I think turning 45 unlocked something in me that I didn’t quite expect.
It’s this quiet realization that two things can be true at the same time.
And for some reason, that feels controversial.
Two things can coexist. Nick can be genuinely excited that the Shamrock Shake is back at McDonald’s because he knows I love it… and also fully detest the fact that it exists. Both are valid. Mint chocolate is apparently divisive.
It sounds simple when it’s ice cream.
It gets a little harder when it’s feelings.
I’ve noticed it in small moments lately. I can be genuinely grateful that birthday plans were made for me and still feel disappointed that someone chose not to participate. The gratitude doesn’t cancel out the sting. The sting doesn’t erase the gratitude. They just sit next to each other.
I can be frustrated with myself for letting my emotions hijack a morning I hoped would be productive, and also accept that I can reset during Evelyn’s nap and try again in the afternoon.
Both are real.
This week that lesson showed up in full color. I snapped at Evelyn while trying to get her dressed. Nothing dramatic. Just sharp and impatient. I apologized, and she told me she felt “very gray” and “lonely” because I was “red.”
I did not expect to be emotionally evaluated before 9:30am, but here we are.
It broke my heart a little. Not because she was attacking me, but because she was honest. I sent her to her room so I could take a minute, and I cried. Partly about that moment, partly because it felt like the culmination of a couple of weeks where I’ve wondered if I’m walking around harsher than I realize. Questioning who I am as a person fundamentally because what I have said or done hasn’t landed as intended.
That question has been sitting with me.
But instead of spiraling into “This must be who I am. I’m an asshole,” I’m learning to hold space for nuance. I can have a rough moment and still be a good mom. I can feel heavy and still be grateful. I can mess up and repair.
What I’m realizing is that the harder part isn’t holding both truths internally. It’s navigating them externally.
When someone reacts poorly to something I meant with good intention, it still hurts. I don’t enjoy being misunderstood. But I also know myself well enough at this point to know I’m not operating from malice.
And sometimes, if I’m being honest, I wonder if what landed wrong brushed up against something tender that wasn’t really about me.
That doesn’t make them bad. It doesn’t make me bad. It just means we’re human.
I can care about how something made someone feel and still trust that my heart wasn’t coming from harm.
We’re quick to assume that if you say you’re grateful, you shouldn’t mention the hard parts. If you acknowledge something hurt, you must not appreciate what you have. If a life looks stable from the outside, we tend to assume it must feel easy on the inside.
But ease is relative.
Yes, I have privilege. A safe home. A partner. The ability to stay home with Evelyn. I don’t take that lightly. I can thank God for a warm house while chiseling ice off the driveway and still wish we were done with snow.
Both can exist.
This season of staying home isn’t leisure. It’s just a different kind of work. Emotional lifting. Regulation. Bridging relationships between teenagers and toddlers and everyone in between. Paying attention to the undercurrent of the house. Having the opportunity to lean into it and get it right without it being something to check off a “to-do” list.
I’ve worked outside the home. I’ve worked three jobs as a single parent. I’ve shown up on days that weren’t technically mine. This chapter looks different, but different doesn’t automatically mean effortless.
It can be a gift and still stretch me thin.
I see the same theme in smaller areas too. With my health. With hormones. With the KIND patch schedule that now feels like I’m managing a tiny pharmaceutical startup on my own body. I can appreciate the support of HRT and still miss the simplicity of not having to think about any of it. I can experiment, adjust, and laugh at myself when I accidentally stack too many stimulants right before my cycle and wonder why I feel like I’m crashing. Wanna know more, shoot me a message. KIND patches are pretty cool (when used how you need them).
Adjustment doesn’t mean failure. It means paying attention.
I see it in my closet, too. Letting go of clothes that no longer fit who I am while holding onto a few that carry memory. Growth doesn’t require pretending something didn’t matter. It just asks for room.
Maybe that’s what 45 is teaching me. Less black and white. More gray. Less performance. More integration.
I don’t want to flatten myself into one emotion to make other people comfortable. I don’t want to choose between humor and depth, gratitude and honesty, strength and softness.
I want to be whole.
And for me, wholeness looks like allowing two things to be true at the same time.
If that feels messy sometimes, maybe that’s not failure.
Maybe it’s finding the me that is still in here.
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