Getting Used to a Different Me

Inside, I feel like I’m 30. Now I suddenly need afternoon naps and reading glasses.

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Officially into the second half of 2025, and it hits me that most of the year, along with most of this decade of my life, has gone by almost unnoticed, uncelebrated.

I swore that turning 40 wouldn’t be the start of the slow decline that so many people make it out to be, but I have to admit, it’s difficult to ignore the changes in my life.

All of a sudden, I realise I’ve been in transition these past few years. It has come in irregular ebbs and flows of personal insights, where guilt and shame, acceptance and enlightenment swirl around in a muddled mess.

Along with it, there is an unexpected but not entirely unpleasant weight in my head and in my heart.

All of this is a whole lot more than what I was prepared for, not to mention mundane changes that nonetheless feel like a personal affront to how I see myself.

Things like needing an afternoon nap or finding that a piece of clothing I’ve used for years no longer fits; as insignificant as these sound, I had never been one to need a mid-day rest and I have clothes dating back to college days that still fit.