Let the Record Show, I Did Not Go Quietly.
A Midlife Update Nobody Asked For
Whether you’re still in your thirties and wondering if life ever settles down, or you’ve already crossed into your sixties, rolling your eyes at my existential birthday crisis, you’re welcome here.
The Prequel
I was sitting in a physician’s office (first-time visit, new provider), and while I was waiting, Enter Sandman came on over the speakers. My immediate reaction was:
“Either I’m older than I thought or this doctor is freaking cool.”
Probably both.
I figured I’d be ready for 50. It’s just a number, right?
But it’s not the number that’s hard; it’s the reckoning that comes with it.
I tell my daughter all the time: the dirty little secret about grownups is that most of us are still winging it. We’re just older, with slightly better instincts and excuses.
If I’ve learned anything, it’s that growing up never really ends. You just learn to grow your own way.
Level 50: Unlocked
I don’t feel 50…not the version I was sold, anyway
And I’ve never really fit the blueprint of what “my age” is supposed to look like, either.
I play games like Fortnite and COD, sometimes better than the kids I live with. I’ve been gaming long since before they were born (OG Atari, baby). Dropped out after Wii (remembering the Guitar Hero years with my daughter) but eased back in a few years ago.
Now I jump into Fortnite solo or squad up with the fam. Sometimes, my daughter and I Twitch-stream. And sometimes, I unwind in a virtual power-washing sim that scratches an oddly specific itch in my brain.
Honestly, it might be the only thing in my house that stays clean longer than two minutes.
This is not the version of 50 I expected.
Not Your Mother’s Midlife
When I was younger, 50 looked like graying hair and sensible shoes. Cardigans with decorative brooches and perfume that smelled like bug spray. Getting excited about a date to an early bird special.
Instead, I’ve got:
A motorcycle in the garage (not technically mine, but I’m learning. Because why not?)
One tattoo, a small phoenix I got at 40, the prettiest middle finger I’ve ever given to everything I survived.
A body that’s stronger than ever but also somehow keeps finding new places to hurt. It’s like a fun little scavenger hunt.
A skincare shelf that looks like a mad scientist lives here. I’m only human, after all.
I’m also researching plastic surgeons. Not to keep up with the Kardashians (please) but to feel refreshed. To finally give my body the attention it’s earned. Not from insecurity, but intention.
Built, Not Bought
There’s this idea that by 50, you’re supposed to have things figured out. And in some ways, I do.
But what I didn’t expect was how much this chapter would ask me to unlearn, to stop performing, stop trying to keep up, and finally make peace with not having all the answers.
So no, I wasn’t quite ready.
But I know I’ll be ok.
Because growth doesn’t require certainty. Just honesty.
Change didn’t arrive in a dramatic makeover for me. Instead, it came from years of quiet and uncomfortable work. It’s not reinvention; it’s reclamation.
A slow return to the parts I buried under stress and the need to be everything for everyone.
And now, here I am. Not new, just more me than I’ve ever been.
The Rise from the Ashes
I came from a childhood shaped by more than any kid should carry.
Married too young to someone who wasn’t right for me.
Spent years as a single mother figuring out what I needed and what I’d never settle for again.
Weathered a stretch of loss, betrayal, and upheaval in my 30s that honed me in ways comfort never could.
It wasn’t until I started living in alignment with myself that I met the man who would become my husband.
Next month we celebrate 10 years. Still learning, still laughing, still grateful we met when we did.
A decade ago, I left a steady job I’d held for nearly 15 years and moved several states away from everything I knew. It’s cold as hell here, but I’ve never regretted it once.
Since then, I’ve rebuilt my professional life on my own terms. I work with people from the entertainment world to government officials to James Beard-winning chefs.
And quietly, I get to help veterans begin a new chapter of their lives. That means more to me than any perk my old 9-to-5 ever offered.
That life didn’t just land in my lap.
It was built one terrifying leap at a time.
Lessons from the Gym, and Elsewhere
There’s a quote I hear in one of my workout playlists, and I looked it up.
Turns out, it’s from a romance author whose books I’ve never read, but the line hits:
If you don’t sacrifice for what you want, what you want becomes the sacrifice.
