Welcome To Your 40s: You can Be a Little of a Bitch and Blame It on Hormones

Whhooooo it’s been a hot minute. A good friend lovingly harassed me for a story the other day. Well, joke’s on her. I don’t have one. What I do have is a weird list in my head of things I am no longer subscribing to at the age of 45. Have you heard the phrase, “Protect your peace?” That’s where I’m at, and I can’t be the only one, so here goes:

I am consciously limiting time spent with people who drain me instead of give me energy. Allow me to explain: I am fucking IN IT right now. Full-time work, kids (school, sports, social calendar), pets, house, laundry. I’m a coach. My husband (who also works full-time obvi) is taking Master’s classes. We’re trying to be mindful that we don’t have a lot of time left with the kids at home, which means we’re reevaluating how we spend our free (hahahaha) time. The point? Honestly, you don’t have to help me (although that would be nice), but if you’re here to give me more work, or emotional labor, kindly see yourself out. I’m not here for it. You’re just going to make me cranky, and then I can’t be held accountable if I’m rude. And if it’s before I’ve had coffee, Godspeed. Some people just make me groan, literally out loud, when I see their number pop up. I know they just want something from me, and more often than not, I have nothing left to give. And then there are people who give me life. Back in the High Life, you give me fresh air when I’m suffocating. If you have a group chat that makes you laugh out loud like a crazy person, those are your people. See the difference? Drain and energy.

Breaking generational trauma; not for the faint of heart. Poor Gen X. Raised to be seen and not heard. Told we should be grateful for being fed and clothed. Um, hello? That is literally the bare minimum so you don’t go to jail. Locked out of the house in the summer. Some genius had to make a commercial that came on at 10pm reminding our parents that we did indeed exist and they should probably make sure we weren’t dead in a ditch. We tiptoed around our houses so as not to anger a parent. So, Ta Da! This created a generation of anxious perfectionists. Who knew? What does this look like as a parent? House is clean (see perfectionist, above), but my children aren’t slave labor to make it happen. They can learn adult tasks while still being allowed to be kids. They have the whole rest of their lives to be bogged down in bills, work their entire adulthoods away, and generally try to keep their heads above water. It’s the American way! If I make a mistake, I tell them I’m sorry. Have you ever heard of anything so insanely crazy? Hey kids, I’m a human being. I won’t be perfect, but if I am wrong, I will say so. Remember when we were in trouble and too scared to call out parents? No, we’re having none of that. If they are in trouble, mom and dad are their soft landing and we can work the rest out later. We are ride or die over here. Affection: Oh, I’m huggy and kissy. I love you. I’m proud of you. The result of all this nonsense? A teenage boy who puts his arm around me. Kisses me on top of the head when he’s just walking by. Comes home from school and puts a glass of water in front of me while I’m working. “Did you drink enough water today?” This. This is our greatest accomplishment.

I’m not subscribing to any fads or things society tells us we are supposed to do once we hit our forties. My hair is still long out of pure spite. What’s with all the weighted vests bobbing up and down the sidewalks attached to the chests of middle-aged women? Seems fishy. Weird diets. OH MY GOD this makes me mental. Eat food. Carbs are energy. Calories in, calories out, people. I will wear what I want. If I ran forty leven miles this month and I want to wear tiny shorts, WATCH ME.

I’m not martyring myself. The kids don’t need to be enrolled in an activity every second of every day. We don’t need to eat dinner at 5:00. I’m hiring cleaners. We do not need to be out of the house by 9am on a weekend (excluding for sports). This was a hard one to break my husband of. Relax, bro, the world will still exist at 11. Let’s have a chill morning. Mama needs to have coffee and go for a run. For my mental health. Before I throat punch someone. This will protect everyone’s peace. Even so, I know the first group chat I would text to bail me out of jail.

Peace and love, y’all. Stay sane out there.