Anyone Else Feel They Are Falling Apart After Turning 30
Anyone Else Feel They Are Falling Apart After Turning 30 – So I’m pretty sure I’m going through a midlife crisis. I feel like I’m falling apart. I feel like the more I try to stop falling apart, the faster I fall apart. I feel like I’m going to suffocate and I can’t breathe. Despite all this I also feel numbness. I am not positive that there is a midlife crisis because when I see a midlife crisis or symptoms of a midlife crisis, there is a lot of information about how men feel or how men can deal with it. There is not much information about women.
I thought, maybe that doesn’t happen to us? No, I don’t think we talk about these things.
Anyone Else Feel They Are Falling Apart After Turning 30
I remember a story of my discomfort when she asked the doctor for help, and he told her, “Good women don’t talk like that.”
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I think it’s good that I’m not a good woman? Because I am ready to discuss this unpleasant subject.
I’ve been miserable feeling this way for about a year now and I’m afraid to tell even my closest friends and family. It’s too sarcastic to say out loud because I know it hurts those close to you and it seems like normal urban rage. If I were an immigrant somewhere, I wouldn’t have the luxury of saying, “I’m just not happy.” I don’t care about my life, I don’t see people getting killed around me, I have no real conflict in my life, so what? get on! That’s correct?
I don’t know though. Aren’t I happy? Don’t I owe it to myself? Isn’t that what I always preach? Or should I keep it all to myself and just mess around and not wave?
Yes, I am really unhappy and dissatisfied with my life. I’m forty-five years old and feel like it’s all downhill now. Every day I ask myself, “Is this it? Is that all there is?”
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Which, again, is a really stupid thing to ask, because I know my life isn’t horrible. And then that makes me feel even worse. Like I’m not grateful for everything I have or everything I’ve done.
I’m grateful, I just…want more. I expected more. It’s just something that in my mid-forties I hoped to be more of in my career. I expected more security. I was expecting a different relationship. I’m not a perfectionist or high achiever either, but I guess I set some lofty goals and when I didn’t achieve them, it sent me into a spiral. I feel like I’m constantly trying to hang on to what I have and can barely make any headway. I feel like every time I realize that, someone is moving the finish line above me. I feel like I wasted my twenties doing stupid things when I should have been working harder, smarter, faster, whatever. Maybe if I had done that, I would be in a better position now? I can not understand. I keep reliving past decisions and feeling terrible about the choices I made. And that doesn’t help. I could take that regret and that fear and turn it into something productive, but now I just let it get me down.
My husband founded a startup a few years ago and is working very hard on it, but not as fast as we would like. Her time is demanding and she can’t help me like she used to. He also couldn’t work as much at his “real” job, so the pressure was on me to produce more and support the family. I have been dealing with health issues for the past year and a half and it has been financially, emotionally and physically taxing. In my twenties together, I feel like I’ve lost interest in my marriage. Don’t get me wrong, the hubs and I have never taken our clothes off in public, but lately my marriage feels like a business deal. We are good friends but we don’t talk about anything but our work. It wasn’t like that before. Maybe we are speechless? My children are getting older and I worry about whether I have raised them well. I had never doubted my parents before and they had never done anything to make me question their upbringing and yet, I couldn’t believe that I had somehow offended them and they would be society. When my children were young, I felt like I lost my identity because I was suddenly “Mom” and no longer “Jane.” I was no longer young or exciting. Now that my children are grown, I am losing my “mother” identity. What will I be doing in a few short years when they go to college? Should I go back to “Jane”? An even older and less interesting person?
I don’t sleep well anymore, I cry and feel sad. I haven’t felt funny in months. The last time I felt this way was several years ago. And that’s why I started this blog. I was feeling a ton of stress and incredibly bored with my life and started writing here. I found my genius, I found my people and I found a career for myself.
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Writing is my way of dealing with the stress and pain in my life, but this time I kept it all to myself. I haven’t blogged in barely a year and when I do it’s always more about nonsense than what I really feel. I always said I didn’t care what people thought of me or what I wrote, but this year I did. I’ve always said I’m an open book and I am, but this year, I kept a lot to myself. Because for the first time I was ashamed of how I felt. I was worried that my honesty would hurt the people I care about the most. I was worried about what strangers would think of me. I was worried about being a failure or worse, a complainer.
Well, I did it. I’m sitting here, pouring it all out on the page through tears. I’m releasing everything here and letting it all out because I think I’m going to explode if I hold it in any longer.
Last week I told my friends how I felt. He was so panicked that I asked if anyone else felt like they were losing their jobs. I was afraid they would tell me I was crazy. That I have a good life and I should embrace it and stop feeling sorry for myself, or whatever. Instead, they opened up and shared their feelings, and I knew I wasn’t alone.
I look around and see men my age buying sports cars, buying hair extensions and dating women in their twenties. What do women do when they go through this? From what I can tell, we are suffering in silence.
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We are the ones who put on fake smiles or at least neutral faces and pretend to laugh, even though we are screaming inside. We are the ones who take care of our parents, our children and our husbands. We are the ones who make sure everyone has what they need. We are the ones who care about everyone but ourselves. We are the ones who don’t talk about our loneliness, fear, inadequacy, bankruptcy or anything else because we are afraid of being selfish or afraid of being judged. And, frankly, we don’t have time to stop.
I finally broke down and told my husband how I felt. It was not a big discovery. He is not stupid. He saw a change in me. He felt that I was far from him, from our life. I was disoriented and going through the motions and he could tell, he just didn’t know what to do to help me. The advice he gave me was, “You should write about it.” His advice was sound.
Even now, as I finish this post, I feel better. It’s nice to be open and honest and real about my feelings of depression. I’m not cured by any stretch of the imagination, but I feel better. Putting my thoughts and feelings on paper has always been my form of therapy. This is how I always process difficult things. I’ve been away from it this year and I want to get back. I’m not going to worry about how many pageviews I get or the SEO I need to drive traffic to this post because it doesn’t matter. What matters is that the people who need to see and hear this find this post.
If you recognize yourself in what I have written here, know that you are not alone. You shouldn’t be
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