The truth is women flourish at 40, like a second blossoming.
The self-doubt of a million moments of self-measure slough away a dead skin and what is left is radiant, battle-tested, beautiful - not pure, not dainty, not submissive, no longer bound by bandages over wounds, but real, solid, strong, gorgeous, filled with love measured by fire and hurricane, and a soul come to peace at last, content, at rest, finally, fully herself.