Almost six months has passed since I hit the big 40. The need to write something to mark this landmark in my life has been niggling away at me since my birthday, but each time I picked a pen up and started, the tears inevitably followed, and it just felt too hard.

I want to write for myself, I always find it incredibly therapeutic once I’ve settled into a rhythm and my hand is moving over the paper – it’s why I enjoy journalling so much. But, as is always the case, I also write in the hope that my words might reach someone who needs them, and that they might help in some way.

In my early twenties I had so many clear ideas about how my life would pan out. I’d ticked all the education boxes; I had an excellent academic record, and I’d found a job before I’d even graduated. I was confident I’d be married by my mid to late twenties, with a mortgage, a dog and the first of 2 or 3 babies on the way. I even had an exact plan of how I wanted my house to look – lifted straight from the pages of the Next Directory Catalogue.

And you know what? That’s the problem. Not the Next Directory exactly but what the catalogue represents. It’s the way we have this ideal forced upon us. Those idealistic images of how our life should look, the exact angles our scatter cushions should be arranged at and the precise way the throw on our bed should look. You know, like it just fell there, and absolutely definitely not like it took 17 tries to get it right.

Fearless and 40

But what happens when you get to 40 and none of your scatter cushions are at the correct angle and the throw from your bed has been on the floor for as long as you can remember? And to add to your overwhelming sense of failure, the idealistic images of how your life ought to look are no longer just in the catalogue, they’re now in your email inbox and all over your social media. They’re everywhere you look.

That’s where I am. Scatter cushions in disarray and no real idea where to start with sorting them out. Because I’m no longer certain about how I want my life to look. And it’s taken me a long time to realise that actually, that’s ok. It’s absolutely terrifying. But it’s ok.

I am a 40-year-old single Mum to three healthy, bright, funny fearless girls. I’m self-employed and I work a ridiculous number of hours because my business is more than a business, it’s like my fourth baby. I loathe asking for help and I am a master at over committing myself and then having to juggle like a boss to keep all the balls in the air. But it’s ok.

There are so many things I could be panicking about. And there are moments, mainly in the middle of the night, where believe me, I panic about them all. Even the most rational of brains loses its perspective when it’s exhausted and sleep deprived. What if I end up alone? What if I can’t manage financially? What if I have to give up the house? What if I’ve damaged my girls? How will I put up the Christmas lights? What if something happens to me?

It’s ridiculous to think that being fearless means you never feel fear. I feel fear, heck, sometimes I’m so afraid that I can’t think straight. But then I remember who I am and how strong I have already been. I remember that, whilst I might feel lonely, I am never alone. I have been held up by the most incredible network of friends for months and I know that there is no way they will ever let me fall.

And that’s what allows me to be fearless. To be brave enough to admit that life is scary but to refuse to let it beat me or to force me to choose an easier, safer, path.

My Girls

Just over a year ago I stood at the funeral of my beautiful friend, who died before she reached her 30th birthday. She was a ray of sunshine type person, and her loss had such a massive impact on me. Without even realising it, she made me brave. She made me realise how lonely I was in my own life. Unless you’ve been in a similar situation, I doubt you’ll understand what I mean by that, but I’ve chosen the words really carefully. I was so lonely in my own life.

Life is short. In many cases it is painfully, cruelly short. Too short to risk waiting for the time to be right. Too short to be worrying about messing up your scatter cushions and much, much too short to be confined to the boxes society would have you believe you need to fit into.

I’ve agonised over how to end this post. If I’m completely honest what I’d say to anyone is; if you hate your job, if your friendship group makes you feel like you don’t quite belong, or if your relationship doesn’t simultaneously make you feel loved and safe and excited… you can choose to open the box which doesn’t feel quite right and step out of it.

But in reality, I know for many people that will just feel impossible. And perhaps stepping out of the box completely is too much to ask. But if you’re not ready to totally give up on the perfect scatter cushions, maybe there’s a way you can improve the situation. By being brave enough to speak up at work, with friends or your partner. It won’t be easy, and it takes a huge amount of courage but, once it’s done, if you feel that weight lift a little, you’ll know it was right, and that makes you braver. And when you’re braver, you take less shit.

Here’s to 40. And here’s to being Fearless.

Lots of love, Laura xxx