As I journey deeper into my 40s, it has become increasingly clear that I have unwittingly subscribed to a common belief—that by this stage of life, I should have found a sense of contentment and inner peace. While it’s true that many of the anxieties that plagued me in my 20s have faded, I can’t honestly claim to be entirely at peace or fulfilled. Doubts and feelings of discontent still make regular appearances in my life.
There’s a nagging sensation that I haven’t accomplished enough. Whether it’s preparing a snack for my kids or crafting a work-related piece, I find myself constantly trying to enhance the simplest tasks. Instead of simply offering, “Here’s an apple. I washed it,” I get caught up in thoughts like:
- Yeah, but it isn’t organic.
- Yeah, but they asked for a snack an hour ago.
- Yeah, but I still haven’t bought cheese.
I tell my children to appreciate what they have and that their best is sufficient, yet I struggle to apply that same wisdom to myself. I keep pushing the goalposts, as if my efforts only count if I haven’t reached my destination yet.
There’s no such thing as “here” because “one day” and “someday” never seem to be “this day.” I often find myself overextending, whether it’s pushing my physical limits or setting unrealistic expectations. Achieving my step goal isn’t a victory; there’s always that voice saying, “But you could have done more.” I buy clothes I think look good on me, only to return home and scrutinize every flaw in the mirror—wishing I were thinner, firmer, or trendier. Ironically, I’m often the friend who encourages others, saying, “Look at all you do. You are more than enough!”
Is it possible that I fear being enough? What exactly am I striving for? My kids certainly don’t care whether their apples are organic. Do I expect some sort of magical recognition when I check off my to-do list? I seem to be waiting for a moment where I can smile like a sitcom mom and announce, “Now, that’s a snack that makes me feel like a fantastic parent!”
What if, instead of frantically tidying my home to achieve an unattainable standard, I embraced the imperfections? What if I overlooked the stain from spilled fruit punch on the picnic blanket? What if I believed my partner when he affectionately tells me, “I love this spot”?
I dream of waking up without dreading my wardrobe and not feeling like the day is doomed before I even step into the shower. I know I won’t completely eliminate overthinking, but I must find a healthier approach than what I’ve been doing to myself and my family. Instead of feeling restless about what remains undone, I can focus on appreciating what I’ve already accomplished. Despite my constant worries, there’s so much I am doing that deserves recognition.
Certainly, I can’t wave away doubt and frustration entirely, but I can start by lowering my expectations. Letting go of the belief that I should be completely at peace with myself by now seems like a good first step.
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In summary, while the quest for peace in my 40s continues, I’m learning to appreciate the present and recognize my efforts. It’s a process, but it’s a journey worth embracing.
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