I’ve been trying to assess all the changes I’m experiencing, both mentally and physically, into one all-encompassing phrase, and this is what I’ve come to: middle age is wild.
At 46, I feel empowered and strong, yet uneasy about platitudes and the false sense of security I have grown accustomed to. One moment, I look in the mirror, satisfied that I’ll never fold to Botox or fillers, and the next, I’m googling reviews for both. I feel accomplished as a mother in the morning, and in the afternoon, I throw my hands up while trying and failing at making dinner for my boys.
Before you jump in the comments about HRT, protein intake, and face masks, I know. I am also on the internet. Instead, today, I offer a vantage point that maybe women of a certain age (us) aren’t considering. I am offering this because the thought came to me this morning, and it felt true and clear.
Next year, I will have outlived my father, who passed away at 47. I know that’s young, but I’m not alone. Many of us are reaching the stage where we face these milestones. We ask ourselves questions about when our parents developed chronic diseases like diabetes, or when our mothers entered menopause. We learn the facts and tuck them away to replay them in the middle of the night, because let’s face it, none of us are sleeping through the night.
We doom scroll, we worry, we cry.
From my vantage point this morning, while reaching for my toes in a long and necessary stretch, I saw the future differently. A stretch that, thanks to a GLP1, felt good for the lack of effort it required. I exhaled and tucked my knees in for a hug. I was overcome with gratitude for being this age, for feeling these feelings, and for knowing that the small stuff is tiny, and this one life is massive.
I showered, put on my face, leather, suede, and cashmere. I don’t know what my future is, but today, I don’t need to. Today, I don’t need the answers, and neither do you. Today, I’m going to work, and I’m going to win. And that, for now, is enough.
