Hot Flashes & Cold Brew

Growing up, I always thought turning 40 would be… depressing. I imagined hiding my age like it was a dirty secret, whispering it under my breath, cringing every time someone asked, “So how old are you?” and reluctantly replying, “Yep… the big 4-0.”

But here’s the thing — I never in a million years imagined I’d feel like this.

I’ll be turning 40 in June, and I can finally say I love the woman I’m growing into.

Now, does that mean I adore my flabby arm flaps, the fact that I have to cross my legs every time I sneeze, or that I wax weekly so I don’t start looking like my Zia Lucia in Italy? Not exactly. But I’ve learned to laugh at these little things instead of turning red with embarrassment. And honestly, that feels amazing..

I was born during a time when Friday nights meant racing to Blockbuster before all the good VHS tapes were gone. When dial-up internet sang its robotic song, before you could even log onto AOL Instant Messenger. When the biggest life decision was whether you were Team *NSYNC or Backstreet Boys.

We spent hours listening to 90s R&B and KTU Freestyle. We waited days to record our favorite songs off the radio. We mastered the Skip-It in the driveway and tried desperately to keep our Tamagotchis alive. We waited all week to watch TGIF, sometimes adjusting the TV antenna just to get a clear picture. The ice cream truck’s jingle sent the entire neighborhood running.

We watched Are You Afraid of the Dark? with one eye open — terrified but completely hooked. We burned CDs. We cried over Titanic (Rose could have totally moved over!). We genuinely believed low-rise jeans and butterfly clips were the key to happiness.

Back then, 40 felt ancient. It was something only moms were. And they somehow always seemed like they had it all together.

And yet here I am — on the edge of 40 — realizing no one prepared us for this chapter.

No one warned us about the random 3 a.m. wakeups where your brain decides it’s time to replay every awkward moment from 1998. No one explained that your metabolism would quietly clock out without notice. No one told us our hormones would begin rewriting the rules while packing school lunches and trying to build careers.

We were prepared for puberty.
We became prepared for pregnancy.
But perimenopause? Hormonal shifts? Nervous system overload after decades of “pushing through”?

Not a chance.

And here’s what I’m starting to understand: this stage isn’t a breakdown. It’s a transition.

Midlife isn’t about fading. It’s about refining.

It’s about finally asking:
How do I actually feel?
What does my body need now?
What if I stopped running on fumes?

It’s about caring for ourselves in a new way. Advocating for our health instead of dismissing our symptoms. Learning that stress, sleep, nourishment, and boundaries are not luxuries — they are survival tools.

And maybe… just maybe… turning 40 isn’t something to whisper about.

Maybe it’s something to claim.

Because while my arms may jiggle and my hormones may have a mind of their own, I have something 20-year-old me didn’t have:

Perspective.
Confidence.
Boundaries.
And a deep desire to live well — not just look good doing it.

So here’s to 40.
To arm flaps.
To hot flashes.
To growth.
To strength.
To choosing wellness on purpose.

If this is what “over the hill” feels like… I’ll take it.

Talk to you in the next post. 🤍