As I navigate through my 40s, I’ve come to realize I’ve unintentionally subscribed to a common belief: that by this age, I should have a sense of contentment and tranquility. Sure, I’m less worried about the trivial matters that used to consume me in my 20s, but complete peace of mind? Not quite. Doubts and dissatisfaction still make regular appearances in my life.
There’s this nagging feeling that I haven’t accomplished what I ought to have by now. Whether it’s whipping up a snack for my kids or crafting an article for work, I find myself constantly striving for perfection—adding just one more veggie or embellishing my words when really, a simple “Here’s an apple. I washed it” would suffice. It’s nutritious, thoughtful, and a great choice, right?
Yet, my mind chimes in with a chorus of “Yeah, but…”:
- Yeah, but it’s not organic.
- Yeah, but they asked for a snack ages ago.
- Yeah, but I still need to buy cheese.
- Yeah, but I wanted to set this up outside for some fresh air.
- Yeah, but what’s for dinner?
I tell my kids to appreciate what they have, that their best efforts are enough, yet I struggle to extend the same kindness to myself. I keep pushing the limits, convinced that nothing I do is valuable unless I’ve achieved some elusive milestone.
There’s no “here” in my world—only a constant chase for “one day” or “someday.” I often find myself overexerting, whether it’s pushing my fitness goals or scrutinizing my wardrobe. Achieving my daily step goal doesn’t feel like a win; there’s always that voice questioning if I could have done more. I buy clothes I think will flatter me, only to return home and dissect every perceived flaw—thinner, firmer, trendier. It’s frustrating because I’m the same friend who tells others, “Look at everything you’ve accomplished! You’re more than enough!”
Is it possible that I’m afraid of actually being enough? What am I searching for? My kids certainly aren’t fretting over whether the apples are organic. Do I expect fireworks when I finally tick off every box? It feels like I’m waiting for a moment where I can turn to an imaginary camera and declare, “Now, that’s a snack that makes me feel like a fantastic mom!”
What if, instead of frantically trying to achieve an impossible level of perfection in my home, I embraced the quirks—like the lines left from our too-tall Christmas tree? What if I accepted the stain on the picnic blanket where we spilled fruit punch? What if I believed my partner when he says, “I love this part of you”?
I long for mornings when I don’t loathe my entire wardrobe or feel like the day is doomed before I even shower. I know I probably won’t completely stop overthinking or complicating life, but surely there must be a better way than the endless cycle of self-criticism I’ve trapped myself and my family in. I could spend more time enjoying what I have instead of being restless over what I haven’t achieved. Because, despite my doubts about productivity, there’s so much I am actually doing.
While I can’t magically erase all the worries, I can start by lowering my expectations. First up: letting go of the idea that by this age, I should have it all figured out. It’s a pretty solid starting point if you ask me!
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Summary
As I journey through my 40s, I grapple with the internal pressure to find peace and satisfaction. While I’ve shed some worries from my younger years, I often find myself caught in a cycle of self-criticism and unattainable standards. I strive to embrace the imperfections of life and learn to appreciate what I have, rather than fixating on what I believe I lack.