My nine-year-old brain had no firm grasp of what that phrase meant. I wonder if my 40-year-old one does? I’m certainly aware that time is finite, and that it is something we spend. In fact, that’s just about the only ‘task’ we have on this planet, to decide how to spend our time. That thought encourages me to spend it wisely, but who’s to say what that even is?

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For a while, wisely meant to me that I should do as much as possible. There’s so much life to live and I didn’t want to let too much of it pass me by. I packed a lot into my days, sometimes I still do. I crafted to-do lists that served as more than places to note important tasks. They were ambitious accomplishment lists that also served as evidence for how much I achieved and how productive I was.

Perhaps that’s the only way to leave a mark and build something impressive like the pyramids, but lately, I’m seeing things differently.

Midlife and the Ticking Clock

Midlife, by its very name, suggests a particular point in time: halfway through. For a lot of people approaching, turning or past 40, a little voice starts to speak up inside of us. It tells us that the first part seemed to pass in the blink of an eye, so we had better pay more attention to the second and be more intentional.

That’s not a bad thing, especially the be more intentional part. We have all this data about what it means to live. Now, we can use it to inform our decisions on how we spend our time for the second half of our lives. The pressure to make it count, though, isn’t particularly helpful. Make it count for who, for what? Who is counting?

A ticking clock can make that remaining time feel precious or it could add an anxious sense of urgency. We could speed up, do more, work harder, rush and take shortcuts to prove that we used our time wisely. It’s easy to slip into the idea that using it wisely means doing a lot. I prefer to think that it means not wasting it. You could argue that it’s the same thing, but I beg to differ.

Waste: Efficacy and Efficiency

I’ll keep the corporate speak brief, as I’m really not here to optimise your life! However, it’s worth noting that if we try to do a lot in life to make the most of our time, we’re mostly focusing on efficiency. Ticking the boxes but not checking to see if what we did actually hit the mark.

Hitting the mark for me means enjoying something, creating memories, enriching my experience and helping someone else. When I’m too efficient, it’s unlikely that I’ll achieve many, if any, of those. Rushing stops me from enjoying it, I’m not present enough to make memories, I don’t absorb the experience in a way that shapes me, and I probably won’t have time to notice anyone that needs help.

I’m not throwing out efficiency. When I can be efficient, it will let me do more of the things that I value. That quickly turns into efficiency for efficiency’s sake, though, so I keep my eyes on efficacy whenever I can!

What Puts Us in Such a Hurry

Rushing seems to be the default state, the one I have to resist. I have to choose not to hurry instead of that being my ‘natural’ pace. I got better at not hurrying when I changed certain aspects, but I can easily get caught up in rushing through life.

That’s easier to accept and deal with when I understand what’s going on underneath. One of the main reasons we hurry is because we’ve seen the ‘rewards’ that overachievers get. There’s no doubt that the world that we live in prioritises and applauds productivity. We tie our self-worth to acheivement, so hurrying to get a lot done is the only way we can feel we have value.

The digital landscape has also changed our pace of life. We’re available 24/7, using multiple screens to complete several tasks. That creates a culture of constant busyness. It starts to feel like the new normal and that continues to feed the idea that we need to be busy and productive to have value.

Our brains haven’t caught up with what that digital sense of urgency means. As a result, it triggers our instincts like we’re running from a predator. Really, we’re just trying to fit in a meeting, make a phone call and respond to that email from Monday.

It can result in what cardiologists Meyer Friedman and Ray Rosenman called hurry sickness. It’s a chronic feeling of urgency. You live life in a rush with an undercurrent of anxiety and overwhelm. Operating in crisis mode non-stop in that way takes its toll on our mental and physical health.

Building, Not Hurrying

Detaching my value from my productivity is a long-term project. Having a chronic illness was like a crash course in separating busyness from productivity and productivity from worth. That’s not the only thing that helped me to stop hurrying. One is the Athenian approach to coffee with friends; it’s a two or three hour activity, and since everyone is doing it, it feels natural to slow down for that time.

While I’ve gained evidence that life passes by pretty fast, I’ve also learned that lots of the things I appreciate most can’t be hurried. Plus, taking a shortcut often also takes away a lot of the pleasure. When I thought about that, I found so many examples in my life where I’m slowly building something without hurrying and without expecting to see immediate results.

Building Something Long-Lasting

Strength training has been a great teacher. There isn’t a shortcut to building muscle, so quitting or changing my goal are the only other options. I’m resisting the part of me that wants to rush or fall into old patterns and do everything possible to make my body smaller. I’m not trying to get smaller, I’m trying to get stronger and that takes time and consistency. My muscles and strength are growing, but not at a rate that’s causing a dramatic transformation. I’m aiming for body recomposition, which is incredibly slow. The only real measure for that right now is that the weights are getting heavier.

I do have a strong visual in my head that keeps me consistent. I imagine my bone mineral denisty improving and my muscle loss from aging being reversed. The research backs up those visuals, which makes them excellent motivators.

I’ve found that I take a lot more pleasure in doing things without hurrying. The irony is that time passes a little more slowly and I feel and notice more when I don’t rush. I appreciate things more when I don’t arrive stressed and just want to get them done. I count that as using my time wisely.

That’s helping me here on Substack. I’m finding my voice and building my publication slowly, because writing and exploring is the fun part and the main point. I’m enjoying amassing a body of work that is developing each week.

A Way of Being

I’ve applied that philosophy to phone calls or chats with friends, getting my counselling qualification and growing out my greys. I’m not doing those things just to say that I’ve done them or even just to appreciate the results of them.

I want to feel connected to my friends so I make sure I’m fully present when we spend time together. That’s a contrast to a hurried text that’s mostly there to assuage my guilt at not reaching out sooner. As always, that comes at a cost. If my energy is low (hello again chronic illness), then I will cancel plans to focus on the basics. That can hurt but quality over quantity still matters more.

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I want to be a good counsellor, not just a qualified one. Yes, I’m eager to start helping people, but my development and learning over these years will mean I’m in the right place to do that once I do finish my qualification.

I’m growing out my greys to embrace my body the way it is. That’s a process that takes time, and part of it is being someone with some grey and some not grey hairs. Skipping that step might get me closer to the result, but will I have lost sight of the point?

Actions You Can Take Right Now

There’s tons of advice about slowing down. I’m not going to repeat any of that here. Stopping hurrying is one thing, it’s another to allow yourself to build things without needing to rush to the results. If you want to experiment with that philosphy in one or more areas of your life, take these steps with me:

1. Come back to the bigger picture. The bigger picture is why you started doing something in the first place. For example, I’m not growing out my greys just to have grey hair. Find your reasons that have a long-term or deeper impact and keep them in mind when you get tempted to rush to the result.

2. Calculate what the shortcut costs. Shortcuts save time, but they can cost us other parts of the experience. I like to know what I’m losing before I go down that path. Maybe you’ll decide a shortcut is worth it or maybe you’d rather live the full experience. Make it a deliberate choice.

3. Break the cycle of rushing. Hurrying can become a habit; we do it even when we don’t have to go so fast. Find your way to break that cycle. It doesn’t have to be a three-hour coffee break with a friend! I know we don’t all have the privilege to take a lot of time for ourselves, so it can be something short. Make something with your hands, take the long way home, have a bath instead of a shower, or, for one instance of multi-tasking, take the time to do each one individually.

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I want to leave you with a quotation I’ve had in mind recently after the death of Sir Patrick Stewart. In the film Star Trek: Generations, his character, Captain Jean-Luc Picard, said,

It was like someone had been coming into my kitchen every night, slightly moving the cups in the cupboard. I could see that something was different, but I couldn’t quite put my finger on it and I definitely couldn’t explain it out loud. So I tried to get into a routine. I aimed to get more sleep, drink more water, have more date nights and spend quality time with my friends. All of that helped, but it didn’t really put everything back where it was.

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Recognising the First Stage

In hindsight, I can see that this was the first stage of my midlife shift beginning. I explained the overall concept in my first ever post.

I call it feeling off. Sometimes, I say it’s the time when you notice that the things that used to work don’t anymore. Feeling off can look different for everyone, and for lots of people I’ve explored this with, it’s often hard to describe. They felt it, but they couldn’t necessarily tell anyone what it was or why it was happening.

Being the curious person that I am, that made me want to take a closer look. I made a breakthrough when I described it to someone as unanswered questions. We got a bit excited and realised it was more than that. They were questions that we thought we had answered, but actually we hadn’t, or maybe it was the wrong answer. Perhaps, even the wrong question!

Even before I could identify it fully, it felt important, like I was getting a message from myself that I needed to pay attention to. That message wasn’t coming through loud and clear. It came via terrible dial-up internet that got interrupted when someone else wanted to make a phonecall.

I was left with the feeling that I needed to do something about it. First, though, I had to work out what it was. The urge to make the feeling go away took over initially. I tried all sorts of things, like when a baby is crying, so you work out whether to put them down for a nap, feed them or change them. Having tried the equivalent of all three without complete success, I realised I had to take some time to work out what was going on.

Finding a Language for The First Stage of the Midlife Shift

As I mentioned above, talking about it helped. Talking about it with friends, who were going through the same things or were already ahead of me, shed some light on it, which was a good start. It made it real, and it helped us to find some words to name it, even if they often felt inadequate. Being understood didn’t make it go away, but it lightened the load and made me less worried about what was going on.

Therapy and my counselling training (combined with my curiosity) were what really developed my language for talking about the midlife shift and what is happening in the first stage. Of course, I didn’t know it was the ‘first’ stage then. Labelling it as that, though, was a big relief. The idea of a second stage means I can be done with that feeling.

The truth is, though, that feeling comes back all the time, because midlife is just starting for me! However, I know that I can move to the second stage, which is where I do something about that feeling. That’s only possible, though, when I know what it is, what it means, and which way to go next. Not a straightforward path by any means, but I’ve made my peace with that, mostly.

Counselling Talk

I can’t stress enough, listening to myself is where my midlife shift truly began. Wasn’t I listening to myself before that? Well, I was, sort of. I had to go through a lot to really listen and meet my needs. There was a step after that, though, and that’s what I’m bringing to light here. The difference now was that I had discovered the right terms, a new language and fresh ideas to work with to differentiate the things I was hearing.

I’ve written about how I learned to ask the question ‘where did that come from?’ I explored why the where matters. It’s what has led me to a more aligned life, and what helps most with moving through that first stage of my midlife shift. What lies behind that is my understanding of introjected values.

In psychology, there’s a process called introjection, which is where we adopt values from other people. Carl Rogers explained that our values come from our own experiences, but that they can also be taken or absorbed from others. That’s not always completely negative, but some introjections can definitely be unhelpful. The key thing to note, though, is that we don’t always recognise which values come from direct experience and which are from someone else.

Essentially, that means we can be living other people’s truths instead of our own, without really knowing it. I believe that spending years doing that often comes to a head in midlife, and that’s what initiates that first stage of the midlife shift.

That leads to what psychologists would call incongruence, but you can also describe it as being out of harmony. It’s an issue that we can try to ignore, but it keeps coming up. Figuring out what to do about it is a challenge.

The Tricky Part

I’m not writing about this suggesting that you immediately evaluate every part of your personality to decide whether it’s true or not. However, this is where the listening to yourself and some gentle curiosity can help.

Here are some questions I asked myself to get closer to understanding what was going on.

1. Are there specific times when I feel off?

2. What provokes it?

3. Is it general or are there particular aspects of life connected to it?

The answers aren’t a diagnosis or an immediate call to make a big change. They are the starting point to reflect and explore. After answering them, I began to realise that things I thought of as fixed parts of my personality were actually optional grooves that I’d been falling into. That self-awareness and recogniton is a significant development, but it’s not where things end. You need a safe space to do this work, which is why therapy can help.

What I Noticed

Therapy helped me work through some introspection to get me to the place where I could recognise a couple of my introjected values and prepare for change. It didn’t happen in my counselling sessions; it happened outside them, or, more accurately, between them. Also, it was a slow process of approaching the idea and then coming to terms with it.

Have you ever started describing yourself to someone, maybe in a job interview, on a date or when making new friends, and realised those words came from somewhere else? They came from your mouth, of course, and maybe you sort of believed them, but suddenly there’s an echo of something else. This is a potential way of spotting an introjected value.

For me, it happened when I used the word conscientious to describe myself. I even laughingly told them it’s what all my old school reports used to say. I was smiling on the outside, but that connection triggered an internal frown. I mentally put it aside to revisit when I had the bandwidth.

Or, have you ever left one relationship (work, romantic or friendship) only to notice the same pattern popping up in your new one? The thing you thought leaving would fix actually came with you! It starts to bug you even more because it seems like you can’t get away from that feeling. Here’s another introjected value at work!

For me, it was noticing that I had absorbed the idea that love, or my value, came from being needed. That’s a real slow burn issue in a relationship. It takes a long time to spot and feel uncomfortable about. It only pops up when you start to feel resentment around having to fulfil the roles that you cast yourself in in the first place. Or perhaps, when the other person stops needing you. Then, the relationship foundation crumbles, or, at least, it feels a little more fragile, more hollow, even empty.

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Midlife Lifting The Veil

My midlife shift helped me notice, really feel and understand those patterns, and eventually helped me to change them. That change came from a desire to do things for myself, not to prove anything to anyone else. I was no longer performing for my school report. I didn’t have to be conscientious to have value. I didn’t need to be useful to experience love.

Understanding those points and living them are not the same, but the one can open the door for the other. Deciding to act without thinking about what anyone else thought helped me live them. That’s a decision I have to make every day. I needed a guide, though, so I keep looking to my core values (that are definitely mine) to set my own standards for how to act.

Is this the only thing that helps you in the first stage of the midlife shift? Definitely not, but for me it unlocked a way to understand why I was feeling off and what I could do about it. I’m sure I still have introjected values, and there are some I’m currently working through. However, I feel so much more at home in my own skin already because I’m living a more aligned life, more true to myself.

Some of you will read about the ‘unconventional’ steps l’ve taken in life and think ‘that seems pretty normal to me’ or ‘been there, done that, got the t-shirt’. I love that for you, for us, but within my family and social circle, the choices I made and am still making aren't the norm, and I want to acknowledge that.

