That moment you realize the dreaded term “middle-aged” now refers to you…yeah, that happened. I turned 45 last week, and as much as I tried to convince myself I should be feeling celebratory and grateful, all I really wanted to do was stay in my pjs, park myself on the couch, and binge watch Shameless all day.
As much as I’d like to tell you I’ve had some big revelation in the last week that’s shifted my perspective and made everything better, that’s honestly not the case. I’m still pushing my way through the fog, and trying to figure out what it actually means to be moving into midlife.
Everything about who I am, and what I’ve done up to this point in my life is changing, and as much as I’ve grown, I feel the same in so many intangible ways. I’ve been trying to give myself some grace; be still and figure out what my next steps are, but then I feel the weight of the expectations society has about how I’m supposed to feel, what I’m supposed to want, and who I’m supposed to become next bearing down on me. It’s hard to breathe.
I don’t entirely know what this next phase of life holds, and I’m not really sure how I feel about being 45…am I ready for it? Maybe the better question to ask myself is, is 45 ready for me?