What the Heck Happened? 

A Love Letter to Life in the Forties

I woke up this morning, looked in the mirror, and thought, who is this woman with the expressive eyebrows, the knee that predicts rain, and the sudden craving for quiet? I’m 43 (soon to be 44), and apparently, that means I’ve entered the chapter of life called “What the Heck Happened?”

Let’s be clear, I’m not complaining. I’m just… marvelling, because 43 is weirdly wonderful. It’s the age where I’ve started recognising myself more deeply and forgetting where I put my phone more frequently. It’s the age where my body whispers truths my heart already knows, and my soul starts asking better questions.

Clarity Collides with Chaos

I know what matters now. Family. Health. Purpose. Good food. Comfy shoes. Conversations that don’t skim the surface. Calm instead of constant loud noise. Laughter with loved ones and friends that doesn’t always require a huge party filled with craziness. I love wandering through markets and galleries, soaking in creativity and connection. I crave holidays filled with architecture, history, good food, and quiet corners where life slows down. Of course, life still tosses its curveballs, like jeans that betray me, dog videos that make me cry, or lighting so bad it feels personal. But there’s a strange peace in the chaos. I’ve stopped trying to fix everything. Instead, I’ve started listening to my body, to my gut, to that quiet voice reminding me that I’m allowed to rest.

Fierce Love, Fewer Apologies

I’ve stopped chasing people who feel like homework and started choosing relationships that feel like home, the kind of love that shows up with soup, snacks, memes, or silence, depending on the day. I’ve learned to say “no” with grace and “yes” with joy, and I’ve discovered that fierce love sometimes means letting go, with gratitude, a good playlist, and a whispered blessing for the road. Love isn’t always loud; often it’s a quiet check-in, a shared laugh, a letter written, or a message sent in the middle of the night simply to remind someone they mattered.

Wisdom with a Wink

I’ve come to believe that humour is holy, that advocacy is deeply personal, and that vulnerability is not weakness but the doorway to connection. Sometimes the bravest thing we can do is tell the truth. I no longer understand rudeness or the rush to nowhere; instead, I crave clothes that comfort, shoes that don’t demand sacrifice, and days that move at a kinder, slower pace. This is the life I choose, soft, honest, stitched together with laughter, and carried gently forward.

The Past Echoes Louder

Old dreams and childhood quirks resurface not to haunt me, but to be honoured. I carry my dad’s voice with me when courage feels scarce, and I see my mum’s resilience reflected back whenever exhaustion sets in. I remember the girl I used to be, the one who scribbled poems and doodled in the margins of her books and believed in magic, and I thank her for surviving. I am learning to love her, to forgive her, and to carry her forward with tenderness, because she is the foundation of who I am and who I am becoming.

The Body Speaks

My weight has decided to settle in, whispering, “Hello, I’m here, and I’m sticking around. You’ll need to work harder to move me than you used to.” and that’s okay. Instead of fighting, I’m learning patience, my body is teaching me to slow down and honour the process. I see fine lines on my face now, and I love them. They’re not flaws, they’re stories. Proof of laughter, resilience, and years lived fully. Sprigs of grey hair shimmer like silver threads of wisdom, while stretch marks and scars remind me of a beautiful life and all I have survived. Each mark, each change, is a reminder that I’ve lived, loved, endured, and that’s something worth celebrating.

Looking Ahead

I know I’m only 43. Some of you may be saying, “Oh darling, just you wait, you’re still a baby,” and others may be saying, “My gosh, but you’re old.” Either way, I am exactly where I belong. My youth was filled with late-night parties, and wild adventures, and now I welcome the quieter wonder of growing older, of simply being myself and caring less about what others think. Each year brings its own mix of joys and challenges, and while menopause waits in the wings (yay?), I look ahead with hope that at 60, 70, or even 80, I’ll still be travelling and savouring life as much as my body allows. For now, I’m embracing the lessons learned, the ones still to come, and the gift of living fully in this moment.

A little advice…  Take it, don’t take it…

Life, no matter our age, is precious, and it asks us to hold on for the ride. The twists and turns can leave us feeling defeated, but we are never given more than we can carry. When we pause to notice the wonder around us and the beauty within, we remember that this one life is ours to embrace. That means honouring our age, accepting our bodies with their flaws, feeding our passions, and keeping balance. Happiness doesn’t have to be extravagant, it often lives in the quiet moments, in the laughter of a small circle of friends and loved ones, in the calm of ordinary days. A life well-lived is not measured by grandeur, but by the simple, steady joy of loving what we do and cherishing those we share it with.

So, What the Heck Happened?

I grew, I shed, I stumbled and soared. I became someone who can hold grief and joy in the same breath, who advocates with humour and finds magic in the mundane. It hasn’t always been easy—I still face fears and uncertainty, still “wing it” and hope it turns out okay. I get scared, nervous, and worry. I battle bipolar every day, doubting myself often, wondering if my reactions are too much, trying to make sense of sadness and wild thoughts. Yet in all of this chaos, in all of this uncertainty, when the world is still for a while, I realise I’m okay. I’m doing alright. My life is actually beautiful, and I can, and will, overcome it all. So here’s to 43, and to every age that follows—to living unapologetically, loving fiercely, and walking boldly (in comfy shoes, of course) into whatever comes next.

Because what the heck happened? … Life did. And it’s glorious.