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I’m Not Middle-Aged
The big 4-0 is creeping up on me, and I can feel it without even glancing at a calendar. My hair has started to show more grey (thanks for that, nature!) and those laugh lines just won’t smooth out. I’ve noticed a little wobble that would make even the most seasoned of celebrities jealous. Yep, I’m definitely aging.
But I’m not ready to label myself as middle-aged. When does that even happen? My mom considered herself middle-aged at 25, while my husband’s grandma thought she hit that mark at 51 and a half. Sure, you can define middle age by age, but it’s really more of a mindset—a period of existential crisis and self-doubt. And honestly, I’m just not buying into that.
In fact, I feel like I’ve only truly started living in the last few years.
Like most folks, my early childhood memories are pretty sparse. I remember pouring sand into a tree trunk because my best friend claimed it would help it grow back (spoiler alert: she was wrong), and that time I stuck my fingers down my throat and was shocked by the outcome (you can probably guess). I even recall the moment I was lured back home from running away with the promise of a peanut butter cup—classic kid logic!
I’ve moved past the awkwardness of my pre-teen years. Sometimes, I think about those cringe-worthy teen moments and wish I could relive them—not because I’m crazy and think middle school was a blast, but because if I knew then what I know now, things would be different. For starters, I would absolutely crush it in English class. I would have the confidence to realize that everyone—yes, everyone—feels like a huge awkward mess in eighth grade. I’d stand up for those who were treated poorly without a second thought to my social standing. I’d seek out what truly interested me without worrying about others’ opinions. And yes, I would’ve definitely ditched the high-topped sneakers and started wearing deodorant a bit earlier, but that’s neither here nor there.
My 20s were a whirlwind of learning—college, law school, and then jumping headfirst into adulthood. I was figuring out how to apply my skills, navigate new cities solo, manage my finances, and even know when to walk away from a relationship that just wasn’t right. It was all about discovering who I really was.
Then came my early 30s—a wild ride filled with pregnancy, nursing, and trying to figure out what to do with these tiny humans I was responsible for. It was sleepless nights, endless second-guessing, and a whole lot of “am I doing this right?”
Now, having settled into my late 30s, I’m finding my stride. I’ve carefully chosen my friends and my partner—really great choices, if I may say so. I’m good at my job, and I’m raising three incredible little humans. I’m also making time for things that keep me happy and healthy, like running, knitting, and writing.
Sure, my body shows the marks of this hard-earned confidence. My eyesight isn’t what it used to be, thanks to countless hours in law school and in front of a screen. My face has the laughter lines of a person who enjoys life a little too much. My stomach has never been flat, and my breasts have changed thanks to three pregnancies and three years of breastfeeding. Oh, and my heel is perpetually sore from all the miles I’ve logged.
But I’m not naive—I know my learning isn’t over yet. Honestly, if it were, I’d be kind of terrified. What fun would life be without new experiences? I have a feeling there are plenty of bumps ahead, especially when my kids hit their teenage years. I’m sure I’ll gather more “battle scars” along the way.
If I’m lucky, middle age is still a ways off. There’s so much I want to see, do, and learn. So, what choice do I have but to embrace these scars? They’re certainly better than the alternative. Sure, I might glance in the mirror and wish for a younger-looking face. I might grumble at the grey hairs that seem to defy gravity. Sometimes, I even press my fingers against my cheeks, hoping for a tighter look. But at the end of the day, I’m proud to be on the edge of 40, ready to truly live.
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Summary:
As I approach 40, I reflect on my journey through awkward adolescence, the learning experiences of my 20s, and the chaotic yet fulfilling years of parenting. While I embrace the changes my body has gone through, I refuse to label myself as middle-aged. Instead, I’m excited for what the future holds and ready to continue living life to the fullest.