What is it about mid-life!

What is it about midlife that brings so much uncertainty ...

Over the last ten years I've asked myself this question more times than I can count. I don't ask it because I want someone to blame, I ask it because I'm trying to understand. I'm trying so hard not to take things personally when my partner is burnt out, when he has no energy left for deep conversations, when connecting with me or the kids feels like another thing on his list instead of the place where he can finally exhale.

Some days happiness feels like a distant memory, not because it doesn't exist, but because somewhere along the way it got buried underneath responsibilities, expectations, survival and whatever battle he seems to be fighting inside himself.

I find myself wondering if this is what happens when someone doesn't know who they are anymore.

Are you still wearing that mask you wore in public all those years and now you've forgotten how to take it off with us? Have we become the safe place where everything falls apart or have we somehow become too much? Is our love what you need most right now or is it the very thing you don't know how to receive because somewhere deep inside you've convinced yourself you don't deserve it?

The words that stay with me the most are always the same.

"You deserve better."

Do we?

Or do you just believe you're no longer worthy of us?

Because those are two very different things.

What I see isn't someone who doesn't love his family. I see someone who is exhausted. Someone who wants to be alone but doesn't want to be left alone. Someone who wants to run away from every responsibility, every decision, every expectation because carrying the weight of life has become too much, and while you're trying to find yourself you're slowly pushing away the people who love you the most.

It's heartbreaking because we don't want a perfect version of you. We just want you.

We don't need more money or a bigger house or some version of success the world tells you to chase. We just want your attention. We want your laughter. We want to sit around the dinner table and hear your stories again. We want the kids to remember this version of you too, not just the tired one.

I know this isn't every day. There are beautiful moments where I catch a glimpse of the man I know so well, the man who laughs until his eyes water, who loves fiercely, who would protect his family with everything he has. Then the cycle comes back around and it feels like we're all holding our breath again wondering how long this season will last.

The hardest part is not knowing what we're supposed to do.

Do I keep waiting?

Do I keep holding space?

Do I keep being patient?

How much patience is too much patience?

At what point do I stop asking for connection because asking hurts more than the silence?

Or maybe there isn't anything left to do.

Maybe this season isn't about doing at all.

Maybe it's about being.

Being present.

Being compassionate.

Being understanding without losing ourselves.

Being honest enough to say this hurts.

Because it does hurt.

Loving someone through burnout or an identity crisis or whatever this season is called can feel incredibly lonely. Especially when you're standing right beside them and somehow they've never felt farther away.

I've learned something though.

I don't think we can love someone into believing they're worthy.

We can remind them.

We can show up.

We can create safety.

We can tell them they're enough until we're blue in the face, but if they don't believe it themselves our words eventually become whispers against a storm.

So does it get better?

I honestly don't know.

I hope so.

I believe people can find themselves again. I believe healing is possible. I believe that somewhere underneath the exhaustion and the self criticism and the pressure of trying to be everything for everyone is the person they've always been.

But I also know that no one else can do that work for them.

Not a wife.

Not children.

Not love.

Maybe all we can do is keep becoming ourselves while leaving the porch light on.

Maybe we keep choosing joy with our children.

Maybe we stop waiting for permission to laugh.

Maybe we continue growing instead of standing still hoping someone else catches up.

And maybe one day they'll look around and realize they were never carrying this alone.

If you're reading this and you've ever felt like you're disappearing in the middle of your own life, please know you're not alone.

And if you're the one loving someone who's trying to find themselves, you're not alone either.

Maybe this is what midlife is really asking of us.

Not to have all the answers.

Not to fix each other.

But to remember that underneath all the noise, all the fear, all the masks and all the exhaustion, there is still someone worthy of love, someone worthy of belonging and someone worth coming home to.

I just hope one day they believe it too.

✨️✨️Your friend going through this thing called life, with YOU...your not alone. Let’s have these hard conversations. ✨️

Sincerely,

Sophie Turner