It feels important to say that out loud, because birthdays in our 60s carry weight. They ask us to pause, reflect, and sometimes wrestle with the questions we thought would be answered by now.
I’ll be honest: staring down my 60th birthday was hard. I wondered if I would ever amount to anything when I still didn’t know what I wanted to be when I “grew up.” And even now, the days aren’t always clear. The struggle is real. But I continue to surprise myself — because when I dig deep, my creative spirit still rises. She still wants to find a way to leave a social legacy.
This year, that legacy begins with a new project at @thecharlotteaffects:
✨ Growing to Glow: Letters Unwritten ✨
📚 It’s an anthology-in-progress, a gathering of voices and art from women 50+ who are willing to share their truth. Think of it as “letters between women” — honest, imperfect, hopeful, and real.
To begin, I want to share my own letter to my younger self.
September 25, 2025
Dear Charlotte Marta,
You’re 33. Jamie is 7 and Christopher is 4. The marriage ended just a few years back, and though you rarely admit it, the weight of being a single mum feels crushing at times. After 7½ years as a stay-at-home mum, you’ve stepped back into the workforce — trying to prove yourself all over again while still carrying the load at home. You’re holding a whole world together with string and determination. You tell yourself you’ll figure out who you are later — after the lunches are packed, after the bills are paid, after the boys are settled.
I’m writing to you now on the day you turn 67. Yes — you make it here. But I want to tell you something I wish you’d known earlier: it’s okay not to know what you want to be when you “grow up.” That question will follow you for decades. On the eve of turning 60, it will crash over you with a weight that leaves you wondering if you’ve missed your chance. You’ll worry you don’t matter, that you’ll never find your thing.
But here’s the truth: you never stop becoming. You don’t peak at 33, or 60, or even 66. Each decade something cracks open in you. At times, the days will feel foggy, and the struggle will be real — but you’ll be amazed at how your creative spirit refuses to stay buried. It keeps rising, pulling you forward, urging you to leave a mark.
At 67, I don’t have all the answers. But I know this: you are building a legacy with every risk you take, every story you share, every time you say “yes” to the possibility of more. You’re not finished. You’re still glowing. And the best part? The next chapter is still unwritten.
With love from the future,
Marty
(you will always be that little girl, born in 1958)
This is where Growing to Glow: Letters Unwritten begins — with my story. But the next pages are meant to be filled with yours.
If you are a woman in your 50s, 60s, or beyond, I invite you to contribute:
• ✍️ Write a letter (300–500 words) — to your younger self, your older self, or to another woman.
• 🎨 Share your art — a drawing, painting, photo, or textile piece that reflects your second act.
Together, we’ll create a first edition of Growing to Glow — about 20–25 pages — that will become both an anthology and a beacon. Something to hold, share, and show what happens when women write themselves into the story.
• Send your letter or art to proage@stylewithcharlotte.com
• Deadline: December 1, 2025
• Please include your name (or let me know if you prefer to remain anonymous), your city/country, and a short 2–3 sentence bio.
As I say goodbye to 66 and step into 67, I know the rest is still unwritten (a truth that landed for me with such clarity when Natasha Bedingfield’s “Unwritten” played on my playlist recently, confirming this idea of gathering women’s letters as our next chapter together).
I can’t wait to see what we write.
With love,
Charlotte
I want to tell you something I wish you’d known earlier: it’s okay not to know what you want to be when you “grow up.” 
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