Midlife Surviving or Thriving

Having just turned 45, I find myself reflecting on my forties so far.  I can’t help but wonder when it became ok to accept the poor eyesight, the back pain, the weight gain, the saggy skin, the wrinkles, the cellulite, the grey hairs, the chin hairs, the peeing of my pants a little when I sneeze, cough or laugh…

This is not what I signed up for.  I don’t want to simply get through this, merely surviving.  I want to thrive God damn it!

I realise I have been running on fumes for the last five years.  I no longer bounce out of bed (what does a good night’s sleep even feel like anymore?), I’m constantly tired, my metabolism has gone on strike, and the mirror keeps telling me blatant lies (who even is that old woman staring back at me?). 

So, what is my definition of thriving.  Back in the day it was about doing it all, having a career, family, fitness, a social life and skincare routine.  My main priority now is doing less and not feeling guilty about it.  The dishwasher doesn’t get unpacked, oh well.  If I no longer wear make-up because it gives me an extra 10 minutes in bed each morning, is it laziness?  No darling, it’s self-preservation.  That’s survival.

I’ve accepted that I randomly wake up with injuries I can’t explain, my joints pop like bubble-wrap, and my lower back down-right refuses to work properly unless I bribe it with a heat-pack (what a diva!).

Did I mention the weight gain?  I swear I’ve managed to put on 10 kilograms, all around my middle, and all overnight.  I only need to think about an almond croissant and I put on weight.

Maybe worst of all is that I’ve simply stopped caring.  All my undies are comfy undies, all my pants have stretchy waists, all my shoes are flat, and when did I decide it was ok to wear tracky-pants and Ugg boots out in public?

Sadly, I find moments of joy in having the house to myself, drinking a cuppa before it goes cold and finding a car park right out the front of the supermarket.  Self-care has become sitting in the car for an extra five minutes when I get home to mentally prepare myself for whatever chaos lies inside or secretly eating the Lindt Balls that I’ve hidden from the kids.

This is not the life I envisioned, and whilst it is definitely ok to wear trackies and Uggs sometimes, I am determined to start girl-bossing the shit out of my mid-forties.  Thriving shouldn’t be about just conquering the pile of laundry; it should be about conquering the world!

Watch this space.

Lauren x