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I want to acknowledge it because when you step off the well-trodden path, there is no roadmap to follow to know where to go next. We have to keep exploring, keep checking the possible directions and then figure out where to go. That’s exciting and liberating. I’ve also found it tiring and demanding. It involves working out what feels right, and taking the next step is often scary. The whole process can feel draining because there are no shortcuts and no let up.

My Unconventional Credentials

I haven’t purposefully set out to be unconventional. I’ve simply made choices by listening to myself and following what appealed or spoke to me. Of course, there have been times when I followed convention or was drawn to it; I’ll explore those another day. Deep down, I’ve always known that I wanted a life rich in experiences. I’m not sure I ever used the word adventure, but I definitely wanted to be open to what came my way in life.

Years ago, in therapy, I remember telling my therapist that I would hate to imagine the rest of my life as a straight line stretching out in front of me. Instead, I hoped for it to have many twists and turns, going in new directions that I hadn’t even thought of yet. In hindsight, I can see I was describing a life where I made decisions as I grew rather than entering long-term commitments before I could know what they meant or who I was and would be.

Right now, during my midlife shift, I’m thinking over my past decisions. I recognise I was in a privileged position to be able to make all of these choices. I left the culture and heritage sector because moving around for fixed-term contracts wasn’t aligned with my goals anymore. Plus, having your dream job turn out to feel like a bit of a nightmare can put you off! I used to happily drive an old Nissan Micra, and now I have no car at all.

In fact, I cut my outgoings significantly to live a simple life. I did it to work less and appreciate things more. That involves cutting my own hair most of the time, no nail appointments, own-brand stuff, thrifting, using second-hand, keeping clothes and other items for many years, budget travel, cooking at home etc. Those are my life choices, not a judgement on anyone else’s, but they’re also not conventional.

I moved to another country for love, but it didn’t last. I’m not married (yet) and I don’t have kids. When I wanted a side hustle, I picked pet sitting. That’s not a prestigious choice. It appealed to me, though. Looking after animals, enabling people to go away with peace of mind, and I get a change of scene? Sign me up. It fitted my lifestyle and my preferences, not an idea of what I thought my life should look like.

Each choice has taught me things, broadened my horizons and brought me a deeper understanding of myself. That led me to a life that’s rich in experiences. So now I wake up every day in a capital city, live my life in two languages, have friends from all over the world, and partcipate in habits and rituals that are on loan to me by my adopted country. The woman I was 10 years ago couldn’t have predicted one bit of it.

No Roadmap

A conventional life has a roadmap. It follows the paths and patterns of others, often our peers and those who came before us. That roadmap says where to go next, what to achieve and roughly when to achieve it. I’m not judging anyone for following that map. It’s hard to break away from convention, and not everyone wants to. For myself, I’m more concerned about whether it’s a deliberate choice rather than just the smoothest path.

Even then, if you know your main desire is for your life to have a smooth path, then you can choose it deliberately for that characteristic. On that note, though, it’s worth noting that just because it’s well-trodden, doesn’t mean it’s easy to live. It’s easy to choose and easy to explain. There’s a difference.

Life with no roadmap can feel pretty daunting. I’ve felt like that at various points, and I still do sometimes. That is until I remember that if I don’t have any set destinations in life, then I don’t need a roadmap. I’m not expecting myself to be anywhere particular at any specific moment in my life. That doesn’t mean I don’t have goals and dreams, just that they don’t involve fixed ideas of who I’ll be for the rest of my life.

Letting go of those milestones and expectations from life is freeing. It’s also a concept that I found hard to get my head around. That’s inevitable because we do need anchor points in our life. Also, I still live and operate in a society that expects convention, and it will question and potentially distance itself from those that don’t conform.

I won’t feel sad if I get to the end of my life and I haven’t been married, owned my own company or visited every continent. I already know I won’t get to read all the books on my list. That’s not a lack of ambition, I’m thinking of the bigger picture.

I want to spend as much time as possible being fully present in my life. That involves new experiences, but they don’t have to be on a grand scale. Yes, I want the comfort that comes from financial security, but not at the cost of joy, time with the people I love, being moved emotionally and engaging my senses. It’s a balance, and one that I don’t want to lose sight of.

A Changing World

I’ve also come to see that having a roadmap is not the safety net we thought it was. We can avoid change all we like, but if we stand still, trying to keep everything the same, eventually, change comes and finds us. What good is convention and a roadmap then?

Sometimes it can still get us to a destination, but now it’s a race against change. The goalposts are shifting, or more likely, the standard remains the same but the route to achieve it is fraught with obstacles and pitfalls. That leaves us feeling tired, dejected and pretty angry. What happened to that smooth path?

The world has changed fairly dramatically while I was growing up and living this first half of my life. The roadmap we got handed by our parents and grandparents is pretty hard to follow at this present time. Not only do some of the destinations not make sense, but they’re just not feasible in the same timeframes, if at all.

It’s rare to get a job and stay in it until we retire. Retirement ages are getting pushed back, and the job market, working conditions and employer loyalty are not what they were. Affording a family home is a barrier. Having enough money to have one or two kids is a hurdle, with childcare being a significant issue. Living alone on a single salary is a challenge. Fearing for future generations and the longevity of the planet is a serious consideration.

The old roadmap doesn’t make sense, so even if you want to hit conventional milestones, you’ll need to figure out your own path in your own way. It takes time for that transition, though. For now, many of us are still trying to use the tattered pieces of that old roadmap.

The Costs and the Delights of Choosing Your Own Path

Roadmap or no roadmap, each path has delights and challenges. An examined life will have frequent pauses for a person to stop and decide which way to go. The cost of an unexamined life is severe. We only get this brief, bright spark of existence. Living it according to someone else’s ideas is pouring away something precious: choice and the chance to truly live as you.

Choosing your own path also comes with costs. You are responsible for the mistakes, for getting back up, dusting yourself off, looking around and taking the next step. It takes courage to head in new directions not knowing where it will take you. You can get support, but ultimately, it comes down to you.

Living life like this confronts mortality more frequently. There are no legacies, voices of external approval or boxes to tick to say you did life right. It invovles a more acute awareness that time is finite, and all you have to do is spend it the way you choose until it runs out.

As I mentioned earlier, there aren’t many other people in my family or social circle living unconventionally. That doesn’t mean they are living an unexamined life. Maybe their choices are different, maybe they don’t pause to examine as often as I do. They support me and love me, but there are some areas where they just can’t relate. Most of my close friends are married or have been married and have kids. That doesn’t mean we can’t connect, just that we’re doing so from different places, and that’s noticeable sometimes.

Both paths come with delights, too. Convention involves less thinking and decision making. The path is relatively clear and predictable. Even if it’s now covered in boulders and dips, you still have your milestones and general direction.

An examined life with no roadmap is fully yours. It can deepen the despair, but it also enhances the joy and pride. It contains fewer constraints and, therefore, so much potential, and you get to be the judge of what success looks like.

It can come with regrets, but they’re of a different kind, the ones I can live with. Not the type where you look back and wonder what the point of it all was and whether any of it was really you. Not the type that builds resentment. It’s not smooth either, but it will teach you to rely on, trust and know yourself.

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Actions You Can Take Right Now

I can feel lost some days, but it doesn’t mean I am lost. I’m exploring, pausing and choosing my next step. Sometimes I need to wait a bit for that to become clear. That’s a consequence of travelling with no roadmap. For anyone already off that path or those stepping off right now, I’m inviting you to join me in these actions that help us navigate life without that roadmap.

1. Do a belief audit. A great starting point and regular activity for an examined life is to list the beliefs you live by. I’m about to do mine again. I’ll check which ones serve me, which come from somewhere else and don’t apply, and which are out of date.

2. Explore new ideas and perspectives. There are tons of ways to do this. I like conversations with people from totally different backgrounds. There’s also the option to read something that’s outside your usual choice or genre, watch a documentary, visit a museum or gallery, or travel somewhere and see things from the local point of view.

3. Implement new habits and skills. It doesn’t have to be anything major. It could be a new way of making informed decisions, changing your mind based on new information, pausing before making assumptions, journalling to explore your wants and needs, learning something new each week, or owning up to your mistakes.

Since my last belief audit, I’ve been practicing humility, and saying when I’m wrong or I don’t know something. It’s not easy, but it has left me with more room to learn and to find the truth. It’s also encouraging me to be less hard on myself and to evaluate my options more clearly.

The line below comes from Learning and Being in Person-Centred Counselling1, and I’m sharing it here because it changed my perspective on midlife and even life in general.

This is the elephant in the room that I need to talk about before I explore any more midlife changes.

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Self-Actualisation in Midlife

The midlife shift is a specific point in time of our self-actualisation. For the sake of clarity, here’s what I mean by self-actualisation. When we are very young, we begin to build a self-concept. As we develop and age, we add experiences to that self-structure. Self-actualisation is the process of us maintaining and developing that structure.

Humanists, like Carl Rogers and Abraham Maslow, came up with concepts like self-actualisation and the actualising tendency to explain our push towards fulfilling our potential. It’s not necessarily a conscious act, but it is shaped by our environment, which includes our relationships.

The unique mix of things that happen in midlife are a rich time for growth, perhaps mostly because it can be a time for change, difficulties, dissatisifaction and a kind of waking up. Those things change our self-structure. Then, we start to feel different and see things differently, contributing to more developments in our self-structure. As a result, what we choose and the way we act changes.

That development to become our better and more aligned self is self-actualisation at work in a more visible way. It’s a significant realisation but not really a revelation, and certainly not the elephant in the room. What’s important to establish, though, is that this development is happening in a specific environment. As the quotation above says, a less than ideal environment is the cause of, or contributes to, a less than ideal self.

What does that mean for us, though? Well, it should adjust our expectations. I’m not exploring that as an excuse. Our environment is not a ‘get out of jail free card’ for every time we don’t live up to standards. However, it’s worth acknowledging its influence. That’s not only for those of us who are recovering perfectionists and hard on ourselves but also for anyone with obstacles in their way.

A Word about Privilege

I frequently draw on philosophy and psychology in my writing. One thing that consistently frustrates me with most mainstream and academic philosophy and psychology is its bias to white men both in its practice and study. So, I want to explore some of what we might be ignoring about self-actualisation.

Part of the elephant in the room (let’s say the trunk and ears) is privilege. Before I can examine the possibilities of the midlife shift to a greater extent, I need to address it. Privilege is a component of our environment that has influence over our self-actualisation.

It changes how we walk through the world. One of the easiest ways to check and understand privilege is to look at who environments are built for. I didn’t need to read the incredible book Invisible Women by Caroline Criado Perez to know that much of the world isn’t built for women, but it certainly clarified some points for me.

Who the world is built for also comes into play when looking at race, nationality and ethnicity, religion, sexual orientation, people with disabilities, and other factors. People with less privilege have to spend extra time and energy thinking about their environment and how they can adapt to it rather than the other way round.

In terms of self-actualisation, then, the scales are already tipped in favour of development for those with more privilege. That’s because the environment is designed and adapted to them, and is therefore not something that constantly throws out obstacles. People with privilege still deal with challenges, but their environment is a little closer to the ideal that will help them get closer to their ideal self.

I’m bringing up this elephant in the room because I want what I say to be clear. I know that the midlife shift doesn’t look the same for everyone. It varies based on the indiviudal, but it also comes down to privilege. Those with more privilege will have an environment conducive to self-actualisation towards a more ideal self. In turn, of course, that can enhance their privilege, widening the gap.

Those with less privilege still self-actualise, but the process will look different, and I feel it’s so important to acknowledge that. I’m not expecting us to make our environment perfect, but there’s plenty to work on to make it better. I believe a significant amount of time and effort should be focused on improving our environment to ensure a smoother path to self-actualisation for all.

The Rest of the Elephant

I’ve identified privilege’s role in all this, but what is the rest of the elephant? Well, it too is made up of different parts, and I’ll try to name them all here. Essentially, the rest of the elephant is our current world and the factors in it that are shaping our environment right now.

Of course, there are hundreds or even thousands of those, but I’m sticking to the big issues that are the backdrop for most of us hitting midlife at this particular moment in time. How these factors affect us is also influenced by privilege.

Touching on these topics is much heavier and more political than my usual writing, I get that. We’re addressing the elephant in the room because politics affects everything. The sections below include some personal opinions but also facts and general points of view backed up by research.

Climate Change

Climate change is creeping up on us; people, and our systems of power, aren’t doing enough to slow or reverse it. It’s affecting our planet already, and the second half of my life and my experiences from midlife onwards will be impacted by climate change.

Average global temperature predictions are set to cross the 1.5 degree threshold in the next few years.

The UN report states that there are no good outcomes when we remain above that 1.5 degree threshold. That means food security, water supplies and economies will be impacted. We’ll experience extreme weather, the loss of ecosystems and the submersion of low-lying islands and cities. Many people will be displaced as a result.

I’m acutely aware that, because of this, life moving forward will have more challenges.

Late-Stage Capitalism

Late-stage capitalism is a contributor to climate change. It has other impacts that are creating a challenging environment for anyone hitting midlife and self-actualising right now. The constant push toward annual profit growth means marketing noise is pretty loud.

Overconsumption is one result of that. We’re frequently offered harmful temporary solutions that are wasteful at best, and at worst, are preventing us from getting the help we need to see real change. It’s also led to a culture, in some places, of putting profits over just about anything else, including protecting humanity and our planet.

AI

AI is part of late-stage capitalism, but deserves its own space. That’s not only for its environmental impact2. There’s also the matter of taking the collective works of humanity and selling them back to us!

AI is changing the professional landscape. While some may welcome those changes, research shows generative AI’s negative impact on women, older workers, minorities and those already discriminated against, whether that’s through job replacement or disciminatory hiring processes.3 That’s a serious consideration for anyone entering midlife today.

Alongside that, there’s the negative impact on mental health.4 That’s compounded by the way generative AI is eroding our trust in what is real. Plus, research is already showing the affect of regular generative AI use on critical thinking and cognitive skills.5

Even those who aren’t regular AI users will be feeling the consequences of increased mental health issues and reduced cognition within society. That won’t only show up for people in midlife, it’ll reach everyone.

Dehumanising Politics

I’m aware I’m painting a pretty bleak picture, and it’s about to get bleaker. I’m not saying it’s hopeless and we should just give up, but I’m not sugarcoating or hiding from reality and the potential future consequences either.

