By now, we are supposed to have the secret recipe to life. We have survived the fun, outrageous, live-on-the-edge exploration of our twenties, pushed ourselves into new discoveries in our thirties, completed our soul-searching travel and now feel that we have a firm grip on who we are. We are carefree and for most, not even contemplating life in your 40s.

Because for most of us? We thought we’d have it all figured out by now.

Turns out… no one does.

There are signs.

Like women in their late 20s getting Botox “preventatively” like they’re preparing for a natural disaster. The 30s doubling down on it… just in case.

Then you hit your 40s and realise… it was never about the wrinkles.

It’s the dinner table.

There’s always one woman with her phone torch on trying to read the menu. Another holding it at arm’s length like she’s deciphering ancient text. And then there’s the one pair of glasses… being passed around like a shared community resource.

At some point, someone stops fighting it. “Fine. I need glasses.” And weirdly… it’s a moment.

Because it’s not about the glasses.

It’s the quiet admission… we’re here.

During the previous couple of decades, we have consumed copious amounts of alcohol and partied until sunrise. We convinced ourselves that by the time we settle down with our partner, have the fairy-tale wedding and bump out some bambinos, the party lifestyle would not be missed. After all, we now have the ideal life — the husband and kids, the mortgage we will be paying off for life.

But really… who gives a shit? We have it all. Right?

Or is your reality something a little more like this?

You had a solid vision of how the future would look. You were bubbling with untapped potential and unrealised dreams. You just knew some of these were destined to come to fruition. Or maybe you’ve been waiting for your soul mate to arrive, someone who apparently took a detour and  – not through lack of trying – can’t be found.

Then, your forties crept up on you.

And no one mentioned this part. Perimenopause. Menopause. Whatever version you’ve been handed… is a sneaky bitch.

One minute you’re fine. The next minute your husband breathing feels like a personal attack. Your emotions are unpredictable. Your sleep is gone. Your patience is non-existent.

And for the very lucky ones… it even changes your enjoyment of the simple things.

Like wine. Wine!!  And suddenly you’re two sips in thinking… why am I hot, annoyed and slightly unhinged?

And then there’s your body.

You have some handles going on around the middle that eating crackers won’t help you with. Suddenly it’s protein, protein, protein… as if more chicken is going to solve everything.

Meanwhile you’re standing there thinking:

Is this hormones? Is this stress?
Do I have a brain tumour?

The career that was once the driving force behind your life — 70 hours the norm — is no longer a source of satisfaction. The partner who you adored and solemnly swore to love, death do you part, now not as shiny or fun.

And let’s be honest…

Every woman in her 40s has, at some point, looked at her husband and thought: What the fuck is wrong with you?

Not forever. But in moments? Absolutely. 

Or… your search for your soul mate and countless dates has left you doubtful about the possibility of ever finding the one.

And this part matters. Because what about the women who didn’t meet the one? You’re not dealing with resentment.

You’re dealing with time. The quiet awareness that your window for children is shifting. That every date suddenly carries more weight. You’re not just asking “do I like him?” You’re asking… could this actually be my person?

Friendships are where solace is sought, yet at times they can’t seem to fill the space that now exists.

For some of us, it’s a gradual transition. Others wake up one day and think, what the fuck is my life?

Considering the amount of soul searching, self-development and investment we have applied to ourselves, it adds a layer of guilt that we should feel this way. Shouldn’t we be grateful? Content? Happy with what we have?

As Jack Nicholson’s character once said… what if this is as good as it gets?

We are bombarded with tiktoks, reels, posts telling us to find our purpose, set goals, ask the universe, read more, do more, be more.

Yet I am surrounded by people still questioning everything.

Their partner.
Their career.
Their purpose.

Women walking away. Women staying. Women still searching.

And questioning if any of it makes sense. Here we are in our forties. And let’s be honest.

How many of us are just going through the motions?

At this point, I’m supposed to give you answers. Inspiration. A plan.  I don’t have any of that. Nope. Nada. What I do have is this.

It’s ok to feel dissatisfied. It’s ok to feel confused. And you are not alone.

Maybe this is the part no one tells you.

You are not the only one thinking this. Women everywhere are quietly having the same moment, waking up and asking… what the fuck is my life? What does it all mean?

This moment comes for all of us. It doesn’t matter if you’re married, single, successful, or still figuring it out. It shows up anyway.

Not to break you. To wake you up.

And then it becomes a choice. You can stay where you are and keep going through the motions. Or you can stop and ask yourself, what do I actually want now?

Not ten years ago. Not what looks good on paper. Now.

Because maybe the WTF moment isn’t something to fear. Maybe it’s the moment everything gets honest.

Life is coming for you, it’s how you choose to embrace what’s to come is the beauty in the WTF moments!

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