Slim-Thick, Side-Eye, and 42

Everybody loves January.

New beginnings. Fresh starts. Big plans.

And all the exciting things we’ll quietly quit by January 10th… which, inconveniently, is my birthday 😆

I get all the same new-year energy everyone else does — I just get pelted in the face with the reminder that I’m turning another year older while everyone else is pretending this is the year they finally become a morning person and pull off slim-thick without selling their soul.

And honestly, that’s kind of how my 40s have felt.

It’s messy.

It’s loud.

It’s completely feral.

I didn’t ease into this decade with a glow-up and a vision board. I came in sideways with a total hysterectomy at 40 and a widow-maker SCAD heart attack at 41, which is a wild way for your body to say, hey, let’s talk about what actually matters.

So yeah.

My hormones rage-quit.

My heart threw a plot twist.

And suddenly I was standing in a version of my life that looked familiar but felt completely different.

Being in your 40s is this strange in-between space. You’re not who you were in your 30s, but you’re not fully in your “don’t touch me or my peace” era either. You’re still soft, but you’re done being trampled. You’re grieving who you were while quietly meeting who you’re becoming.

People love to say that by the time you hit your 40s, you just stop caring — about what people think, how you look, everyone else’s feelings… and yeah, kind of.

But it’s not that I don’t care.

It’s that I’ve gotten frugal with what I care about.

I don’t waste it on things that don’t give a return anymore.

I care about my people.

My health.

My time.

My peace.

Everything else can fight for relevance.

It feels bumpy because it’s an identity molt 🐍

You’re shedding versions of yourself that fit once but now itch like hell.

And it’s ironic — because while my body has never been louder, my tolerance for nonsense has never been lower. I feel more emotional and more done at the same time. Thank you, menopause 🫠

The other day, sitting in the 7 Brew drive-thru waiting on coffee, the girl working asked me what song would describe my life right now.

I didn’t hesitate.

“Ironic,” by Alanis Morissette.

Because of course it is.

It’s ironic that everything feels messier, yet I’m clearer than I’ve ever been.

Ironic that I feel like I’m starting over, even though I finally know myself.

Ironic that I care deeply — just not about the things that don’t matter.

My 40s didn’t arrive with a gentle sunrise. They kicked the door in and said, we’re doing honesty now. With your body. Your time. Your energy. Your people.

So if you’re standing here in January, staring at another fresh year with a mix of hope and side-eye… same.

This isn’t reinvention.

It’s me finally being exactly who I am and not feeling the need to say I’m sorry.

I don’t know what 42 has in store for me, but at this point I’m putting on all my safety gear 😆

Helmet. Emotional knee pads. Snacks. Bubble wrap suit. All of the things.

Because this decade might be chaotic…

but I’m finally grounded enough to live it.

XO — Jonesy