For those of us entering midlife right now, many of us are witnessing a rise in dehumanising politics. Fear and hatred are the tools of choice, and are being used to twist our attention and emotions. It’s directed at immigrants, at the poor, at asylum seekers, women, and people with disabilities.

The outrage economy is fueling it6. Whether that’s from increased perception or changes in reality, it’s still doing damage. The lowering of journalistic standards, social media news and clickbait (see late-stage capitalism) are contributing to an increased propensity and visibility of extreme behaviours and opinions.

As Professor David Livingstone Smith has explained so eloquently, this dehumanisation leads to violence, atrocities and genocide.7

It’s not new, but it certainly seems to be on the rise as a backdrop to my midlife. I might not be directly on the receiving end, but the consequences are felt and they are wide-reaching. They include economic disruption, vicarious trauma and despair at the level of human suffering and deplorable actions we witness.

The Patriarachy

We’re no strangers to dehumanisation since it happens fairly frequently in our patriarachical system, and is typically directed at women.8 The patriarchy is not new or particular to these times. Still, it deserves a mention here as the manosphere’s influence is currently broadening and has its own brand of dehumanisation directed at women and men who don’t comply with its ideals.9

The patriarchy creates an unsafe space for anyone not conforming. The mansophere is making that even more sharply felt and changing the perception of behaviours that are socially acceptable. That’s a halt in progress and a step back in terms of rights, safety, mental health and democracy. These are all things that will change our experiences of midlife.

A Less Than Ideal Environment

In many ways, my midlife shift has turned my focus inwards. However, it’s also brought me greater clarity, curiosity and understanding about the difficulties, injustices and growing issues in our world. My introspection and extrospection are intertwined and cannot be separated. Both deserve my attention and energy.

I still believe in midlife change, but I want us to be realistic about what kind of environment we’re doing that in. Accepting and adapting to that environment doesn’t mean accepting defeat. We can take it into account and work to change it. Individual actions can change our immediate environment, and collective actions can do so much more. I know it can feel hopeless, but focusing on the agency we do have, community efforts and positive action are vital in the face of polycrisis.

I’m not trying to induce guilt, but I am hoping we can be kinder to ourselves, to each other, and to seek and take the opportunities where we can be agents for change. Not just midlife changes, but changes that improve the environment for all of us.

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I’m not restless in the traditional psychological sense in that I’m agitated. When I call myself restless, I mean that I know that I yearn for change. I like novelty and challenges. New environments, people and circumstances stimulate me. Underneath that is a love of growth. What’s being stimulated are my thoughts and ideas, and my horizons are broadening.

I haven’t really been ignoring my restlessness. I listened to it in many cases, which is why I’ve moved so many times, and I now live in another country. I’ve let my curiosity lead me this way and that. What I was ignoring, though, was the fact that I felt I had to respond to it in a set way, without considering other possibilities. I also wasn’t asking much about where it came from besides growth and stimulation.

Impatience in Waiting

At the moment, my brain is swirling with ideas for newsletters. I try to make a note of them, let them develop and publish in a sequence that makes sense. Sometimes, though, an idea leapfrogs the others. That’s because writing is as much for me as it is for anyone reading. Not only do I need to get this thought down, but I need to share it.

My partner is actively looking for a new job, and it’s going to bring change into our lives. I welcome that. I’m excited about it. We need it, and it will put us both on the next step toward what we’re working for, individually and together. However, I’m also feeling off some days.

It’s prompted a period of internal struggle. I can see the change on the horizon, but I don’t know how far away it is or exactly what it will look like. That’s not the part that’s worrying me, though. My inner turmoil is coming from what to do in the meantime. I feel a slight pressure to prepare for its arrival, to be as ready as I can be.

Now that I write those words, I can see what a difficult task I’ve placed in front of me. I’m expecting myself to be ready for something even when I don’t know exactly what it is or when it will arrive. I’d feel unreasonable expecting much in that regard from anyone else.

I’m not one to shy away from a challenge. In fact, I have an old narrative that if there’s someone who has to take on that hard task, it might as well be me. My restless tendencies combined with that old narrative have turned this period of waiting into an unnecessary rollercoaster.

Not Fixed or in Need of Fixing

I’ve called myself a restless soul before. I don’t want to make it a fixed part of my identity, but I do want to honour and accept that side of me. That’s a fine balance; I’m learning how to acknowledge it without using it as the excuse for every impulsive decision, change of mind and response to a whim.

My restless tendencies are part of the reason I feel like I need to prepare for this change. The waiting part can be the most difficult for me. Just writing that feels like a relief. Now that I’m honouring and accepting my restlessness, I see that I don’t have to wait.

I don’t mean that I can speed up the change and make it happen now. I mean that I’ve fallen into a trap with change. Of course, it brings novelty. That can cause relief, excitement, upheaval, new opportunities, fresh perspectives, an end to a bad situation or just a different pace. What I’ve also programmed myself to believe is that it’s a necessary trigger.

I’ve connected waiting with change. It seems subtle and innocuous. However, what lies underneath that is me not granting permission to be myself already, to be content already, to be enough right now. I’m giving that watershed event so much power that it’s diminishing my present.

That means when a change is coming, I’m living on pause until it arrives, which is when life, the better one, can start. In that context, it seems clear to me that wanting to prepare for the change is my resistance to living on pause. It’s not just about being ready, it’s about being able to use and live the time before the change.

Seeing the Invisible and Touching the Intangible

What’s helping me most right now is my push to acknowledge that change isn’t something that just arrives in the moment and then everything becomes before and after. That’s not how life works, at least not all the time anyway.

Changes can happen like an anthill. The mound of dirt appears slowly as the tunnels are dug underground. In this case, the tunnels are my internal changes and the mound is my circumstances that appear based on those new configurations on the inside. The imperceptible parts are just as much part of the change, and they don’t happen overnight.

I Surrender

The non-restless part of me is yearning to live in this limbo and appreciate it. I can see what a privilege it is, but I can’t always enjoy it because I have that restless feeling that waiting time should be used to prepare. Acknowledging why I feel like that, because I don’t want to postpone life until after the change, is helping.

Instead of ‘geting ready’, I could pour my energy into convincing myself that I’m not standing still. There’s plenty of evidence to back that up, but restlessness is not always great at pausing to listen and notice. That path doesn’t feel aligned with enjoying my time in limbo, so I’ll try something different.

Maybe, I’ll just be restless for a bit.

An Honourable Retreat

In another post, I explored my efforts to encourage a kinder inner dialogue. It’s helping a lot with my acceptance of my restlessness and that urge to prepare.

Something else that’s making a difference right now is humour. That’s another old pattern of mine, using humour to defend or deflect. I still love humour, though! Now, I’m just expanding it’s use, and using it to lighten the mood and take a step back from my situation.

I’m not sitting here laughing at my inner turmoil, but I am giving it a humorous label. I like to give particular life periods a book or a film title. Thinking up what that might be makes me smile, and it gives me a fresh perspective. I struggled a little with what I would call this current stretch.

It’s not necessarily a whole film or book, more a chapter or a few scenes. In fact, it’s probably one of the parts that would get made into a montage. My montage would show me figuring out the non-work related elements of my life that make me happy.

Cut to me writing on Substack, attending events with loved ones, reading, travelling, wielding my pencil, pen and paintbrush and working out. I’m calling it Voyage of Discovery Part 28. (I hope you read that last part in the voice used for film trailers).

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Actions You Can Take Right Now

It feels a little ironic writing this part, since I’m not really taking action, and that’s sort of the point. If you’re feeling restless, an urge to prepare, or this phase of life has you a little lost, doing nothing about it is a valid option. I am still reflecting and using some tools, though, so join me if you like.

1. Accept it. That’s where taking no action comes in, we’re not moving to push this feeling away or to find the right response to it. Give it a wave and acknowledge its presence. That can also include recongising how it’s affecting you right now.

2. Speak kindly to yourself about it. These parts of you or patterns are not a failing. They’ve worked for you before, they might work for you again. They can tell you things, but they aren’t in the driving seat.

3. Name it. Get some distance from it when that feels possible by giving this phase a dramatic film or book title.

Whether you’re restless or not right now, I’d love to hear the titles you come up with for this phase of your life.

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Sharing this thought and picturing my current montage is already helping me to appreciate this period, even though I’m still restless. I’m not waiting for that change, I’m already becoming it.

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First, it’s confession time. Yes, I’m a streak person. Those smart app designers with their gamification saw me coming. It’s not just Insight Timer, my Duolingo streak is 1061 days! So, yes it can feel like I’m collecting streaks. Snapchat used to get me in the same way when I was into that.

Maybe, there’s something to look into to understand why I feel like I can’t let those streaks die, but that’s not what this aritcle is about.

I’ve started lots of new habits as I aim to live a more aligned life and look after my changing body. Meditation is one of them.

365 days on Insight Timer, that’s one year of reading inspiring quotations. Sometimes they gave me something to reflect on, other times a little boost. There were definitely times when I skipped them in a hurry to get my meditation done. Other days, I had to reread them to make them make sense.

What came up on my 365th day was some words of wisdom from Meister Eckhart. It said ‘What we plant in the soil of contemplation we shall reap in the harvest of action.’ That connected with a quotation from Marcus Aurelius, ‘Such as are your habitual thoughts, such also will be the character of your mind; for the soul is dyed by the thoughts.’

Both sentiments indicate that who we are and what we do begins in the mind. Not to suggest that it’s a fixed entity, but rather that we have control over our thoughts, and therefore control over who we are and what we do. Reflecting on that brought the CBT triangle to my mind, where our thoughts, feelings and behaviours connect.

It’s pretty relevant to thinking about my year of meditating. What is meditation but a practice of choosing where my attention and awareness goes? That in turn, then, will impact my actions and who I am or am becoming.

Not A Midlife Fix

I don’t meditate to deal with the struggles of midlife. Well, not directly anyway. I wouldn’t call it essential for anyone experiencing a midlife shift. It’s a tool that might work for you and might not. There’s a common misconception about meditation that it’s all about clearing your mind and getting away from your thoughts. I wasn’t trying to make my emptiness or midlife discomfort go away.

I wasn’t even looking for a sense of relaxation or calm. It would be nice if meditation gave me a quiet mind. Sometimes it does and sometimes it doesn’t. I have used it to focus, which has been helpful. It does let me notice my thoughts from a slightly removed viewpoint, which is wonderful.

The improved focus and ability to observe my thoughts have indirectly helped during my midlife shift. They gave me fresh perspectives on old and new narratives that were popping up. They helped me at times when I was struggling with decisions and risks. Meditation wasn’t the solution, but it facilitated the conditions for me to find the solutions.

What Meditation Actually Gave Me

I can’t claim to be more zen now than I was before I started. Equally, I’m not here to scoff at meditation. One of my favourite things about meditating is that it’s not about being good at it. You can’t win meditation (even if you can get a streak), you just do it. Doing it is all that matters; for me that feels like a step towards joy and a step away from productivity, competition and the rat race.

Doing it imperfectly still counts, in fact, if your mind wanders or you fidget, maybe you’re getting more out of the practice than the person who could sit perfectly still throughout. My presence is enough, and that’s a valuable quality I want to take into other parts of my life.

Start as you mean to go on

Meditation has come along with other contributions over the last year. It gave me a chance to start the day slowly. I mostly meditate in the morning, in bed, before I get up. Am I just hiding laziness behind meditation? Maybe.

I don’t see it as laziness, though. I’m the kind of person who needs to start the day slowly. Without meditation, I would be walking straight into a brightly lit bathroom, then experiencing the strong smells of morning life. Instead, I soothe my senses first. For someone with sensory processing sensitivity, that makes a subtle but significant difference to the tone of my day.

Sound control

Speaking of sensory experiences, I also use tracks on Insight Timer as a way to control the sound in my environment. I have misophonia as well as sensory processing sensitivity. That means certain sounds can cause me to react irrationally. Sure, we all get annoyed at noises, but I’m talking about wanting to leave the room, getting stressed, angry and irritated and having strong urges to do something drastic.

Since I can’t control the sounds everyone else is making (life in a busy captial city is especially challenging), I give myself other sounds to focus on. I tune into the music of a meditation track when eating, when my neighbours treat phone calls like their projecting on stage at the Herodeion, to drown out construction noise, and when that random car alarm goes off for the 20th time.

What’s going on

Pretty often, meditation is also me time. It’s anywhere between five and 25 minutes that I can give to myself. A useful explanation for slowing down; even though sitting and doing nothing is perfectly legitimate, it somehow feels easier to justify to myself if it’s meditation.

It’s some of the best me time because I turn my focus to myself without feeling like I’m under a spotlight. I use meditation as an opportunity to check in with myself and my body. One of my favourite tracks (I’ll list them below) is a body scan. It isn’t one where I notice all my chronic illness symptoms. It’s one where I witness and accept my current state. That leaves me feeling more connected with myself and emotionally regulated.

A journey somewhere else

In Athens, I can feel pretty far from my old home. Meditation also serves as a connection with another place when I need to feel close to my roots. I grew up in the UK, but both sides of my family are from Ireland originally. Fortunately, there are several tracks that bring the sounds of the UK and Ireland to me.

Most mornings, it’s Irish or Celtic music. Other times, I fill my ears with birdsong and nature sounds from back home. There’s something so restorative about that, and I don’t even need to travel to keep that link alive.

Filling in the gaps

I like to habit stack with my balance disc. I’ll step on the disc, which has spikes that stimulate blood flow in my feet. Plus, it’s inflated, so it moves when I move, giving my hypermobile ankles and core a good workout. While I’m doing that, I meditate for five minutes.

I almost always choose a morning affirmation track. It can feel a little cheesy, but it actual feels good to say those things to myself. It’s useful to have a script for some kind words that encourage belief in myself. Each time I do it, there’s a different affirmation that resonates, so it offers me what I need to hear without me even knowing what I needed.

A Choice for How I’m Spending My Time

I may have only just hit my 365-day streak, but I’ve actually meditated for 1872 days in total with this app. According to the ever-so-helpful stats, over those days, I’ve meditated for 148,000 minutes! That certainly puts it in perspective. That’s a pretty hefty chunk of time; just under 2,500 hours or slighty over 100 days.

