This Is What 45 Really Feels Like.

I just turned 45. I don’t usually make a big deal out of birthdays, but I realized I’m halfway through what's known as one of life’s most complicated decades for most people.

(Hi, it’s me— I’m “most people”).

I don’t feel older exactly, but I do feel different— and I struggled with how to celebrate that.

A few days before my birthday, Nat and I got together to record our weekly podcast. Being a full two years younger than me, she asked how I was feeling about turning 45— about aging in general.

The word “aging” conjures up images of wrinkles, serums, droopy bodies, and graying hair. These outside changes are the things we’re conditioned to be consumed by, to worry about, and to fix.

It’s not my fear of wrinkles that keeps me up at night. Despite the fact that I sometimes get preoccupied with the outer effects of the accumulation of years— lately I think more about the passing of time in terms of how I’ve chosen to live so far. Because choices (unlike the deep grooves in the middle of my forehead) are things that I can control— and the effects of these choices can truly change the trajectory of the entire second half of my life.

As soon as I had my first child, my choices became centered around my kids. As bizarre as this may sound— I did not see that coming. I didn’t know what type of mom I would be. I didn’t know that I would feel compelled to change my entire career so I could be home with my kids after school, stand around at baseball practices, and make nine thousand grilled-cheese sandwiches.

It didn’t feel like a sacrifice at first, because it allowed me to be where I wanted to be and where I felt I was needed most. But as I slowly let go of my “old life” and turned into the parent I knew I was meant to be, I couldn’t shake this nagging feeling that I wasn’t meeting my full potential.

Was I disappointing someone?

Did I lose my ambition?

Am I a cliche?

I kept trying to do what felt right without ever really being sure if it was. Was it possible to pour so much into my kids without losing myself entirely?

These are the feelings I grappled with in my early 40’s. Very much trying to prove something to someone— myself? Society? I kept telling Nat that 45 feels exactly like 44, but after our conversation, I realized that’s not entirely true.

I didn’t want a party this year. My friends tried to get me to rally in that loving way that friends do. It’s not entirely out of character for me to not want to be the center of attention, so I didn’t think much of it at first. But the more friends and family kept asking me— “What are you going to do for your birthday? Why can’t we celebrate?”— the more I felt the need to really figure out the answer. 

Is there something wrong with me? 

Will I regret this? 

I think I wanted to acknowledge my birthday in a way that felt authentic to what this year has meant to me. When I think about my age, it feels very much like it’s marked by my kids’ stages in life. I don’t like to admit that because it makes me sound like someone who’s given up on themselves. And honestly, that feeling of giving up on myself has been a source of anxiety for the past 12 years.

Even as I pursued different careers, hobbies, and interests, everything was built around my kids’ needs first. I think it’s our hustle culture—this “girl boss” bullshit—that made me feel like it wasn’t enough. My small business kept getting smaller, and I let it—because I knew that’s what was best for me and my family. And even though I knew I was making the right choices, I still carried around a lot of shame and guilt for not meeting some other, more generic definition of success.

From the outside, maybe it does look like I gave up too much. But now I know, at the wise age of 45, that nothing could be further from the truth– from my truth. Finally gaining the wisdom to see that I’m still a complete human, even after prioritizing my kids for the past 12 years, feels like the best birthday gift I could ask for.

I wish I had known it would turn out like this. I wish I had known that all the choices I questioned, that all the space I made for my kids at the cost of space for myself, would become a source of gratitude and pride— the foundation for everything I get to build moving forward. 

So that’s what I’m thinking about now—everything I get to build moving forward. I didn’t lose myself along the way. I didn’t sacrifice my identity. I built the foundation I needed—and the one my family needed—so I could return to myself when the time was right.

My birthday feels as much about my kids getting older as it does about me. They’re becoming more independent. We’re no longer in the trenches of early childhood. The demands of parenting are evolving— everything feel less physical, and less draining. 

When I look back at my life as a mom five years ago, I realize how much I was living day to day. It’s hard to look ahead when you’re up to your elbows in diapers, toy trains, and tantrums. And sure, parenting remains complicated and challenging even now that my kids are older, but in more of a cerebral way that doesn’t completely fry all of my senses simultaneously. There’s space to breathe. Moments to look up and look forward—for me, and for my boys.

I’ve taken some of these moments to figure out what my career looks like when it’s no longer built entirely around their needs. It’s health and wellness. It’s strength. It’s coaching. It’s supporting women. It’s a return to everything I was passionate about before I became a mom—but through a completely different lens. A lens shaped by my experience of motherhood, and by the work I’ve done to stay connected to the parts of myself that existed long before I stepped into this role as a mom.

These quiet contemplative moments are the ones that have shaped my life this past year. I don’t feel lost in the chaos of parenting anymore and yet I have renewed appreciation for the fact that I was able to be present for all of it. It doesn’t feel like a sacrifice anymore, it feels like a gift. 

I didn’t realize how much I had to unpack around turning 45 until I cancelled my plans to celebrate, decided to take some time to myself instead, and basically do the opposite of what I thought I was supposed to do on my birthday. 

It wasn't a party that I needed this year. What I needed—what I gave myself—was space.

And maybe that’s what turning 45 really means to me. Not starting over. Not chasing what I missed. But recognizing that I was never off track—I was just building slowly. And now, with space to breathe and eyes wide open, I get to keep building. Not in spite of the years I gave to motherhood. But because of them.

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Thanks for reading. If you’ve been thinking about your own relationship with aging or identity or how you mark time—I’d love to hear. Let’s talk in the comments.

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You can listen to the the full FitSister convo on my 45th birthday "anti-celebration" on this episode of The FitSister Podcast.

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