Midlife: A Light Unravelling (Terms & Conditions Apply)

By Sally Somerton

It begins subtly.

You forget why you walked into the room…but remember randomly, and with startling clarity, that you no longer wish to attend things you don’t enjoy.

Curious.

Your tolerance shifts: For noise. For nonsense. For underwire bras.

Especially underwire bras.

You start asking dangerous questions like,

“Do I actually like this… or have I just always done it?”

And suddenly, your calendar looks suspiciously negotiable.

There is a shedding.

Not dramatic. No phoenix bursting into flames (far too much admin for that).

More like quietly removing layers and thinking,

“Well… that was unnecessary.”

Your body joins in.

She has opinions now. Strong ones.

She requests rest. Movement. Occasionally chocolate. (Who are you to argue?)

And if ignored, she escalates.

Gracefully, of course. With a well-timed ache, a sigh, or the kind of fatigue that says, “Darling… we’re not doing that anymore.”

Emotionally, things get interesting.

You may cry at adverts. Or laugh at things you previously tolerated.

You may discover that being “the strong one” was, in fact, quite exhausting.

Who knew?

And somewhere in all of this…you begin to notice a quiet voice.

Not the one that lists what needs doing.

Not the one that keeps everyone else comfortable.

A different one.

Steady. Honest. Slightly unimpressed by nonsense.

She doesn’t shout. She simply waits for you to listen.

And when you do…

It’s a gentle, slightly sarcastic, deeply wise reorganisation.

With fewer obligations.

Better boundaries.

And significantly more elasticated waistbands.

Sally x

Sally Somerton - Island Writer

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