Becoming Me At 53

Today is my birthday, and somewhere along the way, August 28th stopped being just another date on the calendar. I renamed it The Dawn of a Goddess because, really, why not? Extra? Maybe. Accurate? Absolutely.

Years ago, while Googling the meanings of my kids’ names, I decided to look up mine too. Erika. Norse. A derivative of Eric. Depending on where you look, the meaning comes back as some variation of eternal ruler, ever powerful, or ruler of all.

The minute I saw “ever powerful” and “ruler of all,” I had questions. More importantly, I had conclusions.

Clearly, this made me a goddess.

Naturally, I couldn’t leave it there, so I looked up my middle name too. Dimitri.

Yes, Dimitri.

My mother clearly had a boy somewhere in her imagination when she named me, but the meaning made the whole thing even better. Dimitri is connected to Demeter, the Greek goddess of agriculture, harvest, fertility, and Mother Earth.

So there I was with a first name tied to power and a middle name connected to a goddess of the earth. At that point, I considered the evidence overwhelming.

Goddess. Case closed.

And that is how August 28th became The Dawn of a Goddess because, really, who am I if not a freaking GODDESS?

La Diosa.

And for those who don’t know, in my mind I am approximately 1/16 Latina through my eyebrows. Please don’t ask for documentation. There isn’t any.

The funny thing is, the actual story behind my name isn’t nearly as majestic.

My mother once told me she got the name Erika from a girl she hated in school.

Yes. Hated.

To this day, I have questions. Of all the people whose name she could have borrowed, she chose somebody she couldn’t stand. Maybe she loved the name that much. Maybe the girl irritated her but had a fabulous name. Unfortunately, my mother isn’t here for me to interrogate about it, so I’m left to laugh at the irony.

I’m absolutely positive she wasn’t thinking, I’m going to name this child Erika because one day she’ll discover it means eternal ruler and decide she’s a goddess.

And yet, here we are.

Maybe names don’t always need an intentional origin story to become meaningful. Sometimes we simply grow into them. A name can be chosen for one reason and gather a completely different meaning through the life of the person carrying it.

Maybe the universe whispers something into a parent's spirit while they're sleeping, driving, washing dishes, flipping through a baby book, holding a grudge against somebody from school, or simply moving through an ordinary day.

The older I get, the more I feel as though I have grown into mine.

Then there is the fact that I am a Virgo, which, depending on how much stock you put into astrology, may explain more than I care to admit.

Virgo is an earth sign, and that connection feels almost too perfect when I think about the themes that continue to show up in my life: growth, roots, tending, nurturing, creating, organizing, refining, and occasionally overthinking the absolute mess out of everything.

Very Virgo of me.

For years, I thought growth meant fixing everything.

Fix the situation. Fix the plan. Fix the problem. Fix myself.

If something felt off, my natural instinct was to examine it from every possible angle until I found the lesson, the flaw, the next move, the backup plan, and possibly a color-coded spreadsheet to go with it.

But at this big age, I'm learning that becoming is not always about fixing.

Sometimes it is about allowing.

Allowing something to end without immediately replacing it. Allowing yourself to rest without making rest another assignment. Allowing a season to be messy. Allowing uncertainty to exist without turning it into a project that needs to be solved by Tuesday.

That lesson has not come easily.

The idea of power feels different to me now than it did years ago. I have no desire to rule over anybody. I have enough to manage in my own life without signing up to run somebody else's.

What interests me now is self-mastery.

Knowing myself well enough to make choices that align with the woman I am becoming.

There is a quiet kind of power in knowing when to speak and when to let silence handle the conversation. In recognizing what deserves access to you and what does not. In understanding that boundaries do not require a closing argument and that loving people does not mean carrying everything they refuse to carry themselves.

I used to think strength had to be obvious. Loud. Unmistakable.

Now I know some of the strongest things I have ever done probably looked completely ordinary from the outside.

Choosing peace.

Starting over.

Changing my mind.

Admitting something no longer fits.

Making a decision without assembling a committee to approve it first.

Maybe that is what Becoming Me at 53 really means.

I am not arriving at some magical finish line where I suddenly have myself completely figured out. Please. I still walk into rooms and forget why I’m there. I am still learning, questioning, creating, changing directions, and dreaming up things that make absolutely no sense until somehow I make them make sense.

I still have conversations with myself that begin with, Girl, what are we doing?

I am still becoming.

The difference is that this version of me trusts herself more.

She is learning that quiet does not automatically mean something is wrong, and peace does not have to be filled simply because there is space available. She understands that every ending does not need to be rushed into a beginning and that she can exist in the middle of healing, releasing, creating, resting, figuring things out, and becoming without assuming she is behind.

Maybe that is where the goddess part actually lives.

Not in being invincible. Not in having every answer. Not in needing everybody else to recognize your power before you are allowed to claim it.

Maybe it lives in simply knowing.

So today, I celebrate another trip around the sun and everything these years have carried with them. The things I survived. The things I outgrew. The lessons I learned the hard way. The things that once made me cry that now barely earn an eyebrow raise.

I have learned that power can be soft, strength does not require hardness, grace sometimes looks like leaving, and growth sometimes looks like rest.

More than anything, I have learned that becoming yourself may be one of the longest, messiest, most beautiful journeys you will ever take.

So yes, August 28th is still The Dawn of a Goddess.

My mother may have chosen my name because of some girl she couldn’t stand, but I have spent 53 years deciding what it means.

The ruler.

The survivor.

The earth sign.

The woman who is learning that everything does not have to be perfect to be worthy.

The woman willing to begin again.

The goddess.

And on this birthday, I think I’m finally beginning to understand her.

Mbrace Moment

Think about the woman you are today compared with the woman you were five, ten, or twenty years ago. What qualities have always been there, even before you had the words to describe them? Which parts of you have softened with age, and which have grown stronger?

Think about what she has survived, what she has learned, and what no longer has the power to shake her the way it once did.

What parts of herself is she finally ready to claim without shrinking, fixing, explaining, or asking anyone else for permission?

You do not have to have arrived.

You do not have to have everything figured out.

You are allowed to celebrate yourself right here, exactly where you are.

In the middle of becoming.