Motherhood in Your 40s: Everyone Still Needs You… But You Need You Too

I swear I was 27 about five minutes ago.

Seriously.

I don't know exactly when it happened, but somewhere between babies, school drop-offs, soccer practices, PTA meetings, grocery runs, birthdays, and approximately 9,000 loads of laundry...

I ended up in my 40s.

And motherhood in your 40s?

It hits differently.

The overwhelm of motherhood doesn't disappear. Your kids may not need you to cut their grapes anymore, but they still need you.

Sometimes, they need you more.

The problems get bigger.

Friendships get complicated. School gets harder. Sports get more serious. Bodies change. Hormones arrive. Let me repeat that one…Hormones arrive! Hearts get broken. They start testing their independence while simultaneously yelling "MOM!" from another room because apparently walking twelve feet to find you is unreasonable.

You're still driving.

Still scheduling.

Still remembering.

Still worrying.

Still lying awake thinking about something one of your kids said three days ago and wondering if they're actually okay.

Except now...

there's a whole other side of life asking for your attention too.

And nobody really warned us about that part.

One Day You Look at Your Parents and Realize They're Getting Older

This one is hard for me.

Because your parents have always just been...your parents.

Even when you've been an adult for decades.

Then one day you notice something.

Maybe they're moving a little slower.

Maybe there's a new diagnosis.

Maybe there's surgery.

Maybe they need help understanding something.

Maybe you find yourself reminding them about an appointment.

Maybe the phone rings at an unusual hour and instead of thinking, I wonder what Mom wants, your stomach drops.

Is everything okay?

It's a strange shift.

The people who once worried about you getting home safely are now the people you're worrying about.

The people who drove you to appointments may eventually need you to drive them.

The people you once called because you didn't know what to do may start calling you because they don't know what to do.

And even before they actually need care, there's an awareness that wasn't there when you were 25:

They're getting older.

And so are you.

There is an actual term for adults caring for or supporting children while also helping aging parents: the sandwich generation. And the pressure isn't imaginary. The American Psychological Association has long recognized the particular stress experienced by mothers caught between the needs of growing children and aging parents.

But I don't think statistics completely capture what it feels like.

Because it's not just another responsibility.

It's emotional.

It's watching the generation ahead of you age while you're still trying to prepare the generation behind you for life.

And you're standing right in the freaking middle.

Meanwhile, Your Own Body Has Entered the Chat

Apparently your 40s are also when your body decides:

Hey, since you don't have enough going on, let's make things interesting.

Suddenly there are conversations about things you barely thought about at 28.

Blood pressure.

Cholesterol.

Mammograms.

Hormones.

Thyroid levels.

Bloodwork.

Weight.

Sleep.

Joint pain.

Heart health.

Periods doing whatever the hell they feel like doing.

And doctors start saying things like:

"At your age..."

Excuse me?

At whose age?

Because in my head, I'm still about 32.

My knees apparently disagree.

You can hurt yourself sleeping now.

You can eat the exact same way you ate ten years ago and your body says, Cute. We're not doing that anymore.

You might exercise, eat better, drink water and still feel like your body has changed the rules without sending you the updated handbook.

And then there's perimenopause.

For many women, changes can begin during their 40s, and they can include changes in periods, sleep, mood and other symptoms. Anxiety can also become more noticeable for some women during the menopause transition. You suddenly find yourself all the characters of both 1 and 2 of Inside Out movies. Weren’t those movies supposed to be helping our preteens see what is going on with them, not making the same sense to us in our 40s?

So if you've found yourself thinking:

Why am I suddenly so anxious?

Why can't I freaking sleep?

Why am I crying?

Why am I irritated by everyone breathing near me?

Why can't I remember the word for the thing that I've used every day for twenty years?

It may be worth talking with your doctor instead of simply assuming you're supposed to suck it up. New or disruptive anxiety, mood changes or sleep problems deserve attention.

Because here's something I'm starting to understand:

Our health cannot continue being the thing we deal with after everyone else's needs are handled.

