Exactly six months ago, I celebrated turning thirty-nine—happy half birthday to me!
Last month, I explained the nine-ender phenomenon and shared some tips for younger women to glean as their time comes. Today centers how the energy behind the number three is manifesting for me again, a third time, at 39.
This third decade has been a unique time for me to discern and operationalize the magic nestled inside the number three—specifically ages 33, 36, and 39. These pivotal moments are what made my thirties uniquely special and necessarily life-changing. Originally, I bought into the urban legend, but now that I have reached these three birthdays, I can attest to them all through my personal experience.
REVISITING MY THIRTIES: 33, 36, 39
At thirty-three, my Jesus Year signified a rebirth. I spent the year rediscovering my identity as a woman and mother post-divorce. From 33 to 35, I focused on my purpose and personal story: relocating from Atlanta to DC, accepting a position in higher education, dating, falling in love, starting a business and brand, and applying to a doctoral program. Unsure if this transformative energy would return, I believed in the magic of three, anticipating its resurgence at 36. This foresight allowed me to embrace the current and coming changes in my life more intentionally, because that magic-of-three energy did return, and I was ready.
Starting at thirty-six, I began to reclaim what needed to be sacrificed three years earlier during my initial transformation. This particular transition taught me to transcend my hyper-independent ego, gracefully accepting the new Joyice who emerged. From just before 36 and through 39, I remarried, blended my family and froze embryos, purchased a beautiful home, forged new friendships, launched a podcast, sent my eldest son to college, and began to establish myself as a trusted dating and relationship professional in industry and within the academy. I do not know what it is about thirty-six, but that year taught me how to get over myself and give myself grace at the same time. Your unchecked ego dies {if you want to kill it} and you’re free to accept the “what is” more maturely, more matter of factly.
Reflecting on my eighth grade self, my favorite teacher, Mrs. Willie Gibson—a strict, grandmotherly-type Black woman who taught English—introduced me to the concept of “magenta-colored glasses.” She described my youthful perspective and kindly, but frankly warned that eventually, my magenta-colored glasses and I would face a necessary confrontation. At 39, Mrs. Gibson’s wisdom resonated, guiding me to not just reclaim but to redeem. While I kept my optimism, I traded my idealism for reality. I learned that redemption requires reconciliation, and both demand an introspective examination. It was me v. me. I needed to make shalom with the woman I hoped to be—letting go of the former and fully loving the new woman I am.
For example, I had hoped to only marry once, but that did not happen, despite all that I gave to make it so. In that space between who you hoped to be and who you are, a distance sneaks in that you’re responsible for closing. I learned that faith is not about telling yourself stories but about accepting your truth. So, I released my attachment to what I thought being once-married meant and accepted that it was not my station. I worked my way through the embarrassment and disappointment and it led to my second chance: I chose a man who does not just love me but respects healthy commitment and stable longevity the way that I do. I did not need to hold on to an identity that no longer fit—freeing myself of denial or fear. Nor claim an identity I had yet to become—protecting myself from undetected lies posing as “faith.” Instead, I only had to accept what is and process my way through its end.
I woke up to my thirty-ninth birthday knowing this would be my work in the final year of my third decade. Halfway through it, I understand that redemption can breed compassion, and when you give it to yourself, it creates a capacity inside of you to also extend it to others. More of a magic-of-three believer this third time around, I trusted the energy would return with force at 39—and it has. But first, can I tell you about the power of three?
UNDERSTANDING THE POWER OF THREE
I adore the energy that three brings to the party; but it is important to understand the value of one and two as well to truly appreciate its power.
One represents unity, that simple kind of peace where everything feels calm because nothing is interrupting it. Like when you’re by yourself and nothing is pulling you in different directions. As a firstborn, I fancy the simplicity of one. There is something unmatched about being unto yourself; and the space created for you to exist as the only one {even if just for a spell} is a special treat all on its own.
Two, though, is where complexity appears—duality, tension, and the duty of ebb and flow to balance different things at once. As a person born under a Gemini sky, I live here, displaying aptness for sorting intricacies, ambivalence, and other big feelings. A gift, they say.
Three is a blend, where both sides exist, yet work in sync–not focused too much on balance but calibration. As such, three-stranded cords are not so easily broken. Halfway into my thirty-ninth year, I am learning ownership. Not personal or relational ownership–I was blessed with those years ago–though they do apply. But, universal ownership in humans just being human, and in humans just doing what humans do. It’s coming together with the other major self-development and maturation milestones I’ve experienced in my thirties: realize, accept, own.
ACCEPTING THAT PEOPLE ARE FULLY HUMAN
Have you ever read a social media post or meme that laments about “people”? These creators often spotlight a universal human flaw or a specific weakness within a particular group. What strikes me is that the original posters—and those who share their content—express their frustration as if they’ve never been, or could never be, guilty of that same flaw. They critique humanity while excluding themselves, as though they’re not part of the very group they condemn.
