I’m Not Having a Midlife Crisis, I’m Having a Midlife Reckoning

Ask any Gen X woman right now and she’ll testify: we’re done taking sh*t, and we’re ready to talk about it.

Happy Year of the Fire Horse.

The Lunar New Year just galloped out of the gate. Renowned for its energy, independence, and fiery intensity (sounds kinda like me), the arrival of the Fire Horse has—if we believe Chinese astrologers—ushered in a year of transformation, forward movement, and courage.

And to that I say: thank fuck.

I’m an Aries (we’re caramel in the middle, I promise), and if you also believe the Western astrologers, we Rams have just wrapped a 12-year karmic cycle. No shit. Could it have been realising, at 51, that I’ve spent my entire life in survival mode, desperately trying to outrun my childhood trauma (you can run, but you can’t hide). Or maybe it was crawling on my knees for the past decade, desperately trying to rebuild my shattered life, identity, and soul after the rug was ripped out from under me—gory details to follow in future posts.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not trying to sound victimy (I’ve never actually felt so empowered or sexy), or self-indulgent (I did warn you, I’m an Aries). What I’m trying to say is, I’m finally awake, and my midlife reckoning starts now.

I’m also in good company. Ask any fabulous Gen X survivor navigating the end of parenting, the hellscape of peri and full-blown menopause, and all the sh*t they’ve long buried, and they’ll tell you the same thing: we’re waking up, cleaning house, and hitting the reinvention button. Some, like my friend Tam, even say they’re happily entering their “quiet girl era.”

Not me.

Like the Fire Horse, I’m coming in hot—taking up my rightful position as CEO of my own life.

NSJ 2.0 means hiring myself (hello, Substack), getting my ass to the gym to join the resistance-training brigade, and—most importantly—switching out overgiving for giving zero f*$ks about who I am and what I want my future to look like.

Authenticity is the new glow-up.
Midlife is the new sexy.

I’m not gonna lie: this 12-year “karmic cycle” has been one hella crazy bitch. There were times I genuinely wasn’t sure I’d make it. But if age, wisdom, and emerging from one very long journey through the dark night of the soul (bruised, battered, but not broken) have taught me anything, it’s this. The highs, lows, and psych-ward-inducing rock bottoms have brought me exactly to where I need to be. The point of no return.

I am [a midlife] woman, hear me roar.

I mean, I might have lost my marriage, my identity, my confidence, and everything I thought I wanted—along with my mind, gallbladder, and plenty of collagen—but there were so many blessings (most of them in disguise) along the way.

I achieved my long-held dream of living out my SJP fantasy in New York. I peaked in my magazine career as a director at Harper’s Bazaar, under the editorship of Glenda Bailey (who I’m proud to say rated me). I met incredible friends (hi, LIT Squad). I braved online dating (hot mess, watch this space). I discovered I was ACOA (Adult Child of an Alcoholic—awareness if a gift). I dropped the tough-girl façade I’d clung to for survival (vulnerability is the new badass). I discovered vibrators (where had I been?). I fell in love—and by being loved right, learned what a healthy relationship actually feels like. And best of all, I found God (in a hopeless place). And he’s nothing like the judgy version you might have had shoved down your throat as a kid.

All the while, raising two of the smartest, kindest, most loving, empathetic, emotionally intelligent—and handsome—boys on the planet.

Oh, and I got a divorce dog. Her name is Faith.

I should have married her.

Love,
NSJ 2.0

PS: Thanks for being here, it means the world.