Because everyone else's needs are never completely handled.

And Anxiety Feels Different Now

Maybe you've always been a worrier.

Maybe anxiety is brand new.

Maybe you're somewhere in between.

But there's something about this stage of life that gives your brain a lot of freaking material to work with.

Your kids are getting older, which means they're doing things without you.

Driving.

Dating.

Going places.

Making decisions.

Eventually leaving.

Your parents are getting older.

Your spouse is getting older.

You're getting older.

And suddenly you're aware that things happen.

People get sick.

Marriages struggle.

Parents die.

Kids grow up.

Bodies change.

Life doesn't always follow the plan.

When you're younger, you intellectually understand that life is short.

In your 40s?

You start feeling it.

And at 2:13 in the morning, your brain is apparently happy to discuss every possible scenario.

Thank you, brain.

Very helpful.

You're Watching Your Kids Grow Up While Watching Your Parents Grow Older

This might be the strangest part of this entire season.

You're watching life move in both directions at once.

Your child doesn't need you to hold their hand crossing the parking lot anymore.

Your teenager is becoming their own person.

The little kid who used to crawl into your lap may suddenly be taller than you.

Meanwhile, you notice another wrinkle on your mom's face.

Your dad can't do something quite as easily as he used to.

And you realize:

Holy shit. This is moving fast.

Not just childhood.

All of it.

And there can be a weird kind of grief tucked inside something that's actually beautiful.

You're proud that your children are growing up.

That's the goal.

But you miss who they were.

You love seeing them become independent.

But you remember when you were their entire world.

You're grateful your parents are still here.

But seeing them age reminds you they won't always be.

And suddenly time isn't an abstract concept anymore.

Time has faces.

Your children's.

Your parents'.

Your spouse's.

Yours.

And Somewhere in the Middle of Everyone Else… Where Did You Go?

This is the question I keep coming back to.

Because for years, our identities can become a collection of relationships and responsibilities.

Mom.

Wife.

Partner.

Daughter.

Volunteer.

Team mom.

PTA mom.

Chauffeur.

Cook.

Calendar keeper.

Appointment maker.

Form signer.

Snack buyer.

Problem solver.

The person everybody texts when nobody knows what's happening.

And those roles matter.

I love many of those roles.

But underneath all of them...

there's still a woman.

And sometimes I wonder when we stopped asking her what she wanted.

What do you like?

What makes you excited?

What do you want to learn?

Where do you want to go?

What makes you feel sexy?

What makes you feel strong?

What makes you laugh?

What do you want your marriage to feel like?

Who do you want around you?

What do you want to create?

What do you want the next twenty years to look like?

And maybe the scariest question:

Do you actually like the life you're living?

Not:

Do you love your family?

Those aren't the same question.

You can love your family more than anything in this world and still realize there are parts of your life that need to change.

Your Marriage Changes Too

If you're married or in a long-term relationship, you're probably not the same two people who fell in love all those years ago.

How could you be?

You've lived.

You've had kids.

You've struggled.

You've lost people.

You've gained weight or lost weight.

You've changed careers.

You've worried about money.

You've fought.

You've made up.

You've sat beside sick children.

You've celebrated birthdays.

You've been exhausted.

You've hurt each other.

You've forgiven each other.

Hopefully, you've laughed a hell of a lot too.

And somewhere along the way, it becomes really easy to turn into coworkers with a mortgage and children.

"Who's picking up?"

"Did you pay that?"

"What time is the game?"

"We need toilet paper."

"Did you sign the form?"

"Love you. Goodnight."

Romantic.

But maybe your 40s are a chance to look at the person beside you and remember:

Oh yeah. It's you.

The person I chose.

And maybe your relationship needs something too.

Not necessarily a European vacation or weekly candlelit dinners.

Maybe it needs twenty minutes on the patio.

A hand on their leg in the car.

Flirting again.

Laughing about something inappropriate.

Going somewhere without the kids.

Having sex without treating it like another item on the to-do list.

Talking about something besides schedules.

