Therapy - When you Turn 40 - 'This shit gets real'.

Dear Diary Blog Thing

You see - the truth is, 40 came upon me and I wanted to welcome it with open arms. At 39 - My life was good. Capital GOOD. I am white enough and privileged and grateful enough to acknowledge that - and mean that in no way disrespectfully.

I was emerging from my COVID pandemic depression (CPP), and learning to reintegrate socially and beginning to enjoy life after struggling with lockdowns, family in the house all the time - and not seeing people I needed to see to fill me up.

I had and have have a loving (if somewhat introverted) husband who supported me through my CPP - he had his own version which remained quieter and less dramatic than mine, - and we have two amazingly wonderful kids who can still not remember all the amazing things I did for them during the CPP time which still makes me wonder why I bothered.

I was feeling good about 40. It felt like I had arrived. My big headed self had felt my maturity was beyond 40 anyway, with friends in their 50s and those younger (so naïve) I had made and forged a place in my life where I felt settled in my skin. At last.

40 was going to feel like coming home. Ageing is different for everyone - and i know for many women it is stressful, as they begin to lose maybe the one thing they have relied on as a 'way to get through' or to build their confidence.

One thing you should know is being an unpretty / unsexy 40 year who never relied on her looks for confidence, this wasn't a fear for me. My grey hair irritated me more than saddened, because it didn't come in symmetrically but like a clump of bird-poo at the front of my head. My weight gain was a challenge I gave up on years ago and my wrinkles had been there since I was 20 - were there to stay. I had, as an ugly lady, faced 40 without the fear of loss of these things as many of my more gorgeous friends have - I understand that. 

Now don't get me wrong - I have enough umph to know I am gorgeous. My too big nose, thin lips and dry hair won't show that, but I have a quick tongue, so universal humour and an ability to be liked by most - and this has always driven my confidence. I saw 40 as just a place where I could settle - no longer yearning for approval, but happy with my lot. And by god I was. Amazing family, some exceptional friends, and my growing gorgeous boys. I believed it was to be the decade of my life.

And that was my first mistake.

I will delve into these horrors and experiences more in this diary - if you care to hear them and I care to express them - but by God - 40 came not like the friend I had been waiting for all my life - not like a meandering boat I was to get on roaming a lazy river I already knew where it was headed.

It came like a shitting devasting bomb. A catastrophic mess of instability, sorrow and self-medication which led to so many other devastating issues. Before it came, my adored father died a horrid death of cancer, thankfully at home. My separation whilst supporting him and my mother and sisters came when my children became so cognitively aware of my absence and the sadness I brought when present. My children's health ailments developed, and I found solace in self-medicating which stripped me of all confidence in my ability to cope, devalued my relationships trust, and financially worried us all.

I turned 40 on one of the last COVID weekends where it was suggested (not law) to not meet up. My fantasy of friends and BBQing and me dressed as Kylie dwindled. My grief was ebbing so I was aware I had turned 40 and the man I had looked up too all my life really had gone.

I spent the weekend with my children and husband - high and drunk - struggling with the emotions I was feeling when I had thought I should be the most together I would or could ever be.

I spent the year pondering really what was the point. I spent the first time in my life feeling loss - which made me feel so immature and pathetic = all the basis I had built my confidence and bravado on were truly false. Pain hit me hard. Loss made me vulnerable

I hit 40 - and I lost my identity.

And that was profoundly scary.