On approaching the last twelve months of my forties, I have been reflecting on the last ten years. So much change, so many ups and downs, but so much positive as well. The more recent months/years have been particularly interesting with the emergence of perimenopause and the likelihood of neurodiversity thrown into the mix.
A word leapt into my brain over the past couple of days:
Unapologetic.
I have spent so much of my life wondering if I am too much for people around me. Keeping myself small and "acceptable" has been exhausting. Trying to fit into expectations (both real and perceived), personally and professionally. Feeling I was letting people down, apologising for being who I am. The last eighteen months have heightened this, but have also brought to my attention that I am not "too much". I am me. Messy and imperfect. Passionate and creative.
I am that person who is excited to see a rainbow, a sunset, the moon, the neighbour's cat on the pavement. I collect beautiful shells and seaglass, pick up pinecones and feathers. Just because. I enjoy finding the glimmers in the everyday, because - honestly? - the world is such a shitshow at the moment, we have to find the joy.
I can spend hours, or longer, ruminating on what is happening to fellow humans at the hand and dictate of fellow humans. I go down rabbit holes to find out as much as I can about events, the reasons, the excuses, and end up feeling helpless and angry. Holding that anger is exhausting, knowing I can't change the world or make things better.

I have spent decades unlearning the diet and beauty industry bullshit I consumed so readily as a teenager/younger woman. I dieted, restricted, binged and purged. I exercised and literally beat my body up. I cried when I saw in a full-length mirror what pregnancy had done to my body (this was about 48 hours after giving birth), and was immediately desperate to “be small” again. Wanted to be desirable, wanted to be viewed as acceptable to the Western standard. Life is too damn short to not eat the cake! I am fed up with food being given a moral value, “this is good, that is bad.” I am more aware with my hormonal shifts of what I need to put in my body to keep it well, sustained and nourished. I am learning which foods support the body and mind through the changes of perimenopause and menopause. I am learning which forms of exercise are helpful and which feel good to try. But judge me for enjoying a donut and see what happens…
My body has been able to withstand the abuse I put it through as a younger woman. It grew and nourished two healthy children. It has earned its stripes (which are plain to see across my belly). These days, I appreciate how it continues to evolve, and I am doing what I can to nurture this vessel in which I live. As for the way it looks? Rounded, softer than it once was, clothed in a way that feels comfortable to me in whatever particular mood I’m in at the time (which changes frequently - my wardrobe has quite a mix).
And then there’s the “s” word… I feel as though I have had to apologise for having such needs and desires over the past few years, as my other half has not wanted this type of connection. It has been so difficult to navigate, so many emotions - feeling sad, angry, rejected (doubly hard when you’re rejection-sensitive, which apparently I am. Very much), numb. Frustrated. Horny. Considering other options, knowing they’re not real options. I started writing erotica in 2023 when the first wave of perimenopause hit and my libido went skywards. I needed a release, somewhere to put these thoughts and feelings and desires. Initially, I didn’t tell many people, and shared with even less. Then at the end of that year, I published my words online. This has led to me being invited to be a founding author for a new platform for romance/erotic writers which will soon be launched worldwide. Why was I ever embarrassed by what I was writing? What is wrong with a woman of any age expressing their wants and desires? Men do it, freely, and this can feel threatening in some scenarios. It is deliberately threatening at times.It was a marital duty to fulfill even if they didn’t want to, because the man’s needs were paramount. Women aren’t supposed to want sex, even less so enjoy it! If they do, they’re a slut, a whore. They’re not the kind of woman you’d want to marry. They’re certainly not supposed to openly talk or read about it. I may be approaching fifty, but I am still a sensual, sexual being with wants and desires, and I am no longer apologising for that.
When I hear the word "unapologetic", I am reminded of something I wrote last year when I had been loaned a Porsche by my mechanic while my own car was in the workshop. I felt soooo self-conscious driving it at first. It was loud, raspy, took up space, drew glances (both appreciative and not so). The more I drove it, the more I embraced being (what I have termed) a Porsche Wanker. The car was unapologetically a Porsche! It was doing exactly what it was built to do, and it was a pleasure to drive, to hear the change in engine notes, to feel its speed and power. And I was pretty well behaved in it!
So, I am going to be unapologetically Anna. I am going to love and laugh (loudly), find joy, enjoy my body, say my piece, and continue my writing journey along the way. I feel I have more to share about taking up space as a mid-life woman in a hope that others believe they can too.
I'd love to hear your thoughts on this - leave a comment and let's chat!
Unapologetically, and with much love, as always,
Anna x x
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