Confession: I Sometimes Get Jealous Of Younger Me
The Midlife Essay No One Wants To Write ...Because It’s Too Honest
I recently found an old photo of myself and I thought: “Damn, look at her. That little bitch had it good.”
I know that sounds terrible.
But I didn’t think this in a mean way.
It was more like admiration mixed with grief.
Plus… nostalgia for the person I used to be… before I became middle-aged and turned into someone who says “oof” a lot.
So… when I saw that photo of younger me… looking smooth… and muscular… and very pleased with herself… of course I began cursing at her.
While simultaneously wondering why the hell she ever thought she was fat!
But you know what? It’s okay. I can admit it.
I’m jealous of my younger self.
After all, she had boobs that defied gravity.
And the ability to go out drinking, sleep three hours, and wake up looking like a dewy dumpling.
She could sneeze without crossing her legs. She didn’t have to think about her pelvic floor. She didn’t even know she had a pelvic floor!
Meanwhile, these days if I eat one slice of pizza, I feel bloated for days, and look like I’m in my second trimester.
In contrast Younger Me was living in easy mode… and she was too clueless to appreciate it.
But here’s the part the photo did not show.
Younger Me was often a goddamn train wreck.
She had no boundaries.
She was like an emotional open house. Anyone could walk in. She called it “being open-minded.”
She had no idea who she was.
She was constantly trying on different personalities like they were outfits at Forever 21, seeing which one got her the most compliments.
(And she thought confidence came from push-up bras and pretending.)
And then there were the men.
Oh my GOD, the men.
She dated guys who were “finding themselves.”
Which is code for lost.
And she was like, “That’s okay. I’ll be his compass.”
She actually believed that if she just loved someone hard enough, they’d magically stop being an asshole.
(Adorable. Truly.)
Plus she struggled with work.
She said yes to everything.
Every project. Every extra task. Every “hey, can you just quickly…” that was never actually quick.
She thought being busy meant being valuable.
She thought being exhausted meant being impressive.
Her friendships were painful too.
She had people who only called when they needed something.
People who made her feel small and stupid.
But she stayed.
Because what if she ended up alone?
She apologized constantly too.
For talking.
For taking up space.
For having opinions.
She also thought gray hair was a tragedy. She believed 40 was old.
(Yes, you have full permission to reach back in time and slap her.)
Looking back now… I realize:
Midlife Me is actually HAPPIER than Younger Me ever was.
Yes, Younger Me could wear a crop top without thinking about it.
But her people picker was broken. Midlife Me can now spot a toxic human in thirty seconds.
Sure, Younger Me had better knees.
But Midlife Me has a stronger spine. I know what I want and how to ask for it.
At work. In relationships. In bed. Even in restaurants. I now order what I actually want, instead of getting a salad because I think it makes me look “healthy.”
I don’t perform anymore. I don’t fake smiles, laughter, or orgasms for anyone.
Yes, more things hurt on me now.
But at least I don’t hurt myself like I used to.
Because I actually like myself more. The REAL version of me. The one who often talks too much and has very strong opinions and is not afraid to blurt them.
At this point, I’m guessing if Younger Me could see me now, SHE would be jealous of ME.
She’d whisper, “Holy sh*t, you can just... say no? And not explain? You can leave a party early and not feel guilty? You can ask for what you want OUT LOUD? You can eat CARBS in PUBLIC?”
Yeah. Turns out you can.
And that’s the real glow-up.
So in the end I forgive Younger Me.
And I honor her clueless, adorable, tinier ass.
Because I know she was doing the best she could at the time.
The proof?
Midlife Me is now an upgraded, happier model.
A little dented. A little louder. A lot wiser.
But still here.
And still becoming.
Please hit the ❤️ button.
Think of it as applause, but quieter. Here’s my ❤️ back to you for doing that!
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→ What did your younger self think was a “tragedy” that you now laugh about?
→ What did your younger self get wrong…that older you now knows?
→ What part of aging surprised you in a good way?
→ If you could talk to your younger self for one minute, what would you tell her?
It’s true younger me had a super hot body… and I wouldn’t go back a day. I’ve never felt healthier (thx to many RX ), never been happier, or more content. More of NOW is my highest priority.
Every cell in our body is replaced every 7-10 years, which means I’m now Scott 6.0 (at least). Never felt better. Never was better. And definitely never loved myself more than I do now!