I really believe that to age is a privilege. I think there’s a freedom that comes with it; a gradual loosening of our attachment to what other people think, and to the conventions we once felt obliged to follow. 

We know ourselves a little better. We become more comfortable in our own skin. And we have the benefit of everything we’ve lived through: the joy, the mistakes, the heartbreak, the ordinary days, the extraordinary ones.

All of which leaves us with a deeper understanding of ourselves and of life. 

And then, sometimes, something shifts. 

There’s a restlessness. A feeling that there might be something more. 

You’re probably here because, like me, you’re a woman of a certain age. 

You’ve lived some life. You’ve gathered some wisdom. You’ve probably changed more than you realize. 

And perhaps you’ve started to feel that  nagging sense that there’s more you want from life. Even if you’re not quite sure what that looks like yet. 

You might be bored with your everyday. You might be wondering what’s next. Or you might simply have a feeling that it’s time to pay a little more attention to yourself and what you want. 

There’s nothing wrong with that. You can like your life and still want more. 

The world changes. We change. Our priorities change. 

And I think that’s one of the most interesting things about getting older. We have the opportunity to look at our lives with fresh eyes and decide what comes next. 

That’s what Wild Alchemy is about. 

I was living a happy life. I have a lovely husband, a family I adore, and I did have a small business I was passionate about.  And yet, I started to feel unsettled. I found myself persistently daydreaming about a different way of life. I felt guilty about it because my life was generally good. What was there to complain about? 

But somewhere inside, I knew there was more I wanted to do. More I had to give. The more I pushed that feeling down, the louder it got. 

Then life really did stop me in my tracks. I was diagnosed with cancer. Nothing brings you into sharp focus quite like facing your own mortality. And, shortly after, my business failed. 

Looking for a fresh start, I went to university and trained as a coach. At first, I planned to coach small business owners. It was familiar and safe. But somehow, it didn’t feel right. 

I was helping other people think about what they wanted, while avoiding the question I needed to ask myself: 

What do I actually want my life to feel like? 

So I turned my coaching tools on myself. I stopped. I listened. And I gave myself permission to imagine a life that felt right for me, rather than one that simply looked right from the outside.  And that changed everything. 

I started noticing how many women were experiencing that same midlife restlessness. Women who didn’t necessarily want to blow up their lives. They just knew something needed to change. They wanted more autonomy, more purpose, more energy, more peace. 

And I realised that all the twists and turns of my own life had brought me here. The cancer. The business failure. The questions. The coaching. They had all taught me something about navigating change and creating a life that feels like your own. 

And that’s why I created Wild Alchemy. 

There’s a whole industry built around the idea that getting older is something we need to fix. 

The global anti-ageing industry is worth billions, selling us the promise of staying young through serums, creams, procedures and medication. 

I’m all for looking after yourself. But I also know that we age. We can’t stop it and we can’t outrun it. 

So I’d rather embrace it. 

Age is more than a number. It’s wisdom, experience, knowledge and perspective. It’s everything we’ve lived through and learned along the way. 

The problem with the anti-ageing industry, for me, is that it tries to solve an existential question with a consumer product. 

A cream might soften a wrinkle. But it can’t answer the much more interesting question: 

How do I want my life to feel now? 

That’s the question I’m interested in. 

Because none of us reach midlife untouched. We carry laughter lines, scars, stretch marks, grey hair, old grief and hard-earned wisdom. 

They’re evidence that we’ve lived. 

And perhaps getting older is less about trying to look like we haven’t, and more about deciding what we want to do with all that life experience.