That prompted me to think about what else I could achieve in 148,000 minutes. A lot, I should imagine. It all builds up when you do a little at a time. That cumulative effect appears as something pretty powerful to me. Not that I’m thinking I could have used those minutes for something else. Quite the opposite, actually. I’m thinking that, really, those minutes were small pockets of time that have made each day a little better, and I could do the same in other areas, too.

It’s not a dramatic impact, but I don’t need it to be. It’s consistent. It gives me something in the moment, I feel more connected to myself and emotionally regulated, and my self-esteem is boosted. I’m a little blown away by how those short meditation sessions add up to something pretty substantial.

If I can commit 148,000 minutes to strength training, painting watercolours, fiction writing and my Substack over the next few years, I would certainly be building a life that’s more aligned. I’d experience other benefits as well.

I’d enjoy the process, hone my technique, make progress, have a lot to show for it and be flexing my muscles (real and creative).

Excited for the Future

When I started this article, I didn’t realise that my biggest takeaway would be that I’m inspired to rack up more minutes. I want to extend my streak, but not just to see those numbers go up. I want to keep going because I’ve formed the habit, I can easily add it to my day and consistency is paying off.

Alongside the direct benefits of meditation, I’ve seen the power of how short spurts of time can accumulate over weeks, months and years. I want to devote pockets of time to the other things in my life that I’m passionate about so that I can progress and reap the rewards.

Those rewards come in the moment when I’m doing those things, but also the benefits of consistently showing up and acting will accumulate. I’m ready to turn my habitual thoughts and actions into a character of mind that feels aligned and that I’m even more proud of.

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Meditation Tracks I Keep Coming Back To

I’ve divided the meditations I do most often into two categories and provided a bit of information about what I use them for or the benefits I’ve felt.

Music

Ireland with Acoustic Guitar and Cello - the track I play most mornings before I get up.

Finding Stillness - a lovely short track for controlling the sound in my environment.

Dusk Chorus in Early Spring in Ireland - excellent for focus and connecting me to my roots.

Woodland Birds and Bees - ideal for sound control and feels like home.

Deep Sleep Music, Release All Blockages - for when I can’t sleep and need to control sound.

432 Hz Vocal Solfeggio Frequency Melodic Meditation - for focus and sound control.

Deep Peace - great for pauses between tasks.

Guided

Positive Morning Boost Affirmations - top choice for when I’m on my balance disc.

Deep Healing - me time, and used in research to show how meditation changes the brain structure in eight weeks.

Walk in the Irish Countryside - connecting to my roots and me time.

Energy Cleanse: Sacred Waters - for pauses between tasks.

Relax Into Sleep Guided Practice - when sleep feels elusive.

Morning Meditation - when I can’t stay in bed for long but want to prepare for the day.

Hear Rest: Tuning Into Quiet In The Mind (Advanced) - me time when the focus is meditation. There’s also an introduction version.

Perhaps it was the idea of a ticking clock. Maybe it was because of who I imagined I would be at this age. More likely it was because I was spending a decent portion of my day doing things that didn’t feel meaniningful to me. They weren’t making the world a better place, they weren’t fixing something or changing anything. I wondered if that was too much to ask, and decided that my minimum standard was that my work would be neutral, so not having an negative impact.

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I’d prefer somewhere closer to the maximum, though, where I’m helping at least one person, the planet, or lots of people. I felt the lack of meaning in my professional life like a hollow part of my days. I had to address the emptiness, but, I wasn’t in a hurry to find a quick fix. I can cope with the emptiness for a bit longer, as long as I’m working towards something else, and that something else is aligned to my values.

I think that wanting to contribute or build towards something is a pretty common human trait. It just came into a sharper focus in midlife. It’s not like the rest of my life lacks purpose. Work is a significant part of my life, but it’s not something that defines me. In terms of time spent, it’s a big chunk, so it made sense to me that there had to be meaning there too.

Defining Purpose

Purpose is personal. Figuring out my ‘why’ was an essential first step before moving to more meaningful work. I recognised that there were ways I could be contributing, but they wouldn’t feel right for me. For example, I might not be naturally suited to them or skilled in that area. There are accomplishments and meaniningful ways of working that I admire, but that doesn’t mean I could sustain them in the long run.

That’s exactly the point, too. I wanted this move to be something that I could see myself doing when I’m 60 or even 70. That might feel like a tall order: meaningful, suited to me, and something I can do for years and even as I go past the usual retirement age. As it happens, though, I found something that ticked all three boxes and felt like the right fit.

Viktor E. Frankl identified three ways of finding meaning; courage, responsibility through action, and love and care can apply all at once or at different stages in our lives. I realised that I wanted my work responsibilities to feel more like a contribution, and that if I could combine it with care, and maybe even courage, I would get as much from my work as I gave.

One of my first considerations for what would be meaningful for me was looking at my values. As I value experiences over results or material objects, I wanted to move towards something experiential. I thought about my main values of integrity, compassion, kindness and open-mindedness, and reflected on how I would want to embody all of them in my work.

When thinking about what would suit me, I had two factors to take into account. I want to be able to continue living simply and I need to manage my chronic illness. Having some control over my environment, a non-traditional work schedule, and the potential to work for myself are pretty crucial for those two considerations.

Finally, I wanted to choose a job that I would get better at over time, where experience rather than physical energy would be an asset. I was looking for something that relied on my mind more than my body, and that connected to what I’m already good at and interested in.

Finding a New Direction

Counselling was the logical answer. Not only because it fulfilled all my criteria, but also because people had been nudging me towards it for years. I had heard how I have a way with words, but also that I’m a good listener, and that I have a calm and reassuring presence. I figured those would be a good foundation.

That sounds quite trivial. It goes deeper, though. The real foundation is that I believe in counselling. I have experienced, firsthand, how it helps. Having someone to listen to you and be by your side as you experience and process things is crucial. It’s how I learned so many of the tools I now have for dealing with everything that life throws at me.

It gave me resilience. More importantly, I gained an understanding that life isn’t about stopping bad things from ever happening. It’s about handling those things and still being able to experience joy.

It’s not a quick fix. Training to be a counsellor takes time. The route I’m on will take me four years in total. I started retraining at 38. Now, I’m 40, and halfway through. Ideally, I’ll be a fully-fledged counsellor at 42, but time, timing and money are factors that could get in the way.

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I didn’t quit my non-meaniningful work. Plus, I’m still pet sitting. Now, I also have my Substack and a fiction side project. Those last three, alongside working towards my qualification have given my life a good dose of meaning. The emptiness is receding, and it’s changing the way I look at the world. In fact, it’s changed how I see myself, which is the biggest and most unexpected win.

Limbo or is it?

Given that the ticking clock and expectation of being something, somewhere or someone by now played a part in my search for meaning, it’s tricky to reconcile that with a slow process. Inevitably, doubts and unhelpful narratives popped up. The kind that could be serious obstacles to pursuing my purpose.

I’m pretty sure you know what they sound like. It’s too late. I can’t start now. This takes too long, I want to get feel like I’m doing something meaningful sooner rather than later. I compared and still compare myself to people who started down that path much sooner.

My answers are that it’s not too late, and I should start now, because I’m in a unique place to offer something different based ony my other life experiences, not despite them. It does take a long time, but since I could be doing it for another 30 years, four years now seems worth it. The impatience to get rid of the emptiness is a real challenge, but I found that just starting made life more tolerable, and it only got better.

Right now, I’m in limbo. I’m making the change, but I haven’t finished. I’m not working in my chosen meaningful profession just yet. My work with no meaning still bothers me and I have questions over other ways to make money in the meantime. Some days the emptiness is present, and others, it feels a little more removed.

It’s not really limbo, though, as I have a direction. A direction I carefully chose considering my needs, wants, values and circumstances.

Actions You Can Take Right Now

If midlife has you questioning your purpose, direction or even the meaning of life, it’s not a crisis, but an opportunity to pause and think. Walking down a path directed by the things we ‘should’ do can leave us feeling empty. Fortunately, it’s possible to course correct, and it’s not too late to start. I don’t think we should all become counsellors, but you can find your own direction with these actions.

1. Define meaning for yourself. Looking at my values, circumstances and idea of meaning gave me clarity.

2. Give what you already have meaning. You don’t have to transform your life. Deliberate steps towards something else could be part of it. However, there are opportunities to find or rediscover the meaning in what you already do or add a dash more somewhere by tailoring more to your values and circumstances.

3. Prepare for doubts. It often comes down to one question, which is: Is starting now better than not starting at all? I felt I owed it to myself to listen to my needs and act on them.

4. Work to minimums and maximums. This concept is useful for any kind of change and goal setting. The minimums are the daily or regular elements that are the non-negotiables you add to your life. They can be the small ways you add meaning. Then, there are the maximums. They require more energy and are more transformative. Since they’re a big commitment, they often come after you’ve formed good habits through your minimums.

For me, the minimums are my Substack, pet sitting, and counselling training, the latter is perhaps more in between. Outside of the courses, I’m listening to podcasts and reading to prepare myself and to add meaning.

I’m heading towards maximum now. The last two years of training will include more intense study, personal counselling and practice hours. I’ll have to adapt my schedule and eventually stop my work so that I can focus solely on counselling. That’s intimidating and exciting in equal measure! What your minimums and maximums will look like will depend on the changes and purpose you’re seeking.

Another element of why midlife change feels riskier is because of the commitments I have already made. The life of a responsible adult means paying for things, showing up, and looking after others. Finally, there’s the more psychological side of risk, which is that failure can feel much bigger in midlife. That’s partly down to an unhelpful narrative that I should have it all figured out by now.

All that risk could leave me frozen on the spot. That wouldn’t be a great solution. I’d have to live an inauthentic life, knowing that things were off, but not believing in myself enough to do anything about it. It sounds pretty awful!

So the alternative is to tolerate uncertainty. One way that I’m increasing my tolerance is by working on my relationship with worry. Fotunately, that process seems to have initiated naturally as part of my effort to listen to myself and pay attention to my inner dialogue. Replacing harsh words with kind ones has gotten me part of the way. However, I noticed that there was a worrying voice that seemed caring, but was actually causing me more stress than necessary.

Identifying My Safety-Seeking Behaviours

I didn’t just recognise that voice of worry, I started to notice what kinds of things it said and how I was responding. Without dwelling too much on the worry, I looked for topics that were coming up repeatedly. What struck me most, though, was the narrative and structure I created around worrying.

I identified that one of my main safety-seeking behaviours is overthinking. I’ve thought my way out of many difficulties in the past, so it’s logical for me to rely on that tried-and-tested method. There’s a simple equation in my brain that says that time + thinking = solving.

There can be too much of a good thing, though, especially when it comes to thinking. My belief that it keeps me safe from uncertainty encourages overthinking. This safety-seeking behaviour spawned another one. Since I believed that overthinking was the solution, I was crafting the narrative that worry can prevent bad things from happening.

What That Looks Like Inside My Mind

Here’s how that would work in practice. When I decided to start my counselling course, it involved change and risk. My mind started thinking through the potential obstacles, such as balancing the course with my existing commitments, being back in education, the online learning format, and what it would take for me to excel.

Those unknown quantities quickly turned into doubt and fear, which my brain registered as danger. With the threat registered, the stress response kicked in. That made it all feel pretty real in my body. My muscles were tense and my senses were alert. That prompted me to do something about it, so my existing method of overthinking took over.

My mind then became a worry and solution factory! There was a conveyor belt of things to worry about, like what if I fall behind?, what if I don’t have the energy to work and attend class? and what if I have to sacrifice other things in my life? Then, there was a part of the production line where I needed to find and fit solutions. There were multiple ideas for rearranging my schedule, making ends meet and preparing for the course. It’s as frantic as it sounds. Essentially, I was trying to think away the fear.

Finding solutions is all well and good if I could just leave it there. However, that felt very difficult to do. I know now that it wasn’t because there was something wrong with me. When I took the threat seriously, that was a signal to my stress response to continue so it could keep me safe. Except it wasn’t keeping me safe in that instance, just pushing out more worries for me to overthink.

That’s how a worry loop is generated.

Empowered by Responsibility

Like all loops, it needs an intervention to break it. Becoming aware of that was step one. Step two was realising that this was all happening in my mind and body, so no one would be coming to save me. The fact that I was the only one who could break it felt like a big responsiblity. It also came with a hint of shame that I was responsible for my own stress and worry.

Thankfully, my kind inner dialogue helped me deal with the shame. I know that worry and anxiety are pretty common, and I wouldn’t shame anyone else for experiencing them. Plus, responsiblity can be a privilege. That was a useful springboard for choosing to feel empowered instead.

How incredible that I could be the one to break the worry loop and make my life a bit easier.

Midlife Risk, Decisions and Novelty

My relationship with worry didn’t dramatically change from that moment, but it was a positive starting point. I could see that I would have to continue breaking the loop and working on my relationship with worry. That includes my current work on slowly changing the narrative that worry is stopping bad things from happening.

Worry crops up all the time in my midlife shift. First, it appeared in the uncertainty of who I was and the times when I felt uncomfortable in my own skin. Now, it’s more evident in the changes I’m making, like starting a Substack! All of that involves a lot of novelty, risk and making decisions. Of course, I need to think things through; I will have self-doubt and I have to evaluate the risks.

What I’m negotiating now is the idea that I can think without overthinking. That’s a line I have to map out in real time as the thoughts, solutions and worries occur. To change that narrative about worry preventing bad things, I need to differentiate between problem-solving and worry.

Something I often remind myself of is that I don’t have to listen to and act on all of my thoughts.

It’s not an all or nothing approach, though. If I just stop listening altogether, the problem solving and risk management won’t happen at all.

Slowly Changing My Relationship with Worry

It’s about finding the right balance, which is why changing my relationship with worry is a slow and deliberate process. I’m commited to it, though. I’m getting better at spotting where the problem solving ends and where the worrying begins.

That’s usually the time I step in and do something a little silly. I talk to myself. Well, at least I talk to my worrier (very different from my inner warrior). I’ll say stuff like ‘Thanks for you input’. Sometimes, I say ‘I know you’re looking out for me, but I’ve got it from here.’ It’s pretty effective at breaking the loop because it acknowledges that the work so far is appreciated, but also that it’s over.

