Why Are You Ignoring Your Essential Systems?

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My 40s have felt like a full-blown home renovation.

And not the HGTV kind with a happy couple and a fresh backsplash—I'm talking busted pipes, surprise demo days, and wiring behind the walls that’s one flicker away from a full-on electrical fire.

For instance, have you ever had a procedure and your GYN says, “Congratulations, you’re done having babies”—only to find yourself pregnant a year later?

Surprise.

Or you finally unpack the last box, start feeling at home, and your roommate of four years hits you with, “Actually… I’m moving out,” like it’s just another Tuesday.

Surprise again.

And just as you’re catching your breath from all that change, life hurls something at you from way out in left field—like finding out your dad (your rock, your steady hand, the man everyone in the community looks up to) is going to prison.

Surprise? No. That one’s more like, WTF?!

Here’s the truth: In a kinder, gentler world, your 40s would be about exhaling—planning trips for when the mortgage is finally paid off, sipping wine in peace, maybe even finding a hobby that doesn’t involve elementary school popsicle stick projects.

But no.

Instead, you’re riding the hormonal rollercoaster of menopause while replacing the roof, tracking down the mystery smell behind the living room wall, and figuring out how to stop tree roots from breaking open your pipes.

It’s like trying to keep the house clean while the toilet’s overflowing, the lights are flickering, and somebody just set the couch on fire—oh yeah, and by the way, buying a new plunger is the one thing you forgot to do yesterday.

BOOM. Full gut-job.

Right now, I’m preparing for my father to come home. Between house arrest and prison, it’s been three years. This isn’t the life I expected—not with 50 so close I can smell its breath. This isn’t what I planned for. And there’s definitely no Pinterest board for this.

If I’ve learned anything, it’s this: You can’t patch this stage of life with caulk and fresh paint. You have to dig deep and rebuild.

You also have to be intentional—about your time, your energy, and your emotional insulation.

Because while you're swinging the hammer for everybody else, knocking down drywall and doing cleanup duty, it's dangerously easy to ignore the cracks forming in your own walls.

So let me say this clearly: stop living in a house that’s falling apart just because you’ve memorized where the squeaky floorboards are. You don’t have to delay your own repair work so everyone else can move into their next chapter.

You matter. Your joy is structural.

Midlife isn’t the end of the story—it’s a renovation project. Dusty? Yes. Frustrating? All the time. But necessary? Absolutely. And when it’s done? You won’t just have new floors. You’ll have a whole new foundation.

You’re not broken. You are rebuilding.

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