Finding the Middle Age

When the daunting middle age came I expected to struggle with wrinkles on my face, and the aches and pains of working laborious jobs for 30 years. I knew that I would profoundly mourn the loss of my son’s childhood innocence, with pride they grew up so amazing but longing for a time that would never be again. I expected these changes.

Now that I am fully present in time over 45 years, I find myself working to let go of the narrative others had about me. I had never thought of it much until I found myself having to let go of the stories other’s had placed upon me.

Alison- the skinny one. Alison- the Restaurant pro. Alison- the writer. Alison- the air head. Alison- the chicken lady. Alison- with the whiskey and weed. Alison- the “always there for ya” one.

Sometimes I will be feeling a way, like a failure kind of way. and wonder why I feel as such, because that was never Me anyway. I didn’t fail at these things that weren’t my core self. These descriptors I can let go of, and it’s ok to rock and roll, always becoming.

All of those parts society around me saw were just things I did to survive.

I would say the most difficult part of getting accustomed to my own middle aged life is thriving, but doing so as nearly a stranger, lost, to the public who once surrounded you. Letting go without guilty feelings of not being those identifiers. Here in this time,to accept becoming part of the background, a memory, a story of someone’s awesome and fun past. Many were just customers and parties. Parents and exes who held your story in their words.

Without them,

My story is still unfolding. Yet it is now narrated by me, and only me.