A lot of midlife change comes without firm solutions. When I’m trying to deal with the unknown, I can’t think my way out of it. That’s when I opt for a different way to change the dialogue.

If I’m fretting about something, I ask myself if there is any evidence that this is likely to happen. What I come up with needs to be based on my past experience. If it seems pretty unlikely, then I recognise that the best case scenario also deserves some attention. I work on acknowledging that I have dealt with challenges before, and I trust myself to handle this.

If there is some evidence or there’s no data because it’s way outside my comfort zone, then I change the question. Instead of worrying about what could happen, I ask myself what would I do next. Once I’ve imagined what I would do next, I trust myself to do that. Then, I make my peace with the consequences.

That’s where the thinking ends. I acknowledge that nothing else positive can come from thinking about it. Then, I decide to use my time and brain power for something else.

I also like to review the evidence of times when things worked out without any worry. It helps change the narrative that I have to prepare through overthinking.

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Getting Out of the Deep Groove of Worry

My worry path is pretty well-trodden, which makes it easy to follow. I’m not expecting myself to take a different route every time straight away. Forging a new path takes time and a bit of practice to find. I’m helping myself out with some additional tricks. One includes setting a timer for worry. Another involves writing it out so that I can see the true form and nature of the loop, which helps me know where to intervene.

I can acknowledge that my inner worrier is trying to protect me without perpetuating the narrative that worry is what stops bad things happening. A kind inner dialogue is instrumental, as is the hard stop that ends the discussion. Sometimes, I visualise that as the lid on a box closing, a bell ringing for the end of school, or a train arriving at the terminal station.

That visual association with familiar endings signals my stress response that it’s no longer needed. Letting out a long sigh and then physically moving away from where I was sat worrying can help, too.

Actions You Can Take Right Now

My path to changing my relationship with worry started by defining it. If you want to join me in getting out of that deep worry groove, here are some questions you can ask yourself:

1. Do I label myself as a worrier? When I think about worry, do I tell myself or others that it’s just who I am?

2. Do I view worry as a positive habit that keeps me safe and brings me reassurance?

3. Do I avoid things because my worries tell me I should?

4. Do I have systems for checking and monitoring to give myself regular reassurance over my biggest worries?

The questions that you answered yes to will give you the starting point for changing your relationship with worry. The actions that follow could look different from my path. What will stay the same is breaking that worry loop. You do that by providing evidence to your brain that the stress response is not needed.

That might include doing small versions of things you usually avoid to gather new evidence. Maybe, for you, it’ll be gradually reducing reassurance seeking behaviours to prove that things will still be ok.

I found getting support really helpful. Just saying to my partner that I was in a worry loop and trying to stop gave me some relief!

Take it slow. I can tell you that this is a challenging and uncomfortable process. Worry gives us short-term relief but makes life harder in the long run. I didn’t feel immediate benefits, but I am starting to have a clearer mind and be more present. That tells me we need to give this time to work.

Dear Audiobooks,

“In vain have I struggled. It will not do. My feelings will not be repressed. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you.” Okay, so Jane Austen can claim the credit for that line, but I mean it and I’m trying to speak your language. I even recorded the audio for this love letter, so that it can be heard and read.

Like Mr Darcy, I’m swallowing my pride after many years of being a purist. I loved physical books. The smell of them, the feel of them in my hand, the excitement of turning the pages. They were my first love, and, in truth, I’ll never stop loving them. Circumstance pushed me into accepting other loves into my life, though.

First, came my e-reader. Yes, it feels a little soulless. It helps, though, that my Kindle was actually given to me secondhand by my dear friend when I was leaving to live in another country. It’s not new and shiny, it’s been held in her hands, and it has saved me a ton of money. Buying English books in Greece is not cheap, especially not at the rate that I read them, anyway.

There are libraries and there are Greek books, but that selection, and the time it takes me to read them, doesn’t quite cut it. While I’m digressing, I have to say that libraries are my natural habitat. I managed one for quite a few years; happy times! My love of books began much earlier, though, in my childhood, thanks to my Mum reading to me and putting books in my hands from a very early age.

But, this letter is not about that, Audiobooks, it’s about you, how I love you, and how you saved me. The context is important, though, as reading is part of my identity. I managed not to lose that when moving to Greece, thanks to the e-reader and a few carefully selected physical books. Hooray for books as gifts!

There came another time in my life, however, when physical books and my Kindle weren’t an option. In fact, I still have days where they’re not the best option. I was losing so many other parts of my identity then, that losing books too would have been a crushing blow. I wasn’t a writer, a runner, a baker, a supportive friend, or the person who made the off-the-cuff quips anymore. Could I at least be a reader?

During my worst days of Long Covid, I couldn’t hold a book. My arm would tire almost immediately. I thought my e-reader would be lighter and therefore doable, but it was not to be. Holding my arm in that position hurt. How about resting a book on a cushion, I thought. That led to the scarier realisation that just sitting in that position and concentrating was too much for me.

I needed to lie down. I needed to close my eyes. I needed soothing sounds and peace, so that my nervous system could settle. There was an answer. A voice in my ear that could read me the story. I could rest and pay attention. Or, just drift off and skip back however many sections, as needed.

Audiobooks, you didn’t cause me pain in an already painful existence. You distracted and soothed me, when I just needed to get through the day and keep the hope that the next day would be better. I was scared and cut off from the world, so the small lifeline you offered made the world of difference.

I’m deeply grateful to Calibre Audio for connecting me to you. They opened up their vital services for those with visual impairments and expanded them to people living with Long Covid. Our fatigue, muscle aches, brain fog and increased sensitivity, among many other symptoms, cut us off from ‘regular activities’. Our worlds didn’t have to shrink to nothing; we still had books.

Most days, now, my muscle aches are nowhere near what they were. However, fatigue is still present in my life. I have to be selective about where I put my energy. You, Audiobooks, continue to be the faithful companion that lights up my days. When I need to feel like a reader without compromising my health, you are there for me.

You transport me. You make me laugh, cry, gasp and exclaim out loud. I know myself better because you’re in my life. Don’t ever go away!

Sending you all my love.

Yours faithfully (apart from the e-reader and physical books),

Kay

xxx

I stepped away from my usual format to write this love letter. It’s my first, but I don’t think it will be my last. Please let me know what you thought in the comments.

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What I didn’t include were my unhealthy coping mechanisms. My bad habits are something I’m actively working on right now. When difficult emotions come up, I can shut down, overthink, and turn to coffee and sweet treats, or food in general. These things block out the issue or they pick me up and distract me, and are easy to reach for. I’ve been reaching for them for most of my life.

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When something is that ingrained, it’s tough to change, but not impossible. What’s helping me is having an approach to replace it with.

Confronted By Strong Emotions

While I am building a life that moves towards joy rather than stress, difficult emotions can’t be eliminated. I feel stressed and diconnected based on my health, personal relationships, seeing what’s happening in the world, and so much more besides. When you add in my sensory processing sensitivity, it’s amplified.

Life is difficult; that’s true for every one of us. What results from our uncertainty, stress, sadness, anger and disappointment is that we end up feeling overwhelmed and in pain. Change has certainly made me feel overwhelmed on numerous occasions. That’s also a common time for anxiety, comparison and self-doubt to creep in. Those three types of internal voices can make it even harder to deal with everything. As a result, I feel an urgency around wanting the pain and those strong emotions to just stop.

It’s no wonder, then, that I shut down, overthink or reach for easy external distractions and pacifiers. While it’s understandable, I also know that it’s not helpful or constructive. None of those coping mechanisms help me process the emotions or move forward. Instead, they just push them to one side, potentially causing more problems down the line. Plus, they basically mean I’m ignoring myself.

There are tons of other quick fixes we reach for when dealing with strong emotions; maybe you relate to some of these:

• Shopping

• Social media

• Making more money

• Chasing status or power

• Drinking

• Gambling

• Partying

• Sex

• Booking a trip to escape

I’m not here to demonise those things. Fun is necessary. However, it’s about balance. None of those things should be relied on too heavily, and they definitely shouldn’t be having a serious negative impact on your life. If they are, this article could be useful, but I doubt it will cut it; professional help is best.

The Strong Emotions of Midlife

The first stage of the midlife shift is all about strong emotions. I felt something was off, and digging into that I discovered emptiness due to walking down the wrong path. I also encountered frustration that things (including my body) weren’t working the way they used to. Fear was a big part too, as I came to terms with the fact that things needed to change.

In the second stage of the midlife shift, that fear continued, but it got a few new companions and amplified. This stage is bringing me stress over the risks that come with making changes. I’m also experiencing grief for the things I’m leaving behind. Plus, there’s doubt, the discomfort of change, and feeling tired and overwhelmed from all the decision-making and new circumstances.

That’s also accompanied by the usual emotions of life’s ups and downs. It’s safe to say that it’s a lot to process, and coping isn’t easy. I’m slowly trying to stop relying so much on those external coping mechanisms. My current focus is on my use of food as a crutch.

What I’m Doing Instead: Self-Soothing

Before we beat ourselves up over not having the right coping mechanisms, let’s give ourselves some grace. As the title says, we don’t really get taught how to deal with our strong emotions, and the world is changing fast. New things, like social media and a greater awareness of the problems of the world, have certainly heightened emotions by giving us much more to process and new external coping mechanisms to reach for.

We’re due some credit for wanting to cope so that we can keep going. However, we often copy the coping mechanisms we’ve seen at home, at school, and out in the world. We don’t often witness people self-soothing, and there are much stronger messages to sell us quick fixes. When we don’t know any other way, we fall back on what’s available. That’s why being able to self-soothe is crucial, so we can default to it in future.

Learning to self-soothe is a process. I’m still working on it. It’ll take time, small steps and practice. I’m learning through therapy, chronic-illness support groups, books, training and trial and error.

The Practice of Self-Soothing

Self-soothing is a way of dealing with our big emotions that doesn’t rely on unhelpful external stimuli. It involves turning inwards. That can seem scary, especially if you don’t do it often or if it feels like it’s a big mess in there. The first steps of the process are about tuning in and getting comfortable with our internal dialogue.

One of the challenges of self-soothing is that it’s personal. What works for me might not work for you. That being said, the basic premise remains the same. It involves looking within ourselves to find solutions. Hearing a lot of inteference when we turn inward makes that difficult. To make self-soothing more accessible, many people work on processing past experiences, often with the help of a therapist.

Another way to reduce the inteference is to quiet our minds. Relaxation techniques are part of self-soothing. That could be meditation, yoga, taking a walk, pottery, breathing exercises, music; the list goes on. I’ve found that singing, painting, walking, yoga and meditation are a big help.

The main aspect I’m working on, and the one I suspect everyone can benefit from, is making my internal voice kinder. It sounds ridiculously simple, but when I say comforting and compassionate things to my stressed self, I feel better. It’s not easy to do though. I’m taking it one step at a time. First, I catch any harsh words, then I stop that narrative. After that, the dialogue continues, but I replace those words with kinder ones.

What goes hand in hand with that compassion is something my counselling training has taught me, which is unconditional positive regard. I tell myself if I can apply it to my clients, I can apply it to myself. When I don’t judge myself, it becomes easier to see and implement the solutions that will actually help, which is another key part of the process.

Self-Soothing vs Coping Mechanisms

Since we learn how to cope based on what we see and experience, I figured some examples of how I use self-soothing might help. The problem and the specific modes of self-soothing can be swapped for whatever is relevant to you.

Self-Soothing Through Chronic Illness

A heavy symptoms day for me could include fatigue, nerve pain, low mood and a buzzing nervous system. Dealing with that brings up a lot of big emotions.

When relying on external coping mechanisms, I’d try to cheer myself up with some coffee and cake. Then, later, I might have some crisps to make me feel better. These are distractions, and fleeting ones. They don’t make my symptoms go away; the sugar and coffee, although decaf, could exacerbate them.

Here’s how I’m responding to a heavy symptoms day with self-soothing:

I let myself start the day slowly. I acknowledge the pain, and the fear that comes with the symptoms. They remind me of my worst days of illness, sending signals to my nervous system that I’m not safe. If the anxiety kicks it, it’ll be telling me that this could go on for weeks, and I might not be able to work or do any of the things I planned.

I meet that with reassurance and compassion. I don’t know how long it will last, but I do know that I’ve looked after myself in this situation before and come out the other side. I remind myself that one bad day doesn’t have to mean anything. I am safe. Once I’ve told myself that, it becomes easier to reach for the things that I know will help: a meditation track, some yoga nidra, low-effort but nutrient-dense meals, a luke-warm shower, talking to someone who gets it.

I could easily start looking at the preceeding days to see if I overdid it and caused this crash. There are useful lessons in that, but there’s also the potential for judgement and the blame game. I practice no judgement by acknowledging I need a different rhythm for now. Sure, there are sometimes signs, but I kindly remind myself that I didn’t spot any this time. My compassion steps in, reminding me that my menstrual cycle, catching a cold and other factors often influence my symptoms, so the reason is less important than giving myself care right now.

I don’t push through. When I’m resting, I talk to the guilty part of myself with kindness. I deserve rest; I am still worthy even when I’m not productive; giving my body what it needs is the best thing I could be doing with my time today.

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Chronic illness is a masterclass in self-soothing. What it’s taught me is useful in other areas of my life too.

Actions You Can Take Right Now

Self-soothing has a ton of benefits. It helps me actually deal with my emotions and problems instead of hiding from them or kicking them down the road. It also helps me connect kindly with myself and my needs. All of that contributes to my overall life happiness and how equipped I am to deal with midlife change. An added benefit is that the more people who self-soothe, the more role models we’ll have for this healthy coping strategy.

It’s my goal to make self-soothing the default. I’m taking several steps towards that, and I’ve explained them here, so you can join me:

1. Quiet your mind. The urgency of wanting to hide from that pain and overwhelm makes it hard to choose the best next step. That’s why giving the mind a chance to be calm can clear the way. Pick from any of the relaxation techniques mentioned above, such as a walk, music or meditation. You might need to experiment to find the options that work for you. Keep practicing!

2. Pause and listen to yourself. Once you’ve practiced calming your mind, it will become easier to notice what’s showing up in your thoughts and feelings. Registering what’s going on gives you the chance to take a moment before you reach for those external coping mechanisms.