She’s not wrong. That’s how people end up stuck in lives they don’t even like. And here’s another hard truth: not everyone who claps for you wants you to win.
Your growth becomes a mirror, and some people don’t like the reflection.
Well, I’m not here to shrink so someone else can stay comfortable.
Nowadays, my rules are simple:
Be kind, but keep your boundaries.
Be soft when it matters but strong when it counts.
Be grounded, not rigid. Humble, not invisible.
It’s not about fearlessness. It’s about staying unapologetically authentic.
Belonging Without Blending
I’ve been a fish out of water most of my life.
I wasn’t the popular girl. Didn’t have a gaggle of sorority sisters as bridesmaids. I was the quiet one in the corner, not the girl running for prom queen.
I’m not exactly blending in any better now, either.
I’m a theatre kid who raised another theater kid. My comfort zone used to be stage lights and dress rehearsals, not cleats and compression sleeves.
But life shifted, and now I’m helping raise two wildly athletic kids who live for sports. So these days, I’m the one at the top of the bleachers wearing my jeans and boots (I’m Southern born and bred; you’re never getting me out of cute boots!) surrounded by thirty-something parents in full-on team merch who treat every game like the Super Bowl.
And while I’m not about to start pretending I care about local rivalries or zone defense...I’m trying. I’m showing up.
I’ve even started giving the refs the side-eye when they make a call I don’t like. I don’t yell (yet). But I have mastered the art of the slow, disappointed head shake. Growth.
I’m also learning how to exist in spaces I never expected to be in without cramming myself into a mold that doesn’t fit.
You don’t have to match the room to matter in it.
Maybe the blueprint was never made for someone like me.
Turns out I didn’t need it anyway.
You can bloom wherever you’re planted.
You can hold your own in rooms where you don’t speak the language.
You don’t have to blend in to belong.
Just show up as you are. That’s enough.
The Only Timeline That Matters
If you’re thinking it’s too late for you, I’m gonna stop you right there.
You don’t need a milestone. You don’t need a perfect plan.
You just need a moment of clarity and the guts to act on it.
Whether you’re 25, 40, or pushing 70, it’s not too late.
You can still surprise yourself, and it begins the moment you decide it does.
Of course, growth doesn’t mean pretending nothing’s changed. Some shifts are subtle. Others slap you right across the face.
Gravitron and Growing Pains
I used to be queen of the roller coasters. The scarier, the better.
But last year, I rode the Gravitron at a local fair. You know, the one that spins so fast you stick to the wall. I’d been (stupidly) bragging to the kids about how I used to hang upside down on it like it was nothing.
Four seconds in, I had a clear thought:
“Oh God. This was a baaaaad idea.”
And it was. I went home barfing and humbled.
The kids don’t get it. They still want me to ride the “cool” rides with them and think I’m scared or being dramatic.
“It’s not that bad,” they say.
But they don’t understand that I’m not afraid. I’m disappointed.
I’m not choosing to bow out of the fun.
My body just… can’t do it anymore.
Some days, growing older feels like a quiet betrayal.
Not of self-worth but identities.
But I’ve learned you can mourn what’s changed without resenting what’s next.
One Last Thing
So yeah, 50’s coming in hot.
It doesn’t feel like an ending, though. It doesn’t even feel like a midpoint.
It feels like momentum.
So show up for yourself today like you're building a life your future self will want to celebrate, not recover from.
Let people think you’re “cringe”. Start the YouTube channel. Post the thing on TikTok. Launch the project, wear the outfit, take the risk.
It’s scary to be seen trying. But it’s a hell of a lot scarier to look back one day and realize you let other people’s opinions dictate your courage.
You were made for more than their comfort zones. So don’t let someone else’s limitations become your inheritance.
If you’ve made it this far by surviving…
Imagine what happens when you start living on purpose.
If any part of this sat with you, I’d love to hear it. Drop a comment, or just take it with you. Either way, thanks for being here.
Next Up: One final challenge. One last shot at finding the woman I thought I’d lost.
The 50x50 journey started with weight, but it didn’t end there. It became about identity, strength, and taking up space in my own life again. There were no shortcuts. There were no shots. There was just grit, grief, and a hell of a lot of perspective.
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