As I grow older, these posts increasingly irk my spirit—not because I can’t relate to the emotions or experiences being shared, but because of the exclusion. It highlights how easy it is for us to play judge about others’ behavior while playing attorney to defend our own—and I don’t like this about us. In my youth, I might have agreed with such posts, understanding the frustration when others criticize, share their unsolicited opinions, disappoint with their mistakes, put their foot in their mouths, or sever ties. Yet, haven’t we all, at some point, done the same to someone else? Even if we believe we haven’t, it’s easy to imagine ourselves in those shoes.
I certainly have.
Yes, I have been or felt overlooked, slighted, or wronged, but also I’m sure I’ve done the same to others—whether intentionally or not. It’s likely I have both debited from my “good person” account. It’s impossible to rule out that someone, for any reason, might rightfully hold something negative against me. To deny this would be disingenuous, and too prideful for my taste.
Jonathan McReynolds, a gospel artist, captures this idea in his hit song, “People.” While his tone initially feels exclusionary, resonating with the frustrations of dealing with others’ opinions and criticisms, he makes the connection toward the end. Instead of only flaw-picking at others, he acknowledges his own faults with the line: “Forgive me when I’m one of those people.”
He seems to get it.
REALIZING THE DIFFERENCE: BALANCE V. CALIBRATE
We resist seeing ourselves as “bad” or “evil,” but Jonathan reflects the humble yet harsh reality of who we truly are in his opening line: “They [humans] are the best and the worst You’ve created.”
I’ve certainly been both.
Humans struggle to balance our good nature, evil inclination duality. Despite the many of us who claim to be “honest” people, we often believe we’re better than, more than, or different than we are, so we present a less-than-accurate version of ourselves, even if unknowingly. Yes, our psychology—how we’re wired and rewired—often trumps our morality, and we do not like that or care to admit it. The most impactful lesson I am learning is how to calibrate. I’ve been socialized in the culture of balance, and while beneficial {especially as a first step}, over time, I find it exhausting and sometimes unsatisfying.
Balancing involves maintaining equilibrium among various elements, ensuring that no single part overwhelms the others: allocating time and energy between career ambitions, family responsibilities, and self-care. It’s supposed to help prevent burnout and promote well-roundedness because each part seemingly receives the attention it deserves.
Calibrating, on the other hand, is about making specific adjustments and continuous improvements to fine-tune specific areas for optimal performance and alignment: reassessing priorities, refining strategies, and tweaking your habits to better support your vision and realize your aspirations. It requires a more targeted and intentional effort to enhance particular aspects of your life, based on feedback and self-reflection.
WEAVING MY OWN THREE-STRANDED CORDS
Age thirty-nine teaches me to expand my capacity for humanity, especially our psychological makeup. I am not necessarily advocating forgiveness or being silent about the disappointing ways of people, but to understand that given certain circumstances, humans act according to their nature—some manifestation of good and evil. To quote comedian Chris Rock, “the tiger went tiger!” This realization prevents me from only seeing the speck in another person’s eye while possibly missing the beam in mine. I do not share that to highlight hypocrisy but to raise compassion. So, this season of my life is more about fostering that compassion and exercising personal caution. Two decades of adult living, coupled with my training in psychology and social processes, have taught me to embrace humanity without excluding myself from it because I have found fault in somebody’s human behavior—even when my finding is “more righteous.”
Around thirty-three, I began to realize this phenomenon. By thirty-six, I accepted it. Now, at thirty-nine, I own it. It’s my personal three-stranded cord, forged through living my third decade.
As a teenager, I recall sitting in adult spaces with older women who dished out sage advice. I could not quite thread the needle from how I saw the matter and what they were suggesting. This is when I was introduced to what I now know is a common Black old-folk saying, “Honey, just keep on living.” Attracted to their confidence and peace, I tucked their wisdom away hoping to make sense of it as I aged. I now realize that they were not operating in defeat, but in retreat–particularly with the facts of life that yield the feeling of “it is what it is.” The ease and speed it takes to arrive at this state boosts confidence, fosters peace, and lowers stress. These seasoned Black women were the OGs of unbothered. They lived long lives, and some of them still live among me today. So, I am taking a page out of their book again. I am sure their wisdom will continue to download throughout my life, but for 39, I let humans human.
Borrowing McReynolds’ language, I have been “peopled” and I have “peopled”—both true, as I am merely a person who interacts with other persons. Acknowledging that I can be a source of someone else’s discomfort or disappointment has been incredibly humbling. It encourages me to practice kindness, caution, and understanding together—a new three-stranded cord weaving together for me this year.
PAYING IT FORWARD
While mother wit takes up much space in our oral tradition, Black women do not always have access to other trusted experiences available to them about female maturation and womanhood. I want to change this. We cannot afford to be a group of women who are clueless about what to know and expect generation after generation. Part of my legacy is to create, over time, these kinds of blueprints for younger generations to refer to while navigating their many milestones of Black female adult life. As I celebrate what remains of my third decade, I invite younger women to apply my hindsights as your foresights in approaching these thirty-something milestones. These years are not just numbers but powerful opportunities for rebirth, purpose, and self-discovery. The thirties offer a tapestry of experiences that empower us to live fully and authentically. May it be well with you.
We grow as we go,