3. Turn inwards. That means paying attention to your internal dialogue. Notice how you talk to yourself.

4. Pick a new narrative. Once you become aware of any harsh words in your inner dialogue, you have the opportunity to replace them with kinder words.

5. Make a commitment to treating yourself well. By that I mean, listening to your needs, keeping up with the relaxation techniques and showing yourself compassion. Verbalise or write it down and include specifics. For example, I’m commiting to going for a walk every day and doing yoga twice a week. I’ll listen to music whenever I notice stress creeping up, and I have written a list of kind words that I can use instead of tough ones.

If you’re joining me in my practice of self-soothing, I’d love it if you shared your list of kind words or your commitment to treating yourself well.

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Self-soothing is personal. For some of us, it might be necessary to seek help from a professional to process past experiences or tackle addiction and unhealthy habits.

I want to credit , a psychotherapist and the writer of Ten Times Happier. His book is helping me learn how to self-soothe, as well as many other things. O’Kane says,

I’m aiming for a kind life instead.

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Listening to myself is where my midlife shift truly began, but that’s something I can only see in hindsight. Before that, things started to feel off. Some of it was hard to put my finger on, and other parts were overwhelming me with frustration, fear, discomfort and anger. It’s only with some time and distance from that that I recognise it for what it was.

My midlife shift, and most shifts, I believe, have two stages, and I explored them here:

Recognising that things felt off was a challenge on its own. Sure, there were signals, but I wasn’t really willing to slow down and listen to them. Or, perhaps it was more that I tried to fix things with my usual solutions. Looking back now, I suppose it was a bit of both. When I gather up all the evidence that things weren't right, it seems like a lot. At the time, it wasn’t glaringly obvious. At least, it didn’t look that way, but shame and denial can be pretty powerful blinkers.

Something Is Off and I Can’t Fix It

In my job, I felt like I was running on a treadmill; not really going anywhere or enjoying the scenery on my run. Plus, whenever I picked up the pace, someone seemed to be turning up the speed on that treadmill to make me go even faster. Later on, in another job, an uncomfortable but different sensation would regularly pop up. It was the feeling that my work was futile and not making a positive dfference to the world.

I went through a phase of using my salary to buy myself little treats. Don’t get me wrong, I like little treats! Back then, though, they just made me feel empty. Like I had tried to scratch an itch but touched the wrong place completely. A few years later, (yes, the first shift went on for years!) I felt like I was losing myself, like watching my very being slip down the drain.

I remember my first panic attack in the shower. I’d never felt so out of control of my body and mind. I started going to a counsellor to help me get to the bottom of it. My relationship played a huge role in my issues at that time. That also made it harder to spot my growing need to live my life in a different way. Turning to therapy wasn’t a mistake, but I made lots of others, or, at the very least, missteps.

I tried to communicate my way out of things. I couldn’t see that expressing my needs to others wouldn’t help. It wasn’t just that they were the wrong people, it was that I needed an honest dialogue with myself first.

I increased my time walking and going to the gym. I would find any reason to get out of the apartment, like I was trying to escape something. Those missteps were simply me pushing away available time and space where I could do the work I needed to do. I met new people, I tried new things, and it helped, but only a little or only for a little while.

Why I Couldn’t Listen

Panic attacks, job dissatisfaction, a feeling of emptiness, wanting more meaning and relationship issues were all fairly loud alarm bells. It was rare for them all to be going off at the same time, though, so I didn’t spot the emergency. I tried to make one or the other go away so I could just carry on. My attempts to solve or get rid of these issues made things worse or were ineffective.

It wasn’t just that I needed to see the pattern of all of my issues to understand the solution. I was drowning out my needs with the things I thought I should be doing, should accept, should put up with, should have in my life.

Labels, blame and shame were stopping me from listening to myself and discovering what I needed. Discovering makes it sound like I didn’t already know. In my fragmented state, it’s fair to say that some parts of me didn’t know. The other parts, though, they were already trying to tell me, and they were just waiting for understanding and acknowledgement.

I felt ashamed of not knowing how to help myself. I blamed myself for either not being satisfied with what I had, or for not being able to fix my problems, and for even having problems in the first place. There was no way to win in that scenario. Labels and external voices played a significant role in those feelings and the narrative I had at that time.

I was where I was supposed to be: climbing a career ladder, getting bonuses, going to client events, making a relationship work, committing, improving my appearance, buying nice things, getting healthier. Who wouldn’t want that? This was what my life was supposed to look like.

I feel sad looking back, seeing that my first thought was that I had to be wrong. Those things weren’t right for me, and they’re not the right things for lots of other people. To think that we should all be following a similar, strictly structured path seems ridiculous to present-day me. I couldn’t see that then. Laying the blame at my door was confronting, but not in a way that allowed me to have the honest dialogue with myself that I needed.

From a Small Spark to Blinding Light

I didn't wake up one day and start listening to myself more. I did keep trying different things because I knew I couldn’t go on as I was. It started small. Reading certain books at this point helped enormously, as they prompted me to ask and answer questions about who I am and what I wanted my life to look like.

The first book introduced me to the concept of a Highly Sensitive Person (HSP) or sensory processing sensitivity. Quite a few pieces of the puzzle clicked into place once I got a new context for some of my traits, challenges and different way of seeing things. The most important element was that it turned my focus inward, which meant I could start to tune in a little better to what I needed.

Tuning in made me look at the empty and dissatisfied aspects of my life. I stumbled upon the concept of simple living and read a couple of books that helped me to see that there were other ways of living life. It was a revelation that I didn’t have to stay on this path. That idea was enhanced by the case studies that showed me that other people had already stepped off and gone in another direction. I wasn’t sure what that meant for me, but it piqued my curiosity, which was another cue to listen more to myself.

Those were two cracks, letting in the light. Soon, I would be thrust staring into a glaring light, realising that I needed to do something about this now. Long Covid showed up taking away my energy, my sleep, my comfort, and my ability to work and do the things I enjoyed. I couldn’t exercise my way out of my feelings and I couldn’t just work harder.

I had no other choice. I had to slow down, and, if I wanted to stabilise my baseline and recover any amount, I needed to listen to my body. I had to strike the challenging balance of paying attention to my symptoms and how I felt, but not dwelling on that all day and every day. It could have easily ended in a pity party. In truth, I did have a few of those, but they were short-lived.

Over time, I learnt how to take care of myself under these new circumstances. After that, I began the slow and non-linear process of expanding beyond existing in mild to moderate pain. I worked up to walking more, getting my thoughts in order, sleeping better, holding a book for minutes at a time, dealing with bright lights and harsh sounds, and more. The only way I could do that was to move incrementally, to pay attention to the signals, to get to know my needs, and give my body and mind what they needed before they were in pain or shut down.

What I Heard

I’m not a scientist, so I don’t have the necessary training or background to explain why I got Long Covid, apart from that I had Covid and, like many others, I didn’t get better. I have wondered whether my worn down and unheard state made me a more likely candidate. Either way, I learned the hard way the importance of taking care of myself, and not just by earning money and exercising.

I had started to hear something when those cracks of light came in. When I tuned in through my illness, my recovery, and even before that, I heard my unmet needs. I heard that I was voicing them, and that I needed a response, some recognition. I truly listened. Instead of just hearing the needs and rushing to solve them, (in old or new ways) I paused.

The pause was to acknowledge that my needs had been brushed aside for too long. The pause was to validate that I was allowed to have these needs, and that I didn’t need to feel ashamed or wrong for having them.

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Inner Tumult

Listening to myself and taking that pause certainly brought a sense of relief. That wasn’t the only thing that came up once I really started listening, though. I was a pendulum swinging between grief and acceptance. Grief for myself, for the time lost, for the fact that I would never be the same again due to chronic illness.

Within that, I also got pretty pragmatic. I accepted that I hadn’t been meeting my needs. I accepted that I had needs and it wasn’t selfish to meet them. I accepted that my needs weren’t labels, showing that I was behind or failing or doing it wrong. I accepted that I wanted to find new ways to meet my needs, and that was my top priority.

Actions You Can Take Right Now

Perhaps this article can be the thing that lets some light in. If you feel like you have unmet needs, that something is off, or you already know you’re struggling with the first stage of your midlife shift, there is hope. Here are some small steps to get you to tune in to what you need:

1. Slow down. Easier said than done, so let’s start small. Make it one slow morning or a slow evening once a week. Don’t over schedule, don’t push yourself to deal with everything. Linger over your food, sit outside while you sip a drink or just wait a little while before you move on to your next task.

2. Be curious. Slowing down will give you some breathing space. That’s where those unmet needs will pop up. It can feel confronting, emotional, shameful and confusing. Try to approach what’s coming up with curiosity and without judgement.

3. Pause. Those emotions are difficult to face. Give yourself a break. You aren’t a problem or a puzzle to be solved. You are a person with legitimate needs. Acknowledge that you didn’t hear them before, but now you do.

4. Notice the patterns. If you’re struggling to understand what those unmet needs are, look for common things that keep cropping up. It can help to spend some time alone or have a long and honest chat with someone in a similar spot.

5. Get help. Therapy really helped me work through my thoughts and needs. I know that’s not possible for everyone. In the meantime, you could try some excerises to connect with that unheard voice. I’ve listed three exercises I used at the bottom of this post.

I struggled most with recognising the patterns, and having someone to talk to was a gamechanger. If you feel able to, please share in the comments which step you’re finding the most challenging.

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Exercises to Tune In

I used three exercises to help make space, tune in and understand my unmet needs.

A Letter to Myself

I wrote a letter to past Kay. I used it to forgive myself, to tell myself it would be alright and to say I was proud. I got specific on some of the things I had gone through in a way that I wasn’t able to express when they were happening. It was helpful to acknowledge some of the things I had never said out loud. I wrote it by hand; I cried. It was cathartic.

My Life Wheel

I drew my life wheel. In the circle, I created six segments and gave them labels for the big priorities in my life, like family, friends and work. I then coloured in each segment a certain amount, which represented how well it was going or how much attention I was giving each segment.

I acknowledged that I couldn’t fill each segment all the way. When I was done, I looked at where I could find more balance. After all, if my wheel were to actually spin around, it would need to have a more even surface across all the segments.

The Ladder

After my life wheel, I set some goals to focus on the areas where I wanted to give more attention. I used the ladder to break down my goal. I put my overall goal at the top. Below, I created a ladder with four rungs. For each rung, I put a step that would help me towards my goal. On one side, I put how long it would take, e.g 2-3 months, then on the other side, I put a mini reward that I would give msyelf when I achieved it.

Working through the first stage of the midlife shift involves internal work. It's easy to get lost in that. Making it external through therapy, reading or exercises helps with understanding, acceptance and direction.

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That didn’t stop me overthinking my changes and wondering whether I could do things better or differently. It’s great that there are lessons to be learned in life, and I’ll never stop learning. However, not every single event needs to by analysed and squeezed until you’ve second-guessed every decision. That’s been one of my takeaways when looking back over the last few years of changes in my life.

What Evaluating Change Taught Me

When we make changes, we don’t have all the information, and we don’t know where we’ll end up. While I’m keen to resist overanalysing, it was useful to look back over the changes I made to see where they led me, and how I handled them. To prevent it turning into a session where I berated myself for not doing better, I kept in mind my mantra that I did the best I could with what I had at the time.

From that starting point, I was able to look back at the changes and, through them, learn more about myself. I could see the events that led up to them more clearly and what that sparked in me. I’ll never experience that same set of circumstances again, but there are still general lessons I can take from understanding the bigger picture of how I approach change.

As I reviewed the changes, I realised that there were four types that I typically made. Categorising them obviously appeals to my nerd side. It also gave me context for how I operate and where the lessons do or don’t apply.

Impulsive Change

I have definitely made my fair share of impulsive changes. They have their consequences, but I also don’t think they’re a bad thing. My impulsive changes taught me that I could trust myself, be spontaneous, be fun and move quickly when I needed to. They brought out my creativity and reinforced my sense of resilience.

My move to Athens happened quickly, although there was planning involved. I’m still in awe of myself and how quickly I moved. I got a job and stored/gave away/sold my things. I made it work in a new country by making friends, doing new, and exciting things and building a base.

When I made impulsive decisions to change, I had to deal with unexpected consequences. As I was moving at a fast pace, I didn’t have time to think of what exactly would happen next. That has it’s good and bad sides. On the one hand, I didn’t get in my own head. On the other, I had to deal with things as they came up, which could take more time, money and effort.

Looking back, I can see that that speed also meant I had less time to process the change and the emotions it was bringing up. As a result, I could often find myself overwhelmed. That speed brought risks to my finances, feelings and overall wellbeing. I had tried to plan for that, but it still meant a lot of responding on the fly. That’s where one of my biggest lessons lay.

I realised it’s a trick to think we can outrun fear if we just move fast enough. In future, I’ll still make impuslive decisions, but I’ll check in with myself first to ensure I’m not using speed to escape difficult emotions.

Considered Change

Plenty of the changes I’ve made fall into the considered category. That means I’ve explored my options, done my research, gotten feedback and let the decision sit a bit before I made it. Weighing up options and considering the potential outcomes suits my contemplative nature.

That brings lots of advantages, including getting clarity, having time to identify blind spots, and move at a pace that lets me align with my long-term goals. Deciding to train as a counsellor was a considered decision. I tested the water by doing a free introductory course online. Based on that information, I knew I wanted to proceed when I had enough time to focus on it. Then, a few years later when the time, and my finances were right, I started my level 2 training.

Considered change works out most of the time, but it isn’t always the best way. I can see that there were times when I lost time, encountered decision fatigue, and felt paralysed in the face of so much information. Overanalysis left me thinking through far too many hypothetical scenarios, not making any decisions at all.

With some distance, I’ve been able to see that we can’t wait until everything is in place and perfect before we make a move.

Big Changes

Of course, speed of change isn’t the only factor. I noticed that most of my changes were either big or small. Big changes, unsurprisingly, had a much larger impact on my life. I have tons of examples to examine for this category. Moving to a different country, my chronic illness, changing career paths and a new life partner are all on the list. Just looking at that list tells me I have a tendency to embrace big changes.

I like adventure and trying new things, so changes that really push me outside my comfort zone are what I tend to be drawn to. The consequences of big changes are pretty disruptive, often leading to other changes in life. Changing career paths affects my fiannces; it means retraining, which places new demands on my time, leads to me developing and using new skills, and changes my daily work environment.

