You’re too loud.
You’re too flashy.
You talk too much.
You’re too rowdy.
You’re too opinionated.
You’re too out there.
You’re too intimidating.
You’re too difficult.
You’re too boastful.
You wear fake hair and nails too much.
You don’t dress like normal people.
You’re too ambitious.
You’re too much.
You’re too old to be doing that.
You’re too old to be dressing like that.
Your heels are too high.
Your skirt is too short.
You’re too aggressive.
You take up too much space.
You’re too bossy.
You’re too complex.
You’re too extra.
You’re too outspoken.
You’re too real.

Any of this sound familiar? As a midlife woman coming into the fullness of her life or perhaps on your journey to reinvention, you may have heard this from people a time or two. From friends. Family. Coworkers. Next door neighbors. Haters.

These are the words of people who want to minimize you. Of course that might not be their conscious intention, but whenever you’re referred to as being “too much” of anything, the intent is that you should zip it, tone it down, cover it up, reign it in, shut it off, or just stop altogether.

Storytime.

During my bar-hopping clubbing days when I lived in Atlanta, I met a woman named Kelly. Kelly was a character and she was way out there. Kelly was the life of the party. She was also loud. She was annoying. She was a bit naughty. She was playful. She was spiritual. She was enigmatic. She was feisty. She was Kelly.

I remember one night we were in a club and there was a guy standing with his back to us at the other end of the bar. Something about that man triggered something mischievous in Kelly. As we were standing next to the trays that held lemon wedges, olives, and Maraschino cherries, she picked up a cherry and lobbed it at the back of the guy’s head. I couldn’t believe my eyes.

“Kelly, stop that!” I hissed/giggled.

It didn’t faze her.

Meanwhile, the guy absently swatted at the back of his head like he’d imagined it. Kelly picked up another cherry and let it fly. This time, the guy turned around to see who was throwing stuff at him. Of course, I was culpable by association, so I quickly turned around while trying to stifle laughter fueled by several margaritas over ice.

That was Kelly.

She lived her life so outrageously out loud and made zero apologies for it. She was unapologetically herself and she refused to let anyone minimize her. Kelly called herself The Goofy Guru. She gave spiritual readings, hugs when needed, sage advice even if you didn’t ask for it, and she always, always, spread love wherever she went. She once tried to talk two Jehovah’s Witnesses into wearing Go Pro Cameras on their heads while they were out on their rounds, and to use recyclable hemp paper for their Jesus pamphlets!

That damn Kelly. She was a rare woman who really did dance like no one was watching, opened her heart to everyone, and who spoke her truth – straight, no chaser, and for that I admired the hell out of her.

Kelly’s untimely passing in late 2018 came as a shock to me. I found out while I was at work, at a new job. I blubbered at my desk. I blubbered in the bathroom. I blubbered in the hallway. Finally, I had to pack my bags, leave for the day, and then I blubbered in my car. She had that impact on people.

Kelly ticked a lot of the boxes on the “You’re too…” list above. She lived life on her terms, many times to her detriment. But that never stopped her from being the wonderful nomad that she was.

*    *    *

In this life, as you glide further into midlife and beyond, and you fully embrace the woman you’ve become, you need to be you. You need to own yourself completely. You can’t force yourself to fit into someone’s life on their terms. If you’re the square peg and they’re the round hole, don’t force it. Sometimes you have to get real with yourself and accept that it’s time to move on. That doesn’t mean you alienate yourself from loved ones or age-old friends. But your life must go on.

It’s time to stop minimizing yourself to fit into other people’s lives. Sis, don’t dim your light. One more time for the people in the back:

Don’t you dare dim your light.