In my twenties, I was convinced that by the time I reached my forties, I would have everything impressively figured out and be firmly in control of my life.

Instead, I generally live a daily life of small, deeply unexciting victories that only make sense if you are also a grown perimenopausal adult with a body that complains more frequently than you’re used to and some sort of vague sense of responsibility.

When the hormones are raging, some days my biggest win is remembering why I have walked into a room without having to completely retrace my steps. On others, it is putting clean washing away instead of creating yet another ‘clean but not put away’ chair situation. Yesterday, I made a meal that wasn’t completely beige, and even better, I did not burst into tears over something objectively minor. On another day, I did cry, but I correctly identified why, rather than getting upset about not being able to find my keys like last time. I woke up last week at 3am and resisted the urge to mentally rewrite my entire life. I repeatedly choose comfort over aesthetics (my sweatpants, hoodies and fluffy socks make up about 90% of my wardrobe), I can’t remember the last time I bothered to put makeup on when I left the house… and I feel zero shame about any of it. At this point, it all counts as progress.

There are also wins that involve not doing something. This can include not buying something I briefly decided would change my life (even though I desperately want the Jellycats – more on that in a later post), saying yes to plans that I know I would immediately regret and not turning one small task into a full-blown crisis.

These moments aren’t celebrated nearly enough.

A successful day now looks like eating proper meals (for the most part), getting rid of a few things I don’t need each day, not spending any money if I can help it and being in bed at a time that suggests I respect myself. There is no glow up movie montage or a dramatic TV makeover before and after. There is just me, in my baggy clothes and massive fluffy dressing gown, doing fine (or, ok at least for the most part) and realising that fine is not a failure.

If I can repeat this level of competence most days, feed myself properly, move my body a little, rest when I need to and not emotionally combust over minor inconveniences, I am more than happy to call that a win.

Yay, me!