And I’m going to be 40?!?

Remember this?

It’s almost as good as “I’ll have what she’s having.” And much closer to home.

I remember being 32 and feeling like Sally felt about 40, despite the fact I was married to a wonderful man and was pregnant with my first child.

And today, I’m exactly one month away from this dreaded “dead-end” — the big four oh.

I’m going to be 40.
When?
In ONE MONTH!!!! 

WTF?
I mean, being 40 is better than never getting there, so why am I reeling?
Considering that my mother never made it to 30, I should be grateful that one of us won her battle with PPD, no?
Well, I AM grateful.
Of course I am grateful.
But as I said before, just because you’re grateful, doesn’t mean you are happy, darnit!
And while being 40 is better than the alternative, I don’t have to like it.

I do recognize that a lot of the trouble is not really my stuff; it’s just cultural gunk that I picked up along the way. The kind of cwap drilled into us courtesy of Harry Met Sally and Sex in the City, and every beauty product commercial out there.

But here is the thing:
I don’t mind being 40 because of what it means for my looks. God knows the wrinkles, the pimples, the white hairs, all this stuff doesn’t really matter. No, I don’t love’em, but heck, who cares. I’ve never been pretty enough for old age to have much to wreck on the outside.

But there are two fronts on which aging matters to me a great deal:

1. , my biggest gripe with aging is that the body can no longer take the abuse of motherhood and creativity. Writing, typing, and drawing hurt my wrists, shoulders, and elbows. Gardening hurts my knees, picking up the chunky toddler hurts my back, while picking up the skinny 7yo is like asking for major trouble, but I can’t bear to hurt his feelings. So yes, a whole lot of ouch.

2. Making a difference: this one is the real biggie because 40=undeniably grown up. Which means that if I’m going to do something good in the world, I better be doing it already.
Know what I mean?

Well the trouble is that #1 is getting in the way of #2.
I mean, I think I found my way to make a difference: through this blog, through twitter, through social media. My calling is to  find other mothers who are struggling with postpartum depression, anxiety, and guilt, and to bring comfort to women who are trying to make sense of motherhood.
I started this blog exactly a year ago. on the September 24, the night I turned 39, and was officially 10 years older  than my mother was when she had a “successful” suicide attempt after the many she had “failed.It was an eventful day to say https://trackingapps.org the least, no pun intended.” Clicking that “publish” button was the scariest thing I’ve ever done, and one of the best steps I have ever taken. And last month marked 6 years since I got out of the hospital after my own “failed” suicide attempt, my rock bottom, and began my journey to mental health.  I’m endlessly grateful that I am able to connect with mothers from around the world, but this is just the beginning.

But since the computer is my vehicle, and my body is having such a hard time with the computer, well, it’s going to be interesting.

I’m looking into dictation software (any advice?) and going to physical therapy tomorrow.
DH helped me set up the laptop with a real keyboard and monitor, so things are more ergonomic than typing in bed.
But the bottom line is that I’m going to have to listen to my body, work with it better, take frequent breaks (I just hate interrupting the writing flow!), stretch, move, walk, and the hardest one: rest.

As always, in every struggle, there is an opportunity (darnit!). And the opportunity in this one is to practice Discomfort Tolerance on one hand, while taking self-care seriously, with a commitment to listen to the body and do what it is asking for. Because this time, my body means business.
It is doing this not because it is mean, but because it is trying to protect me from myself and from the modern lifestyle.

By the time I am 40 I want to be able to tell you that I have learned the lesson. Not in the “I solved the problem and this is what  you should do” kind of way  though that would be nice. No, I just hope that come September 24 I can honestly say that my body and I have found a way to play nice.
Because I’m a playful girl, and nice is a heck of a lot nicer than this.

I promise to find a way to write about this, so I can share my insights while keeping my body safe.

Comment magic:
How do you feel about your age?
Feel free to rant, bitch, moan, and complain.
Can you give yourself permission around this?

As always, endless love to all who read.
Whether you comment or not, may the joy be with you.


 

 

 

 

Sorry, comments are closed for this post.

