As I navigate my 40s, I’ve come to realize that I’ve subconsciously embraced a common belief—that by this stage in life, as a woman in my 40s, I should have attained a certain level of self-acceptance and tranquility. Although I find that I’m less concerned about many of the issues that plagued me in my 20s, I cannot profess to be completely at peace or entirely content with who I am. Doubt and dissatisfaction continue to surface regularly.
There’s a nagging feeling of having fallen short of my own expectations. Whether I’m preparing a snack for my children or tackling a work project, I often feel compelled to do more. Instead of simply presenting a washed apple and calling it a day, I find myself thinking, “Shouldn’t I add more veggies or embellish my writing?” It’s a healthy choice, and the effort of washing the apple signifies thoughtfulness, right? Yet, my inner dialogue is filled with “Yeah, but…” rebuttals:
- “Yeah, but it’s not organic.”
- “Yeah, but they asked for a snack an hour ago.”
- “Yeah, but I still haven’t bought cheese.”
- “Yeah, but I wanted to serve it outside for fresh air.”
- “Yeah, but I don’t even know what we’re having for dinner.”
Despite advising my kids to appreciate what they have and assuring them that their best is sufficient, I struggle to extend that same kindness to myself. I’m constantly moving the goalposts, as if my efforts only matter if I haven’t achieved them yet.
Whether it pertains to fitness, fashion, or my body, meeting my Fitbit step goal is never a victory; there’s always that voice questioning my commitment. After logging extra steps one day, I hear, “Couldn’t you have pushed harder?” I purchase clothes that I think are flattering, yet I scrutinize myself in the mirror, finding faults—thinner, firmer, trendier. I readily encourage friends by saying, “Look at all you accomplish. You are more than enough!” Yet I fail to grant myself that same grace.
Perhaps I fear the implications of being enough. What am I truly searching for? My children don’t concern themselves with the organic status of their apples. Is there a magical moment when I’ll feel accomplished? I seem to be waiting for a moment where I can smile like a TV mom, turn to the camera, and declare, “Now, that’s a snack that makes me feel like a great mom!”
What if, instead of striving for unattainable perfection in my home, I accepted the imperfections, like the lines left from our Christmas tree? What if I overlooked the stain on our picnic blanket from spilled fruit punch? What if I listened to my partner when he lovingly runs his hand along my back and murmurs, “I love this spot”?
I want to wake up each day without detesting my wardrobe and without the feeling that the day is doomed before I even shower. While I acknowledge that I may never entirely stop overthinking or complicating my life, there must be a healthier approach than the one I’ve subjected myself and my family to. I can choose to spend more time appreciating what I have rather than being restless for what I have yet to achieve. Despite my feelings of inadequacy, I recognize the considerable efforts I do make.
I understand that I cannot completely eliminate doubt and irritation from my life, but I can start by lowering my expectations. To begin, I will relinquish the notion that by the time I reach my 40s, I should be perfectly content with myself. It’s a reasonable place to start.
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In summary, while the journey through my 40s might not lead to the peace I expected, I am learning to embrace where I am and recognize the accomplishments I have achieved.