You know you are. If you need someone to tell you this, I’ll be the one do do it. Bottom line, sexy is about confidence. Sexy is about being who you are without apology. You may have a regret or two. I have a ton, frankly. I am the kick-ass sexy lady you see today because of the successes and the regrets and because I believe in myself. I am sexy and powerful and own it fiercely. You should too.

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