As I approach the big 4-0, I can feel it creeping up on me. I can see the evidence in the mirror: more grey hairs that seem to have taken on a life of their own (thanks for that, Mother Nature!) and laugh lines that refuse to fade. I’ve even started to notice a little waddle—something that would make any character from a sitcom proud. Yes, time is marching on, but I’m not ready to label myself as middle-aged just yet.
The truth is, no one really knows when middle age begins. My mom felt it at 25, while my husband’s grandmother hit that milestone at 51 and a half. Middle age can be defined by numbers, but it’s mostly a concept—a period often filled with crises and self-doubt. Well, I’m not buying into that notion. In fact, I feel like I’ve really just begun to embrace life in the last few years.
My early childhood memories are a blur. I remember trying to grow a tree by pouring sand into its trunk (thanks for nothing, best friend!), the surprise of what happened when I stuck my fingers down my throat (yikes!), and being lured back home with the promise of a peanut butter cup (works every time!). But much of that time is a distant fog.
I’ve escaped the awkward phase of my tweens. Reflecting on those turbulent early teen years, I sometimes wish I could relive them—not because I’m crazy enough to think middle school was a blast, but because I would approach it with the wisdom I’ve gained. I would ace English class, stand up for those who were bullied, and chase my goals without worrying about fitting in. And I definitely would’ve ditched those high-topped sneakers and started using deodorant way earlier.
My 20s were all about growth. It was a whirlwind of college, law school, and stepping into the real world, learning how to navigate new cities and manage money wisely. It was a time of figuring out when to walk away from relationships that weren’t serving me and discovering who I really was.
Then came my early 30s, a chaotic blend of diapers, sleepless nights, and a lot of breastfeeding. I was constantly worried about whether I was doing everything correctly, questioning my every move.
Now, as I settle into my late 30s, I’m finally finding my stride. I’ve carefully chosen my friends and partner, and I feel confident in my career. I’m raising three incredible kids and making time for things that nourish my soul—like running, knitting, and writing.
My body tells the story of my hard-earned confidence. My eyesight has seen better days, thanks to those long nights studying law. My face bears the marks of laughter, and my stomach? Well, let’s just say it’s never going to be flat again after three pregnancies! And don’t even get me started on my heel—permanently in a state of plantar fasciitis from all those miles I’ve logged.
I’m not foolish enough to think my journey of learning is over. I’d be terrified if it were! What would life be without the thrill of new experiences? I know there are plenty of bumpy roads ahead, especially as my own children navigate their teenage years. I’m sure I’ll accumulate more battle scars to reflect upon in the mirror.
If I’m lucky, true middle age is still a ways off. I have so much I want to achieve and discover. So, what’s the alternative to embracing these battle scars? They’re certainly better than the alternative. Sure, I might look in the mirror and wish for a younger face or curse those rebellious grey hairs. I might even pinch my cheeks to envision a firmer jawline. But I’m proud to be on the cusp of 40, ready to truly live.
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In summary, as I near 40, I refuse to label myself as middle-aged. My life has been a journey of learning, growth, and self-discovery, filled with laughter and the occasional battle scar. I’m excited about what lies ahead and ready to embrace every moment.