Better. Not Bitter.

What do you think gets better with age?

Me.

Not my back, not my eyesight, and definitely not my tolerance for bullshit, because that’s completely vanished.

But my sense of self? My standards? My ability to spot red flags without needing to see the entire parade?

Elite.

With age, you stop bending yourself into shapes to fit into places you’ve outgrown. You realise that peace isn’t found in performance, or in chasing people who leave you on read all day then suddenly remember you exist at 11pm. (Hi, absolutely not.)

You start trusting your gut. Saying no without a spreadsheet of excuses. Leaving the party early, or not going at all, because you finally understand that rest is productive too.

You stop seeing silence as rejection and start recognising it as clarity.

And you learn, often the hard way, that some people don’t deserve access to you just because they had it once.

So yeah. I get better with age.

Sharper. Softer in the right places. Louder where it matters.

Still a work in progress. But no longer a doormat with a smile.

And if that’s not ageing gracefully, I don’t know what is.