The First Half Was for Them. This Half Is for Me.

I lost 50 pounds. Then I lost my job. The second one hurt more.

Here’s what no one tells you about your 40s: sometimes things have to fall apart so you can finally see what’s worth keeping.

Right before I turned 45, two things happened:
I lost 50 pounds.
And I lost my job.

Because apparently the universe is all about trade-offs.

The first half of my adult life was all about being who I thought I was supposed to be. I built a career in tech: I wrote the engaging copy, led the brainstorms, hit the KPIs, circled back like my life depended on it. I made work my identity, my stability, my purpose. I didn’t focus on marriage. I didn’t have kids. Not because I didn’t want to, but because I was too busy trying to build something that felt solid—a version of success my parents never quite had. A sense of control. A 401K. Free LaCroix in the office kitchen.

And then—sad trombone—it was gone. Laid off? Me? Suddenly, I wasn’t a Director of anything. I was just… home. In sweatpants. Refreshing the hellscape that is LinkedIn and wondering why I never learned to use Tableau. Or Python. Or witchcraft.

I went through all the classic stages: shock, rage, bargaining (with myself), rage again (stronger this time), and then a big ol’ case of The Sads. The job market was (and still is) a disaster. I hadn’t actively looked for a job since my late twenties, when all I needed was a decent résumé and an outfit from Target that I thought made me look like a fancy lady. Now? It felt like I was shouting into the void, and the void was ghosting me.

But then something strange happened: I had time. And I wasn’t using that time to write launch decks or sync with stakeholders or join a Teams call that absolutely could’ve been an email. I was using it on me.

I joined a new book club. I made new friends (a miracle in your 40s—honestly, someone give me a ribbon). I started cooking actual meals that didn’t come from a frozen bag (okay, this one is still a work in progress).

And I exercised every day—not because I had to, but because I wanted to move this body that suddenly felt more like mine. I read. I rested. I walked. A lot. Like, 10,000 steps a day kind of a lot. Like, maybe-walking-is-my-whole-personality-now levels of a lot.

For the first time in a long time, I wasn’t rushing. I wasn’t trying to hit the next milestone. I was just… here. In this weird, in-between space. Unemployed, uncertain, definitely freaked out… but also kind of great?

So yeah, the first half was for them—for expectations, for approval, for stability.
This half? This half is mine.

I don’t know where it’s going. But this time, I get to decide what it looks like.