My biggest fear is growing older. And death. I think about it almost every day.

The fear got louder after I turned 40. I’m 45 now. And some days, I can’t even look in the mirror without crying. I don’t recognize the reflection looking back at me. I grieve the parts of myself I didn’t appreciate more when I had them: the plump, wrinkle-free skin, the full hair, the muscled body, the pain-free joints. The energy. The lightness.

I wish I had soaked it in.

I thought I had time.

But time has a way of fast-forwarding when you’re not paying attention. And society hasn’t exactly been kind about aging. It teaches us that every wrinkle is a flaw, every gray hair a problem to be fixed. We’re told to erase the signs of living instead of celebrating them. We’re sold shame disguised as self-care. We’re told to spend thousands of dollars on treatments, injections, surgeries—instead of experiences, presence, and joy.

We are taught to treat aging as something to battle. As if the goal is to freeze time on our faces, while our lives race by unnoticed. We’re praised for looking younger, shamed for looking “our age,” and sold fixes for every wrinkle we’ve earned. But here’s the truth. I look my age, because I am my age. And I want that to be enough.

I’m not meant to look 25. I’m 45. And that’s a privilege. Every wrinkle, every grey hair is a receipt for the life I’ve lived. A badge I’ve earned. And too many people never get the chance to wear that badge.

I should be grateful for this life. For the memories that are full of joy. But sometimes I feel like all I’m doing is reminiscing about joy instead of living it.

I miss my past self. I miss the freedom of youth. The recklessness. The magic. I miss high school. I miss college. My first kiss. Holding my newborn son in my arms. And when I sit with that long enough, it doesn’t just ache with sadness—it aches with longing.

I wish I had taken more risks. Been more present. More patient. Calmer. I wish I had travelled more. Celebrated more. Loved myself more. I wish I had spent more time with the people I love and less time trying to prove myself to people who didn’t matter.

The truth is, I have a wish list.

But this isn't a regret list.

Because when I look back, I don't regret the life I lived. Every decision, heartbreak, and detour shaped me into the person I am today. Every wound taught me something. Every hardship deepened my capacity to feel. And without all of those things—the messy, beautiful, painful moments—would I even be Holly?

This is my wish list, not because I regret the past, but because I want the rest of my life to be lived on purpose. It's my compass now. A reminder of what matters most. A way to honour the road behind me by walking forward with more care, more clarity, and more courage.

Because I don’t want to be on my deathbed with regrets.

Bronnie Ware, a palliative care nurse who spent years caring for people in their final days, wrote about the top five regrets of the dying. They weren’t about money. Or achievements. Or how much they weighed. The most common regrets were:

I wish I’d had the courage to live a life true to myself, not the life others expected of me.

I wish I hadn’t worked so hard.

I wish I’d had the courage to express my feelings.

I wish I had stayed in touch with my friends.

I wish I had let myself be happier.

Reading that list breaks something open in me. Because every single one of those could be mine too. And they don’t have to be. Not yet.

So maybe this is the turning point. Maybe we start now. Not over. Just differently.

More connection. More presence. More living.

Because I don’t want to spend the rest of my life wishing I had lived it.

I want to be 80 and look back knowing I spent more time loving than apologizing, laughing than performing, connecting than comparing.

I want to be 80 and say: I was, and always was able to be, unapologetically me.

Therapeutic Art Activity: Before It’s Too Late

Before It’s Too Late is a guided art activity for anyone who doesn’t want to look back with regret. It’s a simple but powerful way to name the things you’ve been putting off—what you want to say, do, feel, or remember—before time slips past. Print the two-page PDF and use it to get clear on what matters most right now, so you don’t leave the important things unsaid or undone.

• A printout of the worksheet

• A pen, pencil, or coloured markers How to Use This Activity:

Step 1: Download and print the two-page PDF.

Step 2: On the first page, fill the hourglass with the things you don’t want to leave unsaid, undone, or unclaimed.

Write or draw inside the hourglass: • Words you’ve been meaning to say • People you miss • Joys you’ve postponed • Dreams you’ve shelved • Moments you keep waiting for the “right time” to live

Step 3: If you’re feeling stuck, turn to page two. Use the reflection prompts to explore your thoughts more deeply. Step 4: Keep your hourglass somewhere visible—as a reminder to live on purpose and not wait for the “right time.”

I Look My Age T-Shirt

I don’t want to be ashamed of looking my age. I want to be proud of it. Because growing older is a privilege—and I want to wear that truth on my chest.

That’s why I made this shirt.

On the front: Proudly Growing Older/Established 1979 — a powerful declaration of self-acceptance.

On the back: a printed receipt for a life well lived—complete with love, loss, mistakes, growth, and everything in between.

It’s customizable with your birth year. Because this isn’t just a shirt. It’s a badge. For every year you’ve earned. For every wrinkle that came with wisdom. For choosing to grow, instead of hide.

If this message speaks to you, wear it with me. Let’s start a movement that says: I look my age—and that’s something to be proud of. #ilookmyage