That all has an affect on other areas of my life and other people. Those are the elements that give me pause, and make big changes more intimidating. Despite them being scarier, though, I know I find the more noticeable payoff so appealing.

Small Tweaks

When there’s less room in my life for big changes, I make small tweaks. Looking back, I can also see that I make small tweaks after the big changes. When you rearrange your life, it isn’t going to settle exactly where you want it to, so some course corrections are necessary.

I know I said I love big changes, but I think small tweaks are actually my favourite. They give me the confidence to make big changes, as I know I can adjust things as I go along to make them work. They are also good for my low-energy times and when I’m less inclined to step far out of my comfort zone. Plus, there’s a ripple effect from small tweaks. It’s easy to stack them up and then feel great when life feels more aligned.

In the last few years, I’ve made lots of small tweaks that have made me feel more like I’m living authentically. Embracing and celebrating my curly hair is one. Focusing on getting stronger, not smaller is another. Daily morning walks to let my thoughts percolate while I appreciate nature is a simple but effective one.

Is There A Right Way to Instigate Change?

Seeing that I made changes in different ways helped me to realise that there’s no one right way to do it. Whether it’s fast, slow, big or small will depend on me and my circumstances. It’s really useful to know that I can change my approach based on my current comfort levels and relationship to change.

That works in theory, but I also understand that I won’t necessarily see a clear path to the type of change that’s ‘best’. My biggest takeaway from my reflections is that I often feel my way, listen to my instincts and use my mood, capacity and current tolerance levels to guide me. That lead to an unxpected feeling of pride, as I realised that the changes in my life, especially Long Covid, taught me to check in with myself.

Listening to what I wanted and needed was the difficult starting point. However, having fluctuating energy levels and good and bad health days told me that there was more to it than that. That’s why knowing my capacity and tolerance is essential to deciding how I’ll go about making a change.

If there is such a thing as the right way to make change, then, at least for myself, I would describe it like this:

This cycle means the changes I make are aligned. Plus, it stops change feeling quite so scary. I’m going to check back in with how I feel, which is when I give myself the opportunity to undo the change, tweak it, or give it time. Fear can be a useful guide to show me how to keep myself safe, but it can quickly stop being useful and start shrinking my world. When my tolerance levels are high and I have the capacity to make changes, fear is no longer an obstacle.

For some of use, building up our tolerance levels and capacity is the hard part, especially when we haven’t recognised that that’s what we need to do. Our past experiences, personal circumstances and the risk as we see it will determine our tolerance to change.

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I built up my tolerance by ensuring I had calm stretches in my life. Stress occupies a lot of our time, energy and thoughts, making change more daunting. Making changes and collecting positive evidence for how I handled it also made a big difference. Having agency over the change or at least how I respond to change alters my perspective, too.

What Balance Looks Like

As with many things in life, change works better when you can strike the right balance. Of course, the challenge is knowing what balance looks like in any specific scenario. The exact details will change, but the key elements will remain.

For me, balance looks like building up momentum, having courage, being kind to myself by checking in and trusting myself that I will figure it out as I go along. If those four pieces are in place, more or less, then I know I can move forward with any approach to change, and it will work out.

Perhaps the most unique thing about my approach to change is my idea of ‘working out’. That’s different for each of us. For some, as long as it isn’t the worst case scenario, it’s a win. For others, most of the markers of success need to be present. While I do have goals and expectations, I try not to get weighed down by them.

I have so many thoughts on setting goals, that I’ll have to write a post dedicated to that subject. For now, let’s say that I’m not very prescriptive, which leaves room for success to come in different guises.

Actions You Can Take Right Now

If you’re evaluating or improving your relationship to change, there are several things you can do. For me, it became much easier once I understood my tolerance levels and how they fluctuate, which is where we’ll start:

1. Look back on your life so far to see if you have a high or a low tolerance to change. There’s no shame in either; the point is to adapt to what you need! Consider how much time, support and information you need to make a change. If you have high tolerance, looking ahead and understanding how the change affects your future will mvoe you forward. If you tolerance tends to be low, you might want to move slowly, put more support in place or get more information first.

2. Check your current capacity for change. If you’re stressed or already experiencing decision fatigue, change can feel more intimidating. You might need to wait or adapt your approach.

3. Think about some specific changes you made that worked out well. Note them as evidence for how you handle change. If you think of lots of things that didn’t go well, evaluate that change. What type was it and what would you do differently now?

4. Identify what feelings come up when you think about a change you’re making or that you want to make. Are you avoiding negative emotions or rushing towards positive ones? Use that information to understand your motivation and your possible next steps.

What’s your relationship with change? Is there a pattern in how you set goals or are motivated?

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Reminding myself that there’s no right way to change takes the pressure off. More than that, it stops change from being something so scary that it stops me in my tracks. Having a formula for adapting my approach gives me permission to move forward while being authentic and kind to myself.

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The question is simple, and is actually the easy part of the process. There’s challenging work that lies behind it. I’m not going to shy away from exploring the easy, overlooked parts or the difficult and long processes either. Asking the question unlocks the ability to make more aligned decisions. However, it’s the longer process that made me feel more confident in the answers I came up with. I’m nowhere near done with it, but I’m on the right path.

The Question I Learned To Ask

Sometimes the reason things in life feel off is because we didn’t actively choose them. That becomes more noticeable during the midlife shift because we’ve let lots of things in and we no longer want to put up with them. My revelation started by realising there were things that I was allowing into my life without consulting the person who mattered most: me. I thought they were the right things, but not because I knew I wanted them. So I learned to ask: Where did that come from?

It can be hard to separate where ideas come from. I noticed that I don’t always check or know my feelings about my decisions. A lot of the choices that I made earlier in life weren’t examined. It wasn’t that I didn’t think them through, although there were certainly some that were impulsive. It was more that I didn’t stop to check why I thought they would be a good idea for me.

My hair was one of them. I have naturally curly hair, but I never really knew what to do with it. I didn’t straighten it a lot, but neither did I emphasis it or really treat it much differently from straight hair. I’d listened to opinions about slickbacks, sleek up-dos and how desirable smooth, straight hair was and believed that those were more professional, attractive and suited to special occasions. Now, I’ve tuned into my inner voice, which tells me to celebrate this distinctive and beautiful part of myself.

Why the Where Matters

When trying to live a more authentic or aligned life, knowing where our ideas come from is essential. I kind of knew that my parent’s ideas, other people’s ideas, or society’s ideas were often different from my own. However, I didn’t have the language or framework to understand how that was affecting my decision-making process.

Therapy and my counselling training changed all of that. Learning about Carl Rogers and the person-centred approach caused my decision-making process to become much more visible to me. His theory about the locus of evaluation, in particular, woke me up to the different voices in my head and where they come from.

Those voices might come from my values and life experience. However, there are also narratives pitching in that are parroting things I’ve heard, seen and read. It’s not so easy to distinguish between the ones in my voice and those that came from elsewhere. I needed to know what to listen to so that I could hear the difference. Listening more to the narratives that were mimmicking other people’s values led me further away from my authentic self.

Locus of Evaluation

Rogers referred to our locus of evaluation as the thing we consult to make decisions and judgements about pretty much everything; the world, other people, and, perhaps most importantly, ourselves. From the latin for place, that locus can be internal or external. Can we listen to both? Yes, but to live more authentically, we need to listen to and trust our internal locus of evaluation more.

External vs Internal

When we consult our internal locus of evaluation, we’re listening to our instincts. It goes beyond that, though. We’re also trusting our values and our processes for judging and estimating a particular proposition. That’s unique to us; our personality and life experiences will shape our values and how we put them into practice.

A lot of the time, though, we’re operating from an external locus of evaluation. That means the values of others are the loud voices in our heads that we consult when making a decision. They might come from our partners, parents or carers, teachers or communtiy leaders. They’re often part of our culture. One of the major sources for our external locus of evaluation is the conditions of worth we develop as children.

Conditions of Worth

Our conditions of worth are the things we learn early on that tell us whether we’ll be accepted. When you start looking for the conditions of worth, you’ll see them everywhere. ‘Children should be seen and not heard’ is an old-fashioned but common one. Others are ‘do what you’re told’, ‘work hard’, ‘help others before yourself’ and ‘boys don’t cry’.

We needed to meet those conditions to feel love, and acceptance, and to have value. As a result, we adapt to get that much-needed acceptance. We push aside our feelings and ignore the true voices in order to live up to other people’s values and ideas. A lifetime of doing that can lead you pretty far away from your authentic self.

Where Did That Come From?

It’s not easy to ditch those conditions of worth and to turn down the volume of the external locus of evaluation. With therapy and self-reflection, I found it easier to clear the way for the internal locus, though. It’s likely that the other voices will still pop up and I’ll still listen. That’s alright though; it’s about balance, not perfection.

In my first article, I noticed my reluctance around thinking of myself as someone in midlife. I asked the question: where did that come from? The answer was not from my reality. Outside perspectives were telling me midlife was insignificant, boring and old, by my experience said otherwise.

Decision-Making and the Midlife Shift

Asking where did that come from helps us to identify which ideas and thoughts come from our values or from someone else’s. That’s life-changing when it comes to making decisions. I can now determine what I want compared to what I thought I should do and what would ‘win’ me acceptance from others.

During the midlife shift, that’s invaluable at both stages. At the first stage, when I was just feeling like things were off, I could use it to look back on what I had already chosen. The next questions were: Am I on this path because I choose it for me? Am I accepting things for approval instead of living by my values? Identifying the ideas that came from other people’s values pointed me to the areas where I could change and correct my course.

In the second stage of the midlife shift, I was making those changes and course corrections. It took courage to do so. Going against the external locus of evaluation isn’t easy; it felt like defying society’s expectations. It’s definitely an advantage to know that I don’t have to listen to it, though. Those voices were telling me it’s too late to start something new, but that’s not what my instincts were saying.

Knowing where to look and what to leave behind was a great starting point. I also keep falling back on ‘where did that come from’ to help me work out what I want to head towards. I don’t expect every decision to be perfect and to work out first time, but it should be aligned with my values. That’s a revelation, because I don’t have to go back to the drawing board with every failure. I’ll make mistakes, but the direction is the right one, and it feels good.

The Unexpected Benefits of the Question

Asking where did that come from didn’t just transform my decision-making process. It also lead me to an unexpected place: forgiveness. Everyone has conditions of worth and we can all listen to our external locus of evaluation. I had done that and ended up on the wrong path. Seeing it in that light softened my criticism and feelings of failure.

When I stopped being so hard on myself, I was able to more freely explore how I had gotten on the wrong path. Doing what I felt I was supposed to for love and acceptance was a very human reaction. I also recognised that it’s pretty difficult to come up with an alternative when you don’t know where to start. I didn’t know I was listening to the wrong voices, so I wasn’t even looking to find that other path.

Forgiveness led to another unexpected benefit: I could now give myself more credit! One of the reasons the midlife shift, especially the second part, is so difficult is because of the risks we need to take. We’ve built our lives and we have commitments and responsibilites. Changing paths puts those at risk, and can make us feel like we have to start at square one, which is incredibly daunting. It’s even more intimidating if we listen to common or traditional views held by other people about ‘staying the course’ in midlife. Stepping away from that for a more authentic life is brave and commendable.

The Sunk Cost Fallacy

In midlife, we have a lot of learning to do. On top of your locus of evaluation, there’s a cognitive bias I think we should all be aware of. It’s the sunk cost fallacy. It tells us to keep putting time, effort or money into something because we’ve already given a lot to it. It makes it hard to walk away from things.

As I approached midlife, I had invested in lots of things: relationships, places, friends, jobs and hobbies. I could have carried on, making decsions based on what I had already put in. Thankfully, I became aware of this cognitive bias, and looked at the future costs and benefits instead. That didn’t smooth everything over, but it shone a different light; the one I needed to help me make tough decisions.

Now, I ask myself where did that come from and would I continue if I hadn’t already invested in this? Having both answers puts me in a much better place to make a decision. Turning those answers into action is challenging, but I feel more able to face it knowing I’m stepping onto my authentic path.

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Actions You Can Take Right Now

It can feel exhausting to have to keep questioning everything in your life. Fortunately it’s a muscle we can build. Over time, as we practice pausing and adding these questions, they become part of our processes. Here are the small steps you can take to start that practice:

1. Identify and listen to your inner voice. Think of a future decision you want to make and see what narratives come up. To pick out your internal locus of evaluation, it might help to give it a name. You could journal or design your own mini process for listening to it. One option is to list your values on a page, then see which of your thoughts match them. Find ways to acknowledge and encourage that voice so that it gets easier to hear.

2. Identify one thing in your life that feels off; it can be big or small. Ask yourself where did that idea come from? Do you do it because it’s expected, someone else made you feel you should or did you decide how you felt about it first?

3. If it wasn’t your idea, take some time to work out how you feel about it and identify any conditions of worth involved. Use those feelings as a starting point to work out whether you want to change it slightly, stop doing it, or find an alternative that’s more aligned with your ideas.

I’d love to hear how you tune in to your inner voice or if there are any conditions of worth you’re recognising and letting go of.

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Making changes when there’s a lot at risk is scary. Having the right decision-making process in place didn’t change that, but it gave me the confidence to keep going.

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Change is something I’ve experienced a lot in recent years. Having embarked on several adventures a little later in life, I’ve been fortunate to meet lots of other people in the same position, a position where they’re wanting and making changes. Talking with them about the ups and downs and supporting each other through that has been instrumental to my happiness, and I think to theirs too. I’ve learned a lot along the way, including that making changes to live a more aligned life at our midpoint happens more than I originally realised. That’s why I wanted to share my perspectives and build a community around the midlife shift.

At the time, it was hard to see it as a midlife shift, as it seemed like one change sparked another for me. In hindsight, I can see that I felt different and needed something different, and my response to that brought about most of the changes. The biggest change and adventure started when I moved from a small town in the UK to Athens, Greece. I wasn’t just changing location, though. I was rapidly immersed in a new culture and working at a new job. I was in a relatively new relationship, making new friends and learning a new language. The only familiar thing was myself, and sometimes I didn’t even recognise that.

