THE BOUNCE I NEVER KNEW I HAD

(a memoir blast)

I look at myself now in such a different way. I don’t think I ever saw myself as young, bouncy, buoyant — but I was. Bouncy cheeks. Bouncy boobs. Bouncy bum. Bouncy personality. I bounced everywhere, doing everything, saying yes to every activity, every moment, every version of myself. I didn’t realise the buoyancy of my body or my persona. I didn’t know that was part of my magic.

Now, when I’m driving, when I’m out, when I see younger women, I have no envy. None. I don’t want to be young. I don’t want treatments. I don’t want to change myself. I just watch the bounce — the glow, the ease — and I realise I wish I’d known I had it. I wish I’d known that was my best then, not my best ever. Because my best now is different. My best now is learned, lived, layered.

But I wish I’d seen myself clearly back then: the young elastic body, the full‑house hormones, the oestrogen glow, the cheeks that moved in the wind, the hair that flowed without effort, the skin that didn’t carry stress or experience or the weight of everything I’ve lived through since.

I wish I had a video of my younger self walking down the street, pushing Courtney in his pushchair, without a care in the world — even though I had a million cares. But in my body, my walk, my gait, my hair, my flow, my go, my hormonal fullness… I was buoyant. I was bouncing. I was beautiful in ways I didn’t know how to see.

And so to all of you out there who are buoyant — to the youth, to the glow, to the females full of oestrogen, to the bounce, to the not‑a‑care‑in‑the‑world body even when the mind is full — I salute you. I hope you salute yourself.