How does our identity shift as we age? I am 42 now (honestly, I needed a calculator to work that out!), and I know I'm still young. As I talk about this subject today, I hear my dear friends saying, "You have so much still to learn," and they're right. But I've also learned a few things during my time so far.
When I think back to my childhood, it's funny how all we wanted to do was 'grow up.' I remember so fondly playing dress-up games with my sister, pretending we were wives with husbands away at sea. We'd play this imaginary game all day, wearing my mother's white long-sleeved gloves and eating cheesy chips (not a great combination). We were excited to 'grow up' and be 'adults.' I'm not sure what I imagined it would be like, but I thought all adults wore gloves for some reason. My mum's horror when she caught us mid-chip with her silk gloves covered in orange mush still makes me laugh!
Why are we so keen to grow up when we're young? I recently watched my beautiful niece getting ready to meet her friends and the excitement of going to the mall and hanging out. I remember those days—wandering around aimlessly and trying to make my pocket money last. The only way to describe it is a sense of freedom, a chance to be an individual when all you've known is family. This is the first cycle of change, that 'tween' stage where we realise we're individuals with our own dreams and desires but not yet self-sufficient. We still need the love and warm embrace of our parents. It's a tough time finding yourself while still wanting the security of home.
Then come the teenage years. I'm sure we all have stories to share from this time in life—beautiful friendships, first relationships, heartbreak, pain, loneliness, and joy, all rolled into one. It feels like the world will end most days or that they are the best days of your life. The rollercoaster is exhausting, but we all go through it. And I suppose we still do, though with a little less intensity. Trying to figure out what you want to do when you 'grow up' is problematic. I remember wanting to be a lawyer (they looked awesome in movies) or a marine biologist. I had no clue and followed what my siblings had done, hoping for the best. Although I think many would describe me as an extrovert, I believe I often used that to hide the shadows of how lost I felt.
As I hit my twenties, I moved to the UK and first tasted nightlife. I wasn't used to the open 'let's get it on' approach and found myself in tricky situations that I had to navigate! I did, thank goodness, and it was my first taste of standing my ground, knowing what I would and wouldn't stand for. That was also when I started travelling with the company I worked for. I learned to be alone in hotels, stick up for myself, and find my way in unfamiliar places. I became confident in working with new people each week before moving on. I'm so grateful for that job—it taught me to believe in myself, to trust my instincts, and to try anything because I knew I could make it work.
By my late twenties, I married Jorge, and we had bought our first home.
In my thirties, I was focused on climbing the corporate ladder and had my first real taste of imposter syndrome. It was knowing I could do something but not feeling I had the experience or confidence to do it properly. I always feared people would figure it out and fire me! I spent hours trying to work things out, afraid to ask for help, working late into the night, hoping that if I just kept pushing, it would all work out. It was exhausting. Why did I never ask for help? That decade was also when I was repeatedly asked when we would have a baby (like, on repeat!). It was a time of deep personal pain, too, losing a parent and feeling the hole it leaves inside. But it was also the years when Jorge and I made the bold decision to relocate to Australia, a country we had never visited and knew little about. We just knew we wanted a fresh start. Those were the years we found joy again, rebuilt ourselves in Oz, and carved out our little bubble of peace. It was also when we decided to have Amelia, and the reality of becoming parents became one of the greatest lessons.
Now in my forties, I've taken the bold step to start my own business. A new imposter syndrome festival in my head—how lovely—but now I have the tools to listen when I need to, quieten the noise when it's not necessary, speak to myself kindly, understand my emotions, and celebrate successes as they come. We also chose to take a different path, spending a year exploring Australia in a 22-foot caravan—a gift we will treasure forever. That adventure made me appreciate the advice I've often heard from the grey nomads on the road: "Make sure you're happy with every decision you make. Your happiness is the most important thing in the end."
Now, settled back into a home, Jorge and I strive for the calm and peace we've come to love as our family values. It keeps us focused on what's important, without the noise of others. One thing is sure: the older you get, the more you focus on what matters and less on the fluff around you. I now see that I no longer need to fit others' expectations. As I navigate this new stage (hello menopause!), I look back at my past self with love, warmth, and kindness, and I look forward to my future self with the same admiration—for all she has accomplished, one step at a time.
As we move through the different stages of life, we realise that our identity is constantly evolving. Each phase, with its joys and struggles, adds depth to who we are and who we're becoming. The beauty of ageing is that it gives us the perspective to see our past selves with compassion and our future with excitement. We may not have all the answers, but that's the point. Growth isn't about reaching a destination but embracing the journey. And with each step, we are shaped into the person we are meant to be, one lesson, one laugh, one love at a time.