Midlife Crises: Apparently, They’re Not Just for Men.

I think I’m having a midlife crisis. Or maybe it’s the world’s worst anxiety attack waiting to happen. Or maybe it’s some combination of the two. Whatever it is, it’s for real.

I know you’re dying to know my symptoms, and I would describe them like this: a gnawing, ever-present feeling of dread, sometimes accompanied by more acute moments of panic (think heart palpitations, anxiousness, and the feeling that I need either a few Xanax or a bottle glass of vino).

I always thought midlife crises were things that happened to middle-aged men when they began to question their careers, their marriages, their expanding waistlines, and/or their receding hairlines: they suddenly sold their sedans/SUVs and bought shiny sports cars that their families couldn’t actually fit in, they had secret extramarital affairs, or they divorced their wives and left altogether (so they no longer had to worry about fitting their families into their new, shiny sportscars?). But here I am—a middle-aged woman—in the middle of what I think may be a full-blown midlife crisis.

I can tell you exactly what instigated this midlife crisis: I turned 45 in May. If 45 isn’t the middle of life, my friends, then I don’t know what is, and this most recent birthday brought me to the realization that I am officially half dead. It’s true, and there’s nothing you can say or do to convince me otherwise. I did the math and came to the realization that forty-five is exactly half of freaking ninety. And there’s no guarantee that I’m even going to make it to ninety—so, for all intents and purposes, I’m at least half dead. (On a side note, when I shared with my nearly seventy-year-old father my realization that I was half dead, he said, “How do you think that makes me feel?,” to which I responded, “Well, I don’t know how it makes you feel, Dad, but it means you’re at least seven-ninths dead. Sorry.”)

I think the cause of my mid-life crisis is threefold:

1) I am simply running out of time. If I look back at how quickly the uphill climb of my first 45 years flew by, I can see exactly how fast the downward slope of the next 45 years (if I even have that many left) will go. This gnawing feeling of running out of time can be exacerbated by the most random of things. For instance, I walked into my craft room the other day, looked around at all the unfinished projects laying around (think scrapbooking, photo organizing, picture hanging, or simply decluttering the damned room), and thought to myself, “If I had a deadline—like, if I were dying, or something—I’d be much more motivated to finish all of these projects.” And then I thought, “Wait! I AM DYING! I’ve got to finish all these projects now, or all of my hoarding will have been for naught!”

I’m running out of time to finish (or start) my kids’ scrapbooks. I’m running out of time to teach my kids everything they need to know about life before they leave for college. I’m running out of time to start parenting the way I’d planned to parent before I had kids (before I realized that children have minds of their own and things wouldn’t always, if ever, go the way I’d envisioned). I’m running out of time to be the loving, attentive wife my husband thought he was marrying instead of the nagging, always-stressed-out-because-I-have-four-kids-and-a-horrible-dog wife that I’ve become.

2) I am discontent. I literally have everything I ever dreamed of: an amazing husband, four children (my dream actually changed to just two children after the first one was born, but whatever), a cute dog, a nice house in the suburbs. And, yet, I feel like things aren’t the way I dreamed they would be: my third-graders are still attached to my hip; the teenagers are self-absorbed and sometimes act like jerks; the husband is awesome, but doesn’t anticipate my needs like I thought he would (and I’m sure as heck not gonna actually tell him my needs over and over, ‘cuz that’s not the way it went down in my dream of my perfect future); the dog is a complete psychopath who has ruined our yard, our front door, and other things we prefer to have looking good so we can keep up with the Joneses; and the house is far from perfect, but there’s not much we can do to improve it due to the cost of the aforementioned four kids and their impending college educations. And don’t even get me started on the discontent that comes from the fact that most of my middle-aged friends get to parent on autopilot (i.e., their kids are teenagers or older, like my eldest two), while I’m still having to clean up spilled milk, put kids to bed, find babysitters, and go on fieldtrips because I accidentally spread my kids out so damned far.

3) I have got to start financially contributing to this family again. SOON. I “retired” from my previous job just over three years ago. It was an amazing, flexible job, but I was so busy between it and the four kids that just I felt something had to give, and, since we couldn’t get rid of the kids, I ditched the job (my husband says I quit without asking him first, but that’s not true—I told him of my impending retirement at least three years prior). Anyway, here we are—less than a year from sending our oldest off to college (OMGeeeesh, I’ve got less than a year left with her! I’m running out of time!! DO YOU SEE WHAT I’M TALKING ABOUT??)—and my husband is starting to FREAKING OUT about money. It seems that we’ve been blowing through it lately faster than he can bring it home, and he’s convinced that there’s no way we’re going to be able to make ends meet when the college tuition bills start coming in. (NOTE: Do NOT feel sorry for us, as we are not in an actual financial situation and there are at least 150 items—the biggest of which rhymes with smalcohol—that that we could voluntarily cut out of our budget, if we so desired.) Being the good wife that I am (I am not really a good wife), I’m feeling compelled to alleviate some of the financial stress by contributing to our household income…but, being the suburban stay-at-home mom that I am, I want to work on my own terms (i.e., so I can still brunch with friends, meet for Thursday-morning bible study, work out at my leisure, and get paid really well).

It appears I’m not the only 40-something year-old woman who’s ever thought she was having a midlife crisis. I’ve found several articles written on the subject, and it seems that a lot of us middle-aged women (I’m lumping some of the rest of you into this to make myself feel better) have issues with depression,  hormones, and/or life transitions that can cause us to feel as though we’re having a nervous breakdown, going through a midlife crisis, or simply losing our shit. Apparently, there is even some kind of U-shaped graph out there showing that both men and women experience a low point in happiness around midlife that—hopefully (and if one lives that long)—rebounds as we move on from middle-aged to flat-out old.

This handy Healthline article has several suggestions for what I could do to get through my midlife crisis: things ranging from talking to a doctor (in case I need to up my happy pills/tweak my hormones); to reconnecting with nature (ha!); to home remedies/healthy eating (um, does that include Qdoba nachos?); to writing down all the things I’ve accomplished in life; to talking to friends over wine (ok, I inserted the “over wine” part); to reading (I’m about to order my first Brene Brown book). Yours truly is about to try nearly everything on the list.

Are there any other middle-aged mamas (or dads) out there who are feeling what I’m feeling??? Please someone say “YES!!!”, because I don’t know if my middle-aged, wrinkly-foreheaded, graying-haired low self-esteem can take it if I’m entirely alone in my angst.

Hopefully, in a few years, I’ll be able to write a follow-up to post about how I got through this season of life without completely losing my mind: how I turned this “running out of time” feeling into good by doing all the things I’d been wanting/needing to do (and doing them right!); how I reminded myself daily of my blessings to help override my feelings of discontent; and how I turned into some bada$$ business woman who started making millions off her blog so her husband could stay at home while everyone’s college was paid for with cash (I’m literally cracking myself up). If all else fails, I’ll get through this just as I do everything else—with a whole lot of prayer and Pinot Grigio.

xo