Today, I celebrated my birthday with 46 candles lighting up my cake. Normally, I’d throw in a cheeky line about needing fire extinguishers, but honestly, turning 46 is weighing on me more than I expected.
While 46 isn’t a milestone birthday—after all, you won’t find any “Over the Hill at 46” party supplies—there’s a heaviness that comes with these numbers. Why have I found myself dreading this particular age? Perhaps it’s because I can no longer claim to be in my “early 40s.” I’ve officially hit the mid-40s, and the late 40s are looming closer than I’d like to admit. Just four years stand between me and the big five-oh.
Looking in the mirror, I don’t see an elderly woman. Yes, there are a few lines around my eyes (feel free to call them crow’s feet; I’m not too fussed). I’ve always kept active, so my body is holding up relatively well, but let’s be real—there are areas that jiggle more than they used to. It’s disconcerting how many yoga poses require me to confront the reality of my newly developed “cottage cheese” thighs.
My joints are aging too. Some months, I visit my chiropractor so often that I’m sure he’s secretly grateful for his shiny new sports car. My back, hips, and knees all seem to be protesting this middle age journey—I can feel it in every step.
But it’s not just the physical signs of aging that trouble me. I find myself increasingly aware of my mortality. To be candid, I’m genuinely terrified of dying. My thoughts have transformed mundane concerns into catastrophic fears. That little cough? It must be lung cancer from the secondhand smoke I inhaled years ago. That throbbing headache? Definitely a brain tumor. And those creaky joints? A quick Google search reveals potential diagnoses like lupus or muscular dystrophy.
I acknowledge that these fears are irrational. Statistically, I should be able to glide into my golden years without issue. I maintain a healthy diet, exercise regularly, and even include fish oil and turmeric in my daily routine. I see my dermatologist twice a year for skin cancer screenings and have no family history of severe illnesses. Yet, the absence of concrete evidence doesn’t ease my anxiety.
Someone once told me that fear and gratitude cannot coexist, that if I’m consumed with anxiety, I can’t appreciate life. However, I see it differently. It’s my profound gratitude for this life—my loving home with my husband and three kids—that amplifies my fears. I can’t bear the thought of this beautiful life being cut short. Sure, there are challenges, and some days I would love to throttle everyone in my house, but deep down, I know I’m blessed beyond measure.
Over the next decade, my college-aged son could tie the knot, my high school junior might snag a full-ride scholarship, and my youngest daughter will have her first dance recital, learn to read, and even experience her first crush. I envision these milestones with a mix of joy and fear; each moment is precious, and the thought of missing any of them is paralyzing.
I’m still uncertain why this seemingly ordinary 46th birthday has stirred all these emotions. Perhaps I’m grappling with a midlife crisis, facing the reality that I have many years ahead before my youngest is fully grown. Maybe it’s the sobering truth that people my age and even younger are succumbing to serious illnesses. Or maybe it’s simply the fact that I have a circle of beautiful friends, none of whom have crossed 40 yet, and all of whom seem untouched by the aging process.
Amidst all this, I yearn for the day I can embrace sticky-handed grandchildren. But first, I need to guide my own little ones through their school years.
As I reflect on what turning 46 means, I realize that I don’t feel particularly old. Yet, this transition has unveiled a host of uncertainties and insights. Forty-six brings a somber awareness that if life takes a turn for the worse, it shouldn’t come as a shock. It signifies the unfortunate trend of hearing about acquaintances’ untimely departures via social media. It also highlights the reality that many of my anxieties are completely out of my control.
Whether I like it or not, 46 is here. With any luck, this number will simply mark a fleeting moment in the journey of a well-lived life. An opportunity to pause, reflect, and appreciate all my blessings.
So, as I blew out those 46 candles on my cake tonight (in one breath, take that lung cancer!), I poured all my positive energy into a heartfelt wish: for more candles in the years to come. If you’re navigating similar feelings around pregnancy and family, check out this excellent resource on pregnancy and home insemination. And for those seeking at-home insemination kits, look no further than this reputable retailer for all your needs.
Summary: Turning 46 has brought unexpected realizations about life, mortality, and the blessings that come with it. While I grapple with fears about aging and health, I also cherish the moments with my family. Ultimately, I remain hopeful for what the future holds.
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