Unfucking Midlife: The Strength in Unfolding
Because some parts of us don't need fixing, they just need space.
Before we begin:
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Last week, you may have noticed people posting pictures from 2016 on Instagram. And you may have asked yourself, why is this happening? Nobody knows. Including myself who took a trip down memory lane. Here’s what I found:
Teddies for Bettys. NYC Marathon. Hair experiments. Too many selfies.
I looked happy. Busy. The kind of woman who had her shit together. Running a successful business, training for marathons, posting confidently about... whatever I was posting about.
WILD to look back. She had no idea she was about to burn down half her life and slog through a chapter that felt like quicksand.
What the photos don’t show: I was less than two years away from learning that no amount of productivity, achievement, or perfect selfies could outrun the part of me that periodically needs to blow everything up.
The Cyclical Nature of Self
Midlife keeps teaching me that you don’t actually become a different person, you just get more honest about who you’ve always been.
In 2023, I wrote about what I had to quit after I quit drinking. Spoiler Alert: It was me. And since we’re being honest, I didn’t fully leave her. The part of me that gets bored with stability and wants to blow up the good thing before it gets boring (or before someone else does it first) is still here.
She shows up differently now, but she shows up.
Like the impulse to remove myself entirely, to run away, the minute I feel uncomfortable. It is my first thought anytime someone pisses me off or hurts me. But instead of hitting eject, I’ve started to stay.
Instead of ruminating for days, creating elaborate plots in my mind that would put scripted TV to shame, I’ve started to use my words. (Why is that so hard?)
Today, when things don’t go my way, I resist the urge to go to my room, black it out, and binge-watch TV.
And that, it turns out, is what growth looks like.
Decades as Chapters
I have yet to meet anyone in midlife who says, “I figured myself out in my twenties.” Sure, some people knew their career path early or found a partner they love. But nobody bypassed meeting different parts of themselves along the way.
In my twenties, my eyes were closed and I jumped without thinking.
In my thirties, my eyes were open, I saw the cliff, and I jumped anyway.
My forties have been me standing on the cliff, thinking about those previous jumps, the branches, the rocks, the impact with the water, grateful that one of my breast implants didn’t burst, and wondering if I even enjoy cliff jumping.
The actual answer is an un-resounding no.
Portia Nelson wrote it best:
AUTOBIOGRAPHY IN FIVE CHAPTERS
I I walk down the street. There is a deep hole in the sidewalk. I fall in. I am lost … I am hopeless. It isn't my fault. It takes forever to find a way out.
II I walk down the same street. There is a deep hole in the sidewalk. I pretend I don't see it. I fall in again. I can't believe I'm in the same place. But it isn't my fault. It still takes a long time to get out.
III I walk down the same street. There is a deep hole in the sidewalk. I see it is there. I still fall in … it’s a habit. My eyes are open. I know where I am. It is my fault. I get out immediately.
IV I walk down the same street. There is a deep hole in the sidewalk. I walk around it.
V I walk down another street.
It would be easy for us to think that who we’ve been was all wrong and we need to unfuck her and all would be right with us and life.
What If Some Things Don’t Need Unfucking?
Lately I’ve been thinking about this in terms of humanness and time.
Maybe the work isn’t fixing ourselves or trying to eliminate these parts, but dropping our resistance to them. Learning to unfold alongside them.
That part of you that gets restless when things are stable? Who creates problems just to have something to solve? She’s not going anywhere. And maybe that isn’t the problem.
Maybe it’s not about becoming someone who doesn’t have those impulses. Maybe it’s about recognizing when they rise up and saying, “I see you. I know what you want. And not today.” Not from shame or anger, just awareness.
The thing is, the same part that wants to blow things up is also the part that took the risks that mattered. That walked away from situations that weren’t serving you. That said yes to things that scared you and ended up saving you.
She’s every worst decision you barely survived and every best decision you made when playing it safe would have kept you small.
The Strength in Both
There’s this idea that by midlife we should have it figured out, that if we’re still wrestling with our patterns, we’re doing it wrong.
But what if the real strength is learning to hold both? To unfuck some things and let other things unfold?
Unfuck the stories that keep you small, while letting the unfiltered truth of who you are exist without trying to fix it.
Unfuck the shame around still being a work in progress, while allowing yourself to keep learning and meeting new parts of yourself.
Unfuck the fantasy that you’ll someday stop wanting to burn it all down, while choosing not to act on it.
This isn’t about fixing yourself until you’re finally acceptable. It’s about having the strength to stop trying to become someone else and instead unfold into who you’ve always been.
The Unfolding
We, much like life, are unfolding all the time.
The quicksand chapters aren’t failures, they’re foundation. They teach us that we can’t perform our way out of our patterns, that the only way through is to stop running from who we are.
Without that chapter that felt like quicksand, there would be no solution I live by now, no stronger foundation, no woman who can face herself in the mirror.
Not unfucked. Not fixed. Not done.
Just unfolding.
And there’s strength in that.
RELATED:
Excellent analisys of how appearances can deceive. Do you think there are ever any subtle warning signs before that kind of quicksand chapter begins?
loved this midlife isn’t about fixing or erasing the parts of ourselves that feel “chaotic” or restless. It’s about noticing, unfolding, and holding those impulses with awareness instead of shame. Growth often isn’t about becoming someone else; it’s about staying present to the parts of you that have always been there and learning to coexist with them.