When is middle age, exactly? Is it when the extra weight starts sticking to your equator like an inner tube? Is it when staying out “late” and getting “crazy” means having a single glass of wine at 9 pm and making out with clean sheets by 9:23? What about when anything over 70 decibels is just TOO FREAKING LOUD?
Are we there yet?
The 30s are funny. I liked turning 30. I felt wiser, more ok with myself. Less worried about others’ opinions. I liked settling into who I was, and finding out who I could still become. But the 30s like to sneak some doozies in.
The Dirty Stinkin’ 30s introduced to me things like anxiety, insomnia, fatigue, introversion, loneliness, grief, and on
Add to that the fact that my body doesn’t respond physically
So I decided to just give up.
I’m giving up “normal”. To be everything to everyone, to be “put together” and “on” at all times. To fit a mould I was not made to fit.
I’m giving up fighting. Fighting food and bathroom scales and how I was created. I’m giving up tearing myself down.
I’m giving up on perfect. The perfect home, the perfect kids, the perfect marriage. They don’t exist and I’m giving up on portraying that to the world
What I’m not giving up?
I aim to do a lot more of these on this blog, and in my life. And you know what? I give you full permission to call me on it if I don’t.