Asking:

What do we want our life to look like when these kids eventually leave?

Because someday they will.

And hopefully, when the house gets quiet, we still recognize the person sitting across from us.

Your Friendships Start Looking Different

Your 40s have a funny way of clarifying things.

You start noticing which friendships leave you feeling better...

and which leave you exhausted.

Which people genuinely celebrate you.

Which relationships are reciprocal.

Who checks on you.

Who only calls when they need something.

Who you can sit with without performing.

And maybe you finally start realizing:

History doesn't automatically equal compatibility.

You're allowed to outgrow people.

You're allowed to protect your peace.

You're allowed to stop chasing relationships where you're always the one doing the work.

And you're also allowed to admit:

I need friends.

Not acquaintances.

Not other moms you only talk to about sports schedules.

Women who know you.

Women you can text:

I'm having a shitty day.

And they don't need an explanation.

Women you can laugh with until you pee a little—which, let's be honest, in your 40s is also now a legitimate concern.

Your Body Is Different. That Doesn't Mean It's Less Worthy.

This one deserves its own conversation.

Because women spend so much of our lives being told we're supposed to fight aging.

Lose the weight.

Hide the gray.

Smooth the wrinkles.

Fix the stomach.

Lift this.

Inject that.

Get your old body back.

But...

Which old body?

The body before babies?

Before pregnancies?

Before grief?

Before surgeries?

Before sleepless nights?

Before decades of living?

Maybe instead of spending the second half of our lives punishing our bodies for not looking like they did during the first half...

we start taking care of them because we'd really like them to carry us through the next one.

That doesn't mean you can't want to lose weight.

It doesn't mean you can't dye your hair.

Use Botox.

Wear makeup.

Work out.

Change something.

Do whatever makes you feel good.

But maybe the motivation starts changing.

Not:

I hate this body.

Maybe:

I want to take care of this body because I still have shit I want to do.

Trips I want to take.

Grandchildren I might want to chase someday.

Beaches I want to walk.

People I want to love.

Places I haven't seen.

Sex I still want to have.

Life I still want to live.

That feels different.

And Maybe That's the Biggest Shift of Your 40s

You realize:

You're not done.

You're not at the end.

You're somewhere in the freaking middle.

And that means there's still time.

Time to change things.

Time to repair things.

Time to start things.

Time to stop things.

Time to become someone new.

But maybe not unlimited time.

And strangely, I think there's something freeing about admitting that.

Because maybe we stop saying:

Someday.

Someday I'll travel.

Someday I'll write the book.

Someday I'll get healthier.

Someday I'll wear the swimsuit.

Someday I'll start the business.

Someday I'll make more time for my husband.

Someday I'll call my mom more.

Someday I'll reconnect with my friend.

Someday I'll take the picture.

Someday I'll figure out what I want.

How many somedays do we think we're getting?

Maybe Your 40s Are a Wake-Up Call

Not a crisis.

Not the beginning of becoming irrelevant.

Not the decade where you quietly disappear into sensible shoes and reading glasses.

A wake-up call.

Because maybe now you know enough to understand what matters.

You know perfect houses don't create happy childhoods.

You know somebody will always have an opinion.

You know most people aren't thinking about you nearly as much as you thought they were.

You know some friendships aren't meant to last forever.

You know your children need your presence more than your perfection.

You know your parents won't always be here.

You know your body deserves your attention.

You know your relationship won't maintain itself.

You know tomorrow isn't guaranteed.

And hopefully...

you're finally starting to know yourself.

So maybe this is the decade when we stop waiting for permission.

Wear the swimsuit.

Take the picture. Even if you don't love your stomach. Your kids aren't going to look at that photo someday and think about your thighs. They're going to see their mom.

Take the trip.

Call your parents.

Go to the doctor.

Get the test.

Ask the question.

Take your health seriously.

Have sex. Have lots of sex!

Laugh loudly.

Go to dinner with your girlfriends.

Start something you're terrible at.

Quit something you hate.

Change your mind.

