I’ve always known there was something about 44.

Not just the number.

The weight. The meaning. The symmetry of it all.

Twenty-two doubled. Two fours standing side by side. Forty with something extra.

A woman with history, now adding power.

This year, I’m not just turning 44. I’m swinging 44 with faith, intention, and legacy on my back.

Like Hank Aaron stepping into the batter’s box, I came to hit.

Not because every pitch will be perfect. Not because I have mastered every lesson or eliminated every fear. I came to the plate because life has taught me that waiting until I feel completely ready can become another way of hiding.

I have spent years surviving curves I never saw coming. Some changed my body. Some challenged my faith. Some required me to release people, places, positions, and versions of myself I thought I would carry forever.

But the curves did not end my story.

They taught me how to adjust my stance.

They showed me that strength is not always loud and that courage does not require the absence of fear. Sometimes courage is simply deciding to swing while your hands are still trembling.

This is the year I stop asking life to be soft and start asking myself to be ready to meet each moment with everything I have survived and everything I am still becoming.

At 44, I am no longer interested in shrinking so other people can remain comfortable. I am not explaining every boundary, apologizing for every no, or abandoning myself to prove that I can be everything for everyone.

This is the year I reclaim joy in my bones.

The year I say “no” with my full chest.

The year I write my way back to truth, even when my hands tremble.

The year I trust that being chosen begins with choosing myself.

There is something sacred about arriving at an age you once took for granted. I know now that every birthday is evidence. Every year carries the names of prayers answered, battles survived, lessons learned, and people whose love helped us make it home.

So I enter 44 with gratitude but not passivity.

I am grateful to be here, and I intend to do something meaningful with here.

I want to live awake. I want to explore the city that is becoming home. I want to serve where God has planted me. I want to speak even when my voice shakes, create without waiting for permission, and make room for other women to recognize the strength in their own stories.

I want to laugh loudly, love honestly, rest without guilt, and stop treating joy like something I must earn.

Swing 44 is not about pretending I am fearless. It is about refusing to let fear make every decision.

It is about stepping forward with the understanding that some days will sound like the crack of the bat and some days will feel like strikeouts.

But every day will be mine.

Every swing will teach me something.

Every curve will require something new from me.

And every time I return to the plate, I will return with greater wisdom, deeper faith, and a clearer understanding of who I am.

Hank Aaron’s 44 represents more than a number to me. It represents consistency, courage, dignity, and the willingness to keep swinging while carrying more than the people watching may ever understand.

That is the spirit I am carrying into this year.

Not performance. Purpose.

Not perfection. Presence.

Not proving. Becoming.

This is Swing 44.

This is the year I stop whispering my worth.

This is the year I walk like I’m already chosen.

This is the year I maintain my best Curv3—my smile—not because life promises to be easy, but because I now understand that joy can travel with me through every curve.

I am 44.

I am at the plate.

And I came to swing.