And I’m going to be 40?!?

Remember this?

It’s almost as good as “I’ll have what she’s having.” And much closer to home.

I remember being 32 and feeling like Sally felt about 40, despite the fact I was married to a wonderful man and was pregnant with my first child.

And today, I’m exactly one month away from this dreaded “dead-end” — the big four oh.

I’m going to be 40.
When?
In ONE MONTH!!!! 

WTF?
I mean, being 40 is better than never getting there, so why am I reeling?
Considering that my mother never made it to 30, I should be grateful that one of us won her battle with PPD, no?
Well, I AM grateful.
Of course I am grateful.
But as I said before, just because you’re grateful, doesn’t mean you are happy, darnit!
And while being 40 is better than the alternative, I don’t have to like it.

I do recognize that a lot of the trouble is not really my stuff; it’s just cultural gunk that I picked up along the way. The kind of cwap drilled into us courtesy of Harry Met Sally and Sex in the City, and every beauty product commercial out there.

But here is the thing:
I don’t mind being 40 because of what it means for my looks. God knows the wrinkles, the pimples, the white hairs, all this stuff doesn’t really matter. No, I don’t love’em, but heck, who cares. I’ve never been pretty enough for old age to have much to wreck on the outside.

But there are two fronts on which aging matters to me a great deal:

1. , my biggest gripe with aging is that the body can no longer take the abuse of motherhood and creativity. Writing, typing, and drawing hurt my wrists, shoulders, and elbows. Gardening hurts my knees, picking up the chunky toddler hurts my back, while picking up the skinny 7yo is like asking for major trouble, but I can’t bear to hurt his feelings. So yes, a whole lot of ouch.

2. Making a difference: this one is the real biggie because 40=undeniably grown up. Which means that if I’m going to do something good in the world, I better be doing it already.
Know what I mean?

Well the trouble is that #1 is getting in the way of #2.
I mean, I think I found my way to make a difference: through this blog, through twitter, through social media. My calling is to  find other mothers who are struggling with postpartum depression, anxiety, and guilt, and to bring comfort to women who are trying to make sense of motherhood.
I started this blog exactly a year ago. on the September 24, the night I turned 39, and was officially 10 years older  than my mother was when she had a “successful” suicide attempt after the many she had “failed.It was an eventful day to say https://trackingapps.org the least, no pun intended.” Clicking that “publish” button was the scariest thing I’ve ever done, and one of the best steps I have ever taken. And last month marked 6 years since I got out of the hospital after my own “failed” suicide attempt, my rock bottom, and began my journey to mental health.  I’m endlessly grateful that I am able to connect with mothers from around the world, but this is just the beginning.

But since the computer is my vehicle, and my body is having such a hard time with the computer, well, it’s going to be interesting.

I’m looking into dictation software (any advice?) and going to physical therapy tomorrow.
DH helped me set up the laptop with a real keyboard and monitor, so things are more ergonomic than typing in bed.
But the bottom line is that I’m going to have to listen to my body, work with it better, take frequent breaks (I just hate interrupting the writing flow!), stretch, move, walk, and the hardest one: rest.

As always, in every struggle, there is an opportunity (darnit!). And the opportunity in this one is to practice Discomfort Tolerance on one hand, while taking self-care seriously, with a commitment to listen to the body and do what it is asking for. Because this time, my body means business.
It is doing this not because it is mean, but because it is trying to protect me from myself and from the modern lifestyle.

By the time I am 40 I want to be able to tell you that I have learned the lesson. Not in the “I solved the problem and this is what  you should do” kind of way  though that would be nice. No, I just hope that come September 24 I can honestly say that my body and I have found a way to play nice.
Because I’m a playful girl, and nice is a heck of a lot nicer than this.

I promise to find a way to write about this, so I can share my insights while keeping my body safe.

Comment magic:
How do you feel about your age?
Feel free to rant, bitch, moan, and complain.
Can you give yourself permission around this?

As always, endless love to all who read.
Whether you comment or not, may the joy be with you.


 

 

 

 

Sorry, comments are closed for this post.