Irie. posted: " I used to think midlife crises were for straight, upper-middle class white men in movies. Their stories were familiar: it was always a man in his 40s or 50s who jettisoned his everyday life for something fast-paced and exciting. He traded his plain sedan" well.
I used to think midlife crises were for straight, upper-middle class white men in movies. Their stories were familiar: it was always a man in his 40s or 50s who jettisoned his everyday life for something fast-paced and exciting. He traded his plain sedan for a red sportscar and his middle-aged wife for someone younger and more smiley.
Less common were midlife crises for Black women. In the 1990s, all we had was Angela Bassett. There was Angela Bassett in Waiting to Exhale playing a character who, reeling from her husband's midlife exit from their marriage, set his car on fire and walked away looking furious and fierce. And then there was Angela Bassett in How Stella Got Her Groove Back, portraying a 40-year-old woman who finds love with a 20-something-year-old man while vacationing in Jamaica.
I have experienced midlife less as a crisis and more as an awakening. In many ways, entering my 40s has felt like a second coming of age.
But besides these chapters in Angela Bassett's1990s Guide to Being a Black Woman in Her Forties (a book that doesn't exist but that I would most definitely buy), there wasn't much of a guide to navigating midlife changes. There still isn't.
The lack of meaningful stories about midlife can make approaching our 40s and 50s feel like we're entering a scary, uncharted time – a crisis, if you will.
But I have experienced midlife less as a crisis and more as an awakening. In many ways, entering my 40s has felt like a second coming of age.
The first coming age came as I navigated that expansive period between tweendom and my early 20s. During this time, I came to understand that I can be distinct from the family and the cultures that formed me. I also discovered that the adults in my life were not perfect and over time, I stopped expecting them to be.
In that first coming of age, I had a lot of questions and answering them felt like a matter of utmost importance: Whom should I date? Who am I attracted to? Where should I go to school? What should I do for a living? Where should I live? Should I get married? Do I want children? Where do I fit in?
As I sought answers to these questions, making mistakes and accomplishments along the way, I started to become more self-aware.
By the time my second coming of age began in my late thirties, I had what I didn't as an adolescent: wisdom.
I still had questions, some that even linger, unresolved, from adolescence. I wondered: Is this how I want to spend my life? Are these my priorities? What do I still want to accomplish? Is this the legacy I want to leave? Am I ready to heal or will I continue to pass along my traumas to the people in my life? Is it too late for me?
Even at its most tenuous and scary, midlife hasn't felt like a crisis. I think that's because understanding that my reality can change on a dime actually makes midlife feel more like an opportunity to live into the person I want to be.
But even as these questions proliferated, I started to feel a little more comfortable in the hazy space between having questions and finding answers. But I couldn't deny the sense of urgency humming beneath me; as I looked around, mortality was staring me in the face.
My body didn't spring back the way it used to after injury. Friends faced life-altering diagnoses. Friends passed away. My parents and their siblings are getting older. My father-in-law passed away. Constantly, I am reminded of the precariousness of life and the need to say the things that need to be said.
Time seems to move more quickly, too. The months and years slip through my fingers like sand. My kids sprout up before me with minds and opinions of their own. I see new wrinkles at the corners of my eyes and find wiry white hairs in the crown of my head and in my eyebrows. I say things like, "Remember when?" and "When I was your age…" and "It's 2023 already?" and "It's May already?"
Over and over, I see us entering this era of our lives with a less apologetic stance and a clearer understanding of who we are and what we want. It's as though we are all, collectively, leaving a chrysalis as we unfurl into bigger and more vibrant versions of ourselves.
Change is a constant for me and the midlifers around me. There are deaths. Births. Divorces. New relationships. Moves to new houses. New careers. Ending careers. Growing children. Shifting priorities. Mental health challenges. Hormonal changes.
Yet, even at its most tenuous and scary, midlife hasn't felt like a crisis. Chaotic? Sometimes. Unpredictable? Always. But a crisis? Never. I think that's because understanding that my reality can change on a dime actually makes midlife feel more like an opportunity to live into the person I want to be.
When I look closely, I see women all around me who have done just that.
I see my mother who, when she was in her 40s in the early aughts, cut off her hair, went to South Africa to study printmaking, and returned to the States a few weeks later, refocused on her artwork. I see friends and acquaintances who have started new careers and new businesses or made time for new hobbies and passions. I also see us working through hurt and traumas that we been hauling around for decades and leaning into joy even when we have had much to grieve.
Over and over, I see us entering this era of our lives with a less apologetic stance and a clearer understanding of who we are and what we want. It's as though we are all, collectively, leaving a chrysalis as we unfurl into bigger and more vibrant versions of ourselves.
Seeing these more expansive women has encouraged me to do some important perspective shifting. I am learning to prioritize my mental health and rest. I am taking better care of myself physically, too, finally making appointments, including my very first mammogram.
I am loosening my grip on bucket lists, too. Increasingly, I am feeling that my path to joy will not be paved with memorials to the places I have visited or the accolades I have accomplished. What seems more pressing in this phase of my life, is nurturing my relationships. I keep wanting to say the things that need to be said to the people that need to hear them. To nod my head and listen. To text. To call. To be present.
This is especially true of the relationship I have with myself. I am working to be a soft place to land for the most wounded parts of myself. I want to embrace myself with the widest of arms, to love myself so fully that I am as comfortable in my skin in a boardroom as I am in the sanctity of my home. Learning to love and take care of myself has made me a better parent, a better wife, and a better friend.
My adolescent self could never.
This is why I am loving my second coming of age. I am learning that midlife is not a white man in a sports car or Angela Bassett walking away from a car in flames. Midlife is a flower that continues to bloom. It is a supernova, it is a force – and that is incredibly exciting to me.
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