How it feels to be 40

On my birthday, people kept asking how it felt to be 40. Here's my answer.

I see a ledge slightly above my head, off to the left, and that is 40. It is dark grey, maybe metal, and therefore solid. It is something to reach for.

Meanwhile, the 30s are soluble and the past decade - my 30s - has seen me dissolving in a body of water that is like a huge water tank.

I appreciate that this metaphor might be confusing or difficult to visualise, and so I will also try to give some background and clearer descriptors.

When I entered my 30s, I had a one-year-old daughter. We shared a birthday party in the garden, our birthdays just half an hour apart (she was born at half past midnight).

It was a really lovely party with mostly my friends, as she didn’t really have any yet, but she had one cousin there and grandparents and aunties and uncles.

I made egg sandwiches on fluffy white sourdough bread, and there were cheeses and chutneys. Lots of people baked cakes, and they were were laid out on pretty plates.

It was sunny, and my daughter and I were dressed in matching white linen dresses. I look very happy in the photos and that’s because I was very happy.

Soon, I was pregnant with my first son. And just after my daughter turned five, I had another boy. Now, life was very full and we were confined to our homes, in lockdown.

It was the confinement that led to us eventually breaking free not just from lockdown, or that house, but from London.

Exercising our freedom by upping sticks and moving to the countryside.

It was an adventure, sure, but one that required a huge amount of energy to make work. Renovating a derelict house, settling kids at a new school, making new friends.

I plastered a smile on my face and got on with it, and I’m proud of not just making it work but of co-creating some magical times, in a magical place, with magical people.

And yet, there was always a sense that I wasn’t meant to be there. Not forever, anyway. But that you can’t just keep uprooting children. So, what do you do?

Well, I listened to my intuition and certain circumstances created a need to leave, beyond that desire I’d been feeling, and we returned to the city.

This filled up my mid-30s.

I decided to leave London aged 35; tried to back out aged 36 but ended up moving anyway; spent two years in Frome, in Somerset - and left aged 38.

Back in London: another round of school-settling, flat-renting, house renovation and friend-making. All while earning a living to support our family.

It kept me busy.

And it made my hair turn grey.

So, when I think about turning 40, I first have to reflect on the busyness of my 30s and of how wildly non-stop it has been and then, I can see why I’m reaching for that ledge.

Now, as of last weekend, I am 40 and so: am I on the ledge? I feel like I’m holding it with one hand and doing my best to swing myself up and on it.

I’m getting closer.

London is the ledge. This is my solid ground. My birthplace. The city I grew up in. I’m living here, and I feel settled. I am home. My daughter feels the same.

I am feeling clear on my career, as I cross the threshold from my 30s into my 40s. A fun mix of self-publishing (on Substack and Instagram) and traditional publishing.

I have dreams for the books I’d like to have published and I’m working on them slowly, methodically, creatively, spiritually.

I have no regrets. Not really.

I sometimes say we should have done this or we shouldn’t have done that but it’s a reaction to frustration or disappointment when something isn’t working.

And then, I look at how I need to fix it.

My children are now older and go off to entertain themselves for quite long spells, leaving me free to read a book or watch Netflix on my bed.

I don’t take this for granted.

I feel lucky to have been around and to have been their person through the baby and toddler and younger years, and to now watch them run off and play.

The 40s is bringing an energy of more freedom. More time. More peace. More self-compassion. More connection. More kindness. Better food.

My children are keen to try more interesting world foods, and I love experimenting with them. Their minds and palates are opening - and with it, mine are re-opening.

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I would say that the 30s still have an air of youth to them, while the 40s don’t. The 40s feels like solid adult years.

I remember my own mum’s 40th birthday. She hired a jukebox and had lots of friends round to our house. I thought she was old. Now, my children probably think I’m old.

The 30s have been a process of learning and un-learning. Of getting to know myself, my children, my husband and my friends - new and old.

And of looking at everyone and everything through the new lens of neurodivergence.

But the 40s feel solid. I think writing this is helping me to see that actually, I’m on that ledge, now. I’m standing on it, proudly. I’ve made it to my 40s.

Lucky to be alive; lucky to be mother to my children; lucky to be wife to my husband; daughter to my parents; sibling to my siblings; friend to my friends.

Yes, I feel lucky. That’s how I feel about turning 40. Lucky. Lucky to be where I am in life, with the people I’m with, doing the things I’m doing. Lucky.

Annie x