Stage 2: Navigating Doubts and Desires in Midlife
Read: The Six Stages of Midlife Discovery
I remember standing in our wine bar one morning, watering the plants before unlocking the door and heading into my office. It was quiet, and I had a few minutes to myself before the day started.
I looked around and realized I was standing in the middle of a life I had quite literally asked the Universe to give me.
The business. The freedom. The autonomy. The ability to build something that was mine.
And there I was, feeling like fucking Eeyore.
Not exactly the triumphant manifestation moment I’d envisioned.
I didn’t have the language for it then, but I was experiencing something I think a lot of women recognize: feeling unfulfilled in midlife, even when the life you’ve built looks pretty damn good from the outside.
I had everything I thought I wanted, and yet something still felt off. Which is a particularly uncomfortable feeling when you’ve spent years convincing yourself that the next thing, the next accomplishment, the next version of your life is going to be the thing that finally makes everything click.
I didn’t know exactly what was wrong that morning. But I knew something wasn’t right. And somewhere underneath all the noise, I knew my relationship with alcohol had something to do with it.
I’ve written before about manifesting what you want, but what happens when the Universe delivers and you’re still not happy?
When Getting What You Want Isn’t Enough
Years later, after I’d quit drinking, I found myself sitting in a field with our alpacas, having another one of those moments.
I’d spent most of my adult life wanting freedom. Freedom to make my own decisions, set my own schedule, build businesses, change my mind, and generally not have someone else telling me what to do.
And there I was. Sitting in a field, surrounded by alpacas, with exactly the kind of freedom I’d worked so hard to create.
Feeling guilty as hell.
Because apparently, freedom was something I was allowed to work toward, but not something I was actually allowed to enjoy.
If I wasn’t producing something, I was being lazy. If I wasn’t working, I was wasting time. If I had an afternoon to myself, surely there was something more useful I could be doing.
There was always more money to make. Another project to finish. Another business idea to explore. Another way to prove I was earning my keep on this planet.
I’d become incredibly good at creating the circumstances I wanted and remarkably bad at allowing myself to enjoy them.
Guilt Is a Practice. So Is Not Feeling Guilty.
Here’s what I’ve come to understand: guilt is a practice.
For years, I’d practiced feeling guilty whenever I wasn’t being productive. I’d practiced believing my worth was tied to what I accomplished. I’d practiced turning free time into an opportunity to get ahead.
I was really, really good at it.
But not feeling guilty is a practice, too.
And let me tell you, that practice was hard work. Maybe some of the hardest work I’ve ever done. Which is pretty ironic considering the whole point was to learn how to do less.
I’d spent decades training myself to believe that if I wasn’t producing something, I wasn’t contributing anything. So sitting in a field with alpacas and allowing myself to just be was not exactly a natural transition.
But I started practicing.
It’s sort of like leaving your child home alone for the first time. You’re nervous. You second-guess yourself. You wonder if you’ve made a terrible mistake. You check in more than necessary.
And then you do it again.
And the next time is a little easier. And the time after that, easier still.
Before you know it, you’re watching your eight-year-old roast a chicken while you’re at work.
Which is to say, things that once seemed completely irresponsible can eventually become perfectly normal.
That’s what happened with guilt.
The first few times I chose not to work when I could have been working, I felt terrible. I had to consciously remind myself that I wasn’t doing anything wrong. That rest wasn’t something I needed to earn. That the world wasn’t going to collapse because I decided to enjoy an afternoon.
Eventually, I stopped needing to remind myself quite so often.
And somewhere along the way, I realized that I hadn’t been waiting for someone else to give me permission to enjoy my life.
I’d been waiting for myself.
Am I Having a Midlife Crisis? Maybe. Or Maybe You’re Just Waking Up.
Urgency Is a Dirty Liar
And the practice doesn’t have to involve some grand declaration of independence or a weeklong retreat in the mountains.
Sometimes it’s reading a book in the middle of the afternoon. Or taking a walk before checking your email. Or drinking your coffee while it’s still hot without mentally organizing the seventeen things you should be doing instead.
These sound like ridiculously small acts of rebellion until you’ve spent most of your adult life believing that productivity is the price of admission to a worthwhile existence.
Because urgency is a dirty liar.
It will convince you that every email needs an immediate response. That every opportunity has an expiration date. That if you aren’t actively working toward something, you’re falling behind.
These are not true stories.
They’re stories we’ve repeated so often that we’ve mistaken them for facts.
And when you start questioning them, something interesting happens. You realize that most of the things demanding your immediate attention aren’t actually emergencies. They’re just things.
Things that can wait until after your walk.
Things that will still be there when you finish your book.
Things that don’t get to decide whether you’re worthy of enjoying your own life.
Maybe Nothing Is Wrong With Your Life
Maybe the discomfort you’re feeling isn’t a sign that you need to burn everything down and start over.
Maybe it’s an invitation to question the rules you’ve been living by.
The ones that tell you rest is lazy, money is the measure of success, and productivity is proof that you’re worthy of taking up space.
I don’t regret building the businesses or chasing the dreams. I don’t regret wanting more for myself. But I’ve had to learn that creating a life I love and allowing myself to love living it are two entirely different things.
And sometimes, the next stage of midlife isn’t about figuring out what else you want.
It’s about finally letting yourself enjoy what you already have.
What have you worked so hard to create that you’re still not allowing yourself to enjoy?
