Wednesday, August 3, 2016

On turning 40




Today I turn 40, and it has made me reflect on the last two decades of my adult life.

In my 20s, I tried to find my place in the world. I was trying to prove my worth. I worked my tail off in college, and had a lot of fun, too, but my main goal was to get into medical school and become a doctor, and perhaps a missionary to a third world country, serving the underprivileged who lacked access to good medical care. Those dreams came crashing down when I got my fourth and last rejection letter to medical school; my grades were decent, but my test scores were mediocre at best. I cried, called my ex-boyfriend, cried some more, then limped home after graduation with no plan, no boyfriend, no travel plans, and just a job serving Mexican food to tourists.

I did carve out a plan B – a combination of a good economy and some contacts at the local pharmaceutical company got me an interview. I was marginal about taking the position and the interviewer knew it. He called me back for a second interview and told me he actually had filled the job. Confused, why was I there, then? I peered back at him. He liked me and wanted to hire me, and he was willing to create a position for me if I wanted the job. If, I wanted the job. He wasn’t convinced, and truthfully, neither was I. I wanted to bide my time while I retook my MCATs and reapplied for med school, but how I would spend that year, I wasn’t sure. I decided to go for it. He offered me a fantastic salary for a 22-year-old, and trained me to do everything in the lab. I had a very successful, albeit short, career there. I never retook the MCATs, and I let go of my med school dreams. I was happy where I was. But then of course, my ex-boyfriend came back, flashed me a charming smile (I’d never gotten over him), asked me to marry him, and I did, a short ten months later. He finished his schooling then got a job far, far away in the land of many farms, and I quit my job and followed him.
                
Fast forward a few years, two babies and a house, and my twenties were over. Life changed in every way from 19 to 29, but my level of insecurity and identity struggle stayed the same.
               
I declared that my 30s were going to be about me. I was done having babies (ha, ha), and I was going to reclaim my flabby mom body and rediscover myself. Right. It didn’t work out that way. I did run a triathlon and slim down, but before I could run another, I was pregnant again. Then came another move, this time back to Connecticut, and then another baby, then a series of life-altering trials which would change my family and shape who I am forever. I struggled with depression and food addiction and weight gain. I got involved at church, then quit abruptly, then got involved again. I was completely overwhelmed with four kids. Todd slipped a disc, then blew it out completely, and two surgeries later, the medical bills were piling up. Then a big blow: our precious five-year-old was diagnosed with Type 1 diabetes, then celiac disease and Hashimoto’s hypothyroidism. I went back to work at a restaurant to help pay off the overwhelming medical bills. We seriously considered Todd leaving his job in the medical field and accepting a job at a church, cutting our household income by 40%. We were ready to make the plunge, but then the job offer was abruptly taken off the table after one of the final interviews. And the biggest trial of all? Todd’s brother died of cancer at only age 32, leaving a pregnant wife and a two-year-old son.

My thirties were full of hardship and pain, depression and addiction, disease and injuries, struggle and grief. My thirties were certainly NOT, as I had declared, about me.

In the last year of my thirties, we moved back to farm country, Pennsylvania. My youngest went to kindergarten, Todd got a raise and a promotion, and I had some time and space for myself. I made myself a little cocoon at home and nestled in, licking my wounds and trying to heal. I started seeing a counselor, read a book a week, and rested. I connected with a Life Coach. I felt ready to go back to work, and I wanted to figure out who I was after all this time. I’d been a waitress, a scientist, and a mom, but who was I today? It had been nearly twenty years since I had made a career choice, and how different would that choice be after all this time? I was surprised by what I really wanted out of life.
                
Today I turn 40, and I’m looking forward to my forties with optimism. I don’t expect that this decade will be about me, but I expect that I will be more fully myself. In my 20s, I was trying to prove myself. In my 30s, I was becoming myself. Now, in my forties, I hope to just be myself, fulfilling the purposes that God has for me, as he created me.

I no longer have anything to prove. That is one of the gifts of this milestone. 40 is a gift to most women. We may not be as pretty or as skinny or as successful as we were in our earlier decades, but we know better what we want out of our lives, and we don’t care as much what other people think about it.

As for me, I’m becoming a writer. I’m journaling, I’m blogging, and I’m working on a novel, due to be finished hopefully before I turn 50. Surprisingly, I don’t want to go back to a traditional job. I want the freedom of working from home and raising my family, even if it comes with great financial sacrifice. I can’t tell you I don’t feel insecure when I compare myself to other women who seem to be so much farther ahead than I am in life. But I’m working hard to change my negative self-talk, and accept myself for who I am and where I’m at. My journey has had definitive seasons, marked neatly by the decades of my life, and I’m actually looking forward to this one. 

I’m happy to turn 40, and finally happy to be me

No comments:

Post a Comment