Today, I blew out the candles on my birthday cake, a grand total of 46 flickering flames. Typically, I’d throw in a playful quip about needing a fire extinguisher, but honestly, 46 has hit me harder than I anticipated.
Sure, it’s not a milestone birthday. You won’t find any “Over the Hill at 46” party favors, and no one has asked me if this year feels different. So why, over the past few weeks, have I found myself grappling with this number?
Perhaps it’s the realization that I can no longer claim to be in my “early 40s.” I’m officially in the “mid-40s” zone, creeping ever closer to the dreaded big five-oh. Just four short years stand between me and that milestone.
When I gaze into the mirror, I don’t see a senior citizen staring back. Sure, there are a few lines around my eyes (call them crow’s feet if you must; they don’t bother me). I’ve kept active, and my body has remained somewhat toned. However, there are definitely areas that jiggle far more than they used to—hello, new yoga poses that force me to take a closer look at my cottage cheese thighs!
My joints are also showing signs of wear and tear. Some months, I visit my chiropractor so often, I’m convinced he should be sending me thank-you notes for his new luxury car! My back, hips, and knees are all feeling the effects of middle age.
But it’s not the physical changes of 46 that trouble me. Instead, I find myself increasingly aware of my own mortality.
To be completely candid, I’m frightened of dying.
This fear infiltrates my thoughts, turning the mundane into the catastrophic. That occasional cough? It must be lung cancer from the secondhand smoke I inhaled years ago. That throbbing in my head? Definitely a brain tumor. And those creaky joints? Surely a sign of something far worse. (A quick Google search could lead me to believe it’s lupus, bone cancer, or muscular dystrophy.)
I know my worries aren’t rational. Statistically, I’m likely to age gracefully. I eat well, exercise regularly, and have incorporated fish oil and turmeric into my diet. I see the dermatologist twice each year for skin cancer checks, and my cholesterol is tested annually. My parents are both incredibly healthy for their ages—my dad is thriving at 82, and my mom looks like she’s in her 60s at 76. To my knowledge, our family tree is free of deadly diseases.
Yet, the absence of hard evidence doesn’t lessen my anxiety.
Someone once told me that fear and gratitude can’t coexist; if I’m focused on what scares me, I can’t appreciate what I have. But for me, the opposite is true. My immense gratitude for this life makes the fear even more intense. I’m so thankful for my loving husband, our beautiful home, and our three amazing kids that the thought of losing any of it is unbearable.
As I ponder the next decade, I see my college-aged son potentially getting married, my high school junior possibly landing a full scholarship, and my youngest daughter, who hasn’t even started kindergarten yet, performing in dance recitals and navigating her first crush. I feel a mix of hope and panic at the thought of missing any of these milestones.
I’m not sure why turning 46 has brought all these feelings to the forefront. Maybe it’s the sobering reality that I still have years ahead of raising my youngest. Maybe it’s seeing friends my age or younger facing serious health issues. Or perhaps it’s the fact that I have an extraordinary group of beautiful friends, none of whom have reached 40 yet.
Despite all this, I still don’t feel that… old. But crossing this threshold has revealed a host of uncertainties.
At 46, it’s hard to ignore the possibility that life could start to decline. It’s a reminder that I shouldn’t be shocked if bad news comes from the doctor. It highlights how often I see news of friends passing away in my social media feed. And it underscores the reality that most of my anxieties are beyond my control.
Whether I like it or not, 46 is here. I hope it’s just a fleeting moment in the grand journey of life, an opportunity to reflect and appreciate my blessings.
So as I extinguished those 46 candles tonight (and did it in one breath—take that, lung cancer!), I channeled my energy into a special wish. With all the hope and courage I could muster, I wished simply for more candles in the years to come.
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In summary, turning 46 has sparked a mix of gratitude and fear as I navigate the complexities of aging, motherhood, and the unpredictability of life ahead.