Goodbye and Hello

When I left the UK, from the outside, I could see that it might look like a crazy move. Maybe it was. I left behind a good job, a nice flat that I was renting, my car, and almost all my stuff. I had stability and possessions that I had worked hard to get. I didn’t feel trapped by them, but I realised that they weren’t crucial to the core meaning of my life. From the inside, staying didn’t make a lot of sense.

It was hard hearing the surprise in people’s voices when I told them I was leaving. It felt like judgement. Clearly, the move I was making didn’t look sensible to them. Maybe it wasn’t. I felt restless; I felt a strong urge to do something else and to be somewhere else. Did everything go perfectly? No. Did I feel immensely better because I listened to myself and made things happen? Yes.

The scariest parts of that change, and most other changes, were letting go and rebuilding. I had spent the previous year or more improving my resilience. That helped me understand that I could rely on myself and deal with what was thrown in my path. I could let go, as I knew that those were just things that I was capable of putting back in my life if I needed them.

My resilience also helped me accept that I’d be figuring it out as I went along. Building my new life would take time, but I was capable. Going to therapy at this stage made a big difference. It meant I was able to process the big emotions I was dealing with and improve my tools for finding solutions.

Reinvention or Reintroduction

Being in a new place where nobody knows you gives you the freedom and feeling that you could be anyone. Looking back now, I’m not sure it was a reinvention, but more of a reintroduction to who I was. Those new contexts taught me a lot about my preferences in big and small things, how I was capable of change, and what motivated me.

A Bumpy Road

My new relationship got rocky a bit further down the line. Since that was the centre point of my new life in Athens, its breakdown made things feel pretty precarious. Those hard times gave me a lot of tough lessons. The biggest takeaways were my new thoughts on what I deserved and what I would accept in my life.

Before that, I’d already had to rethink my approach to work when I changed jobs and decided to go it alone with no fixed employer. Processing all this change really did take a toll. While it was good to have fresh evidence that I could handle it, it was challenging to process so much at once.

Looking In Not Out

Going through change after change in my circumstances also got me to look more at myself. It was an opportunity to be a different person, but only in that there was no one with any preconceived notions about how I would respond.

That was freeing, but there was no internal fresh start. Perhaps I needed to shake off my preconceived notions about myself.

What that looked like in practice was testing my decisions and seeing what felt right. Every move I made was feedback about whether I was connecting with the life I wanted. That was much more effective when I spent time on self-reflection too. It was a significant period of reading, discovering and checking in with myself. It felt unsettling, but also like progress.

I found myself moving towards a life of simplicity. I didn’t want to work more to have more. I wanted to work less and use my time to appreciate the simple things. A simple life looks different for each individual, but I worked on the elements that fitted me. I eliminated or cut back on the things that cost money and time but didn’t enhance my life. The savings I got from that enabled me to balance my work hours better. With my newly gained free time, I explored nature and free and low-cost activities, getting to know myself even better.

Life Had Other Ideas

That job change hadn’t really been my idea; it was a change forced upon me. However, I made it work, and even got my simple life and more clarity out of it. An even bigger change was about to be laid down in my path, though. I was in the UK during the first lockdown in 2020. I didn’t recover well after a fairly mild illness, and developed what we now commonly call Long Covid. At that time, all I knew was that I wasn’t getting better.

My chronic illness was life-changing in so many ways. I couldn’t go back to Athens, not that anyone could go anywhere for the time being. I reduced my work, thinking it would pass, but quickly understood I would have to stop completely for a while. I joined a Slack community of other people who were similarly affected. That was my first big lesson in how much support and community could make a difference when going through change.

Working Within My Limitations

This newsletter isn’t about my illness or my recovery. The point is that life had changed again. It wasn’t my need to feel more aligned that prompted it, but I did have to accept where I was at, especially in terms of what I was physically able to do. That was another huge lesson to learn. My resilience resurfaced. I worked on alleviating my symptoms, worked up to walking for more than five minutes, and learned how to rest. I thought I knew how to, but I was wrong.

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Even though it wasn’t my choice, once again this change showed me who I was. I adapted, and not only that, I gave it meaning. I helped found a charity for people with Long Covid and attended meetings with the NHS as a patient representative to guide and improve care. Those things came about because I wasn’t fighting change. I gave myself time to figure out what I wanted, what would reflect my values, and what would make me feel good. I was open to those opportunities and believed I could do it. Of course, I doubted myself along the way, but I didn’t let that stop me.

I Still Chose Change

Change takes energy, which was in short supply at that time. However, I still felt driven to live a life that was authentic for me. I knew I needed to get back to Athens, but this time, I would do it alone and do it for me. It was unfinished business, but it was also getting back to that simple lifestyle that had felt like the right fit.

By this time, my age, my illness and my priorities were all dictating the elements of my life. That made it much trickier, in some ways, to work out what my life could look like and where I wanted to get to. I got well enough to get to Athens, but it wasn’t easy to do everything by myself. With the pandemic ongoing, it meant I wasn’t able to head back to the UK whenever I wanted to either; it was sink or swim.

Inviting in Something New

Once again, I needed to draw on my resilience and courage. First, I let the dust settle and kept focusing on my recovery. From there, I got back to enjoying my simple life. Every victory was hard-fought, but also a reward that taught me to keep going. Soon, I had the capacity to respond to more of my needs. I knew that the people I surrounded myself with were a big part of living an aligned life. I set my sights on reconnecting with people and finding new friends and a new relationship.

Putting myself out there was intimidating. It felt so strange to meet somebody as that version of me, not totally different, but much changed due to Long Covid, both inside and out. Fortunately, by this time, the voices telling me to go for it were louder than the little voices in my head telling me it was too late to start something new.

I reached out to people with similar values and made new friends. As for dating, I jumped straight in. After many good and bad dates, I met someone who felt like an authentic choice for me. I took it slow and built something real. That’s how I ended up getting engaged for the first time at 39!

New Directions

Since then, I’ve made several adjustments to my path, sending me off in new directions. Almost every time I made those decisions, I had to tune out the external expectations and spend time listening to what felt right and important to me.

For example, writing is my main job, but I took on a side gig as a pet sitter. It’s not prestigious work. I don’t need that, though. I love spending time with animals; I get to meet people and help them go off and have fun. It worked for me.

A couple of years later, I wanted to move towards work that’s more aligned with my values. I want to help people explore and reflect, so I started to retrain as a counsellor. I’m halfway through the process, and once I finish training, more changes will come. In the meantime, this space is also a way to explore and reflect with others.

All that change, and I’m not done yet. My shift is still occurring, and maybe it will keep going for a long time yet. It can feel daunting to keep moving in new directions. From one perspective, it could feel like I’m building on foundations that keep shifting. The truth is, I am becoming a different person, and I want that to keep happening until my time is up. I’ll look out for new needs, listen to myself and respond as best I can.

Actions You Can Take Right Now

No matter if you’re a stranger to change, you’ve had it forced on you, or you’re eager for something new, it’s still scary and takes courage. Each time I dealt with change, it started with one small action and then snowballed.

Here are some small initial steps to take:

1. Identify one change you want to make in your life. Is there something that you need to leave behind? Are you moving towards something new?

2. Suspend the rules for a moment and think about how you would do it. How would it look and feel? The obstacles are real, but thinking creatively without them can open up new possibilities and bring our desires more into focus.

3. Reflect on whether you find making changes or dealing with change that happens to you more challenging. Now, find evidence in your past for how you’ve positively dealt with both scenarios.

Share in the comments what feeling or part of your identity is motivating you to change.

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Evidence that I could do it and support from communities were instrumental in my response to change. What made it feel like I was stepping in the right direction, though, was listening to and trusting myself. Not every step landed me in the ideal place, but I had what I needed to keep going and get to where I felt I belonged.

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It’s All About Timing

We all go through several phases in our lives where we try to figure out things. Some of us feel like we’re doing that constantly. However, there’s something distinctive about the midlife shift. When I tried to pinpoint what that was, I came up with a few thoughts that turned into lightbulb moments as I dwelled on them. Seeing how much that impacted me, and how many of my friends are going through similar processes, made me want to share what I had discovered.

So What Is a Midlife Shift?

Of course, it crossed my mind that some of us could be experiencing a ‘midlife crisis’. When I think of that, though, I picture someone buying an inappropriate luxury good, like a sports car, completely revamping their look, or ending their relationship to pursue someone younger. They are all impulsive and misguided attempts to deal with what can happen to us in midlife. So the midlife shift isn’t a rebranded crisis; it’s actually the bigger picture of why a crisis happens and what we could do instead.

The reasons the shift happens in midlife vary. For some of us, it’s because we’re tired of forcing ourselves to walk down a path that isn’t right for us. Others have a change in circumstances that are a reminder that the time we have left may be short and is precious. Many of us stop caring about what other people think, but realise we don’t hear or trust our own voices anymore.

My lightbulb moment brought clarity on two points.

1. A midlife shift actually includes two parts.

The first happens in our minds and bodies, and can be quite gradual. We feel different, our perspectives change, and what used to work doesn’t do the same job any more. In reaction to that, we can try to fill those gaps with things that aren’t actually right for us. Alternatively, some of us struggle on, becoming grumpier each day.

When we start to notice what’s up, the second shift happens. It invovles recognising that first shift, listening to this current version of ourselves and making changes accordingly. Both stages are difficult in their own ways!

The first shift can result in a crisis, but there is another way, and that’s what this newsletter is about. When we listen to what we truly want and need, and align our actions to that, we can make changes that bring us closer to a happier life as our authentic selves. Easier said than done, especially in our midlife when we’ve already built things and committed. It feels like there’s less wiggle room for moving things around and making changes. That’s why I want to share what I’ve learned about making changes at this age.

2. Ugghh really? Midlife?!

Since finding my voice is about being honest and expressing my thoughts, I have to share that I noticed a struggle in myself when it came to calling this a midlife shift. I resisted the urge to change my newsletter name. Instead, I reflected on why I felt uncomfortable. My answers were helpful but not surprising. The term midlife made me think of myself as someone past it, old, not interesting and not appealing. How sad! But when I compared that to my reality, I realised it didn’t match. That’s not how I feel.

It’s an outside perspective. Society, cultural norms and other people’s judgements have given me that impression. I decided to tune into my reality more than the external perspective. I also reminded myself that even though you can be interesting, attractive and exciting in midlife, there’s no pressure to do that. I have value with or without those things.

How I Got Here

Life seems to be a series of wake-up calls lately. My most recent one, which came embarrassingly late, is that I have very little published work to my name. I’ve been a freelance writer for over seven years, and before that, I wrote social media posts, newsletters and blogs for clients through an agency. None of it has my name on it, so it feels important (and scary) to start finding my voice and publishing my thoughts with no client brief, outline, keywords or anchor text provided.

In my professional life, I never stuck to the mantra ‘write what you know’. I wrote about all kinds of things. Now, I’m not just writing about what I know, but about what matters to me and many people like me. I’m seeing my friends struggling with it, so it feels important to tackle this. My idea is instead of those one-on-one conversations, why not share the struggles and the path to the answers more widely? That way it’ll help lots of people at once and build a community.

This space will be shaped and grow as I write, but there are some core intentions here from the start. I want to bring awareness to the midlife shift, what it feels like and how to recognise it. This newsletter is also going to acknowledge the difficulties of the two parts of the midlife shift. It’s not just about commiserating, though. Having dealt with a lot of change and renavigating my path, I’ve got some insights to share about how to handle the ups and downs.

Buy Me A Coffee ☕

What I hear a lot from people in the second stage of the midlife shift is that it’s too late or they feel they are falling behind. I’ll be unpicking that thinking, and proving that there is no predetermined timeline for your life events, especially when the goal is to align with your values. Stepping off the well-trodden path to find authenticity and meaning is intimidating; I won’t be pretending otherwise. I’m proof that it’s a muscle you can build, and I’m here to show you ways to mitigate and face the risks. Living life according to my values has made me much happier than I was before, even if my life back then ticked more traditional boxes for external measures of success.

The Start of Something New

Each week, I’ll be back here with a new newsletter covering more of what the midlife shift is and how to deal with it. Since I’m using my experiences and thoughts to share my perspective, I’ll be including personal stories, case studies and anecdotes along the way. I’m training to be a counsellor, so you can expect my approach to be influenced by psychology and counselling. Plus, I live in Athens, Greece, so my interest in ancient Greek philosophy and living life in a different culture will peek through, too.

Actions You Can Take Right Now

While big changes have made an impact for me, there are actually lots of little things I’ve been doing during my midlife shift. They’ve helped me to see things from a new perspective and eventually feel better. If what I’ve said above rings any bells, or even if you’re not sure, there are some small steps you can take right now. Choose one, two or even all of these actions:

1. Think about where you are in your life right now, including the decisions you made to get there and how you feel about it. Investigate whether those feelings and decisions were influenced mostly by your reality (your experience of yourself and your life) or by outside perceptions. Explore whether those perceptions contradict your experience. Using this same process, I discovered being in midlife is not dull and ugly; it’s fun!

2. Take a look at the descriptions of the first shift and the second shift again. Work out which one you’re in. You might even be somewhere in between. Think about the signs that helped you work it out. Awareness is the first step towards acceptance and change.

3. Write down three of your core values and explore how they show up in the actions you take.

4. Pick one thing you’ve been telling yourself it’s too late to do and start it!

Let me know in the comments what new things you’re starting or where you are in your midlife shift.

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I decided it’s not too late to start writing under my own name, and so The Midlife Shift was born. I took two concrete steps: creating my Substack account and then writing this newsletter.

After many conversations with friends at different stages of their midlife shift, I’ve realised that we could use some support and community as we find our way. I don’t claim to have all the answers, but I certainly do have plenty of experience from lessons learned the hard way. I’m combining that with my work as a writer and trainee counsellor to support you to be brave, embrace change, and maybe even just to work out what’s needed in the first place.

I’ll publish a weekly newsletter along with other nuggets of wisdom that will include useful tools and my perspective on things. There will be insights into how to listen to what you need and the processes necessary to make changes both big and small. I’ve been there, done that, still waiting to get the T-shirt. Even so, I’m ready to laugh, cry, commiserate and move on with you all by my side.

Join me to explore what the midlife shift is, and how to dispel doubts and navigate in a new direction.

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