Say no without writing a four-paragraph apology afterward.

Say yes to something just because you want to.

Sit your ass down sometimes.

Let the laundry wait.

Stop Saving Yourself for Later

I think that's what I want to remind myself most.

Stop saving yourself for later.

Stop waiting until you lose twenty pounds to buy the dress.

Stop waiting until the kids are older to make time for yourself.

Stop waiting until the house is clean to relax.

Stop waiting until soccer season ends.

Stop waiting until your parents don't need you.

Stop waiting until work settles down.

Stop waiting until you feel confident.

Stop waiting until life becomes less complicated.

Because there will always be something.

And if we're not careful, we can spend decades preparing to live.

Your Kids Need to See You Living Too

We talk a lot about everything we should sacrifice for our children.

And yes, motherhood requires sacrifice.

A lot of it.

But I don't think our children benefit from watching us disappear.

What if they also saw:

Mom has friends, and she goes out with them without constant interruptions.

Mom has boundaries.

Mom takes care of her health.

Mom rests.

Mom has dreams.

Mom loves Dad—and makes time for that relationship.

Mom has interests that don't involve us.

Mom sometimes says no.

Mom can change direction.

Mom can screw up and start again.

Mom believes her life matters too.

Maybe one of the greatest things we can teach our children isn't how to sacrifice everything for the people they love.

Maybe it's how to love people deeply without completely abandoning themselves. Because at the end of the day, you have to ask yourself, “Do you want the life you are currently living for your children?” They are watching how you handle life and that is most likely how they are going to handle their adult lives. Is that what you want for them?

So, Who's Taking Care of You?

I don't mean who's booking you a massage.

I mean:

Who's checking on you?

Who's asking how you're doing and actually waiting for the answer?

Who knows what you're scared about?

Who knows what you're dreaming about?

Who makes you laugh?

Who reminds you who you were before everybody started calling you Mom?

And most importantly:

Are you taking care of you?

Because I'm realizing I can't keep waiting for someone else to give me permission to matter.

Neither can you.

This isn't selfish.

It's not choosing yourself instead of your family.

It's finally realizing that you are part of the family you're working so damn hard to take care of.

What Do You Want the Next 20 Years to Feel Like?

Maybe that's our question.

Not:

How do I keep everything under control?

Not:

How do I become the perfect mother?

Not:

How do I make everyone happy?

But:

What do I want the next twenty years of my life to feel like?

I want to laugh.

I want to love my family fiercely.

I want to watch my kids become incredible humans.

I want time with the people I love while they're still here.

I want to take care of my health.

I want adventures.

I want quiet mornings.

I want deep friendships.

I want to still flirt with my husband.

I want to create things.

I want to try things.

I want to be there for everyone I love.

But I also want to be there for myself.

Because I don't want to wake up twenty years from now and realize I spent the whole middle of my life maintaining everyone else's.

I want to actually live mine.

Before You Go: What Are You Taking Back?

If you're in your 40s, I want to hear from you.

What's something you're ready to take back?

Your health?

Your time?

Your confidence?

Your marriage?

Your friendships?

Your body?

Your sexuality?

Your creativity?

Your dreams?

Your freaking Saturday morning?

Maybe you don't even know yet.

That's okay.

Maybe we figure that out together too.

Tell me in the comments: What's one piece of yourself you're ready to stop putting last?

Because I'm not writing this as a woman who has mastered her 40s.

I'm writing it as a woman standing right here in them.

Trying to take care of the people I love.

Trying to take care of myself.

Trying not to miss how beautiful this life is because I'm too busy managing it.

And realizing more and more that maybe growing older isn't something we need to be afraid of.

Maybe it's the thing that finally teaches us:

Our time matters.

Our health matters.

Our relationships matter.

Our dreams still matter.

We still matter.

So no, Mama.

We're not done.

Not even close.

Maybe we're finally getting to the really good part.

Beautiful lives aren't found. They're built… one small step at a time.

And maybe the next step is simply deciding that you belong in the life you're building, too.