I didn’t throw my back out lifting a fridge or doing CrossFit. I did it putting socks on. Because I’m in my 40s and this is my life now.
At some point in your late 30s, you might still be under the quaint little illusion that you’re a still a young adult. And then, without warning, forty arrives, you are 100% middle aged and your body hates you.
You haven’t changed your routine. You still eat your vegetables and go to bed at a vaguely sensible hour. But your body? It does not recover. It holds grudges. It makes weird noises when you sit down.
Here are 15 of the most personal, offensive, and oddly specific betrayals your body starts pulling after 40.
And no, there’s no fixing it through exercise and diet. Just vibes and ibuprofen.
1. You injure yourself sneezing
There I was, minding my own hayfever-y business, when one violent sneeze sent my back into full lockdown mode. A sneeze! That’s how I’m going to die, isn’t it. Embarrassing. (NB I genuinely know someone who cracked a rib sneezing. Fucking OUCH).
2. If you’ve had kids, that’s not all that happens
I refer you to this blog post. One sneeze, one cough, one trampoline session, one over-enthusiastic laugh, and suddenly it’s code yellow. Is it glamorous? No. Is it common? Oh yes.
Sneezing with my legs crossed like I’m in a Victorian drama? That’s my life now.
3. You wake up with new ailments from doing absolutely fuck all
I didn’t run a marathon. I didn’t fall down the stairs. I didn’t even peg out the washing or bend down to empty the dishwasher. I just slept. And yet my neck feels like someone replaced it with Lego.
And that’s sleeping on a pillow that cost more than my monthly food budget. I’m doomed.
4. Hangovers last three business days
Back in the Good Old Days I could drink all night, have three or four hours sleep and get up bright and early in the morning for my Saturday job at the bookshop, dealing with people all day with a smile on my face.
Even in my mid to late thirties I could easily do five drinks and a late night dancing and bounce back with a bacon sandwich and a nap the next day.
Now? Those days are over. If I have more than a few glasses of wine I’m awake at 3am with existential dread and a headache that lasts until Tuesday. NB this does not mean I’m sensible enough to forgo it.
5. Your digestive system has turned on you
Once, I could eat cheese toasties at midnight and be fine. Now? One wrong meal – or too many cups of tea with cow’s milk rather than soya – and I’m bloated, gassy, and convinced that’s it, I’m a goner.
Everything gives me heartburn now, including water on some days. Fecking WATER (that was said in the voice of Fr Jack Hackett, FYI).
I wish I’d had the foresight to buy shares in Gaviscon.
6. Your feet are fucked and your knees sound like velcro
I had never heard the cursed words ‘plantar fasciitis‘ before I turned 40, but now it feels like a secret club that everyone I talk to – particularly those that used to run or exercise regularly – has unwittngly entered. If you’re not familiar (you lucky bastard) it basically means your feet hate you, and hurt ALL THE TIME. Rather than going on a morning jog, you limp out of bed into your comfy slippers with expensive insoles (or worse, Skechers – farewell dainty shoes) and wonder why God hates you.
Meanwhile, you crouch to pick something up and you knees make a noise like someone unwrapping a family pack of crisps. You try to pretend it’s fine. It is not fine. It hurts.
Everything hurts, god damnit.
7. You can’t read small print without that old lady arm stretch
Menus, labels, Whatsapp messages on my phone. Despite having had laser eye surgery in my 20s to get 20/20 vision, nothing can stop the slow (but not slow enough) march of time and I now hold things I’m trying to read like they’re a map from a cursed tomb.
Yes, I could get reading glasses. But that would mean admitting my eyes – and the rest of me – is aging and I don’t think I’m quite emotionally ready for that.
8. You make noises when you sit (or stand)
I have become one of those people. The oof people. The uuugh and aaaah people. The noises just happen. I don’t even hear them anymore. But my kids do, and they think it’s hilarious.
I hope they still think it’s hilarious in thirty years when it’s happening to them.
9. You wish you’d had one of those ‘skincare routines’ – but it wouldn’t have helped
The way they tell teenagers that they’ll be free of spots once they leave their teenage years is out and out bullshit, but what they don’t tell you is that you will get spots and dry skin and wrinkles all at the same time. Savage.
I’ve not gone for Botox (yet, I know it’s poison but I’m fairly sure I’ve done worse things to myself), but are these lines between my eyes which I call my ‘are you really that stupid? line’ which have basically emerged from overuse, and now others are following it and I’m not fucking happy about it, which is making things worse.
10. You develop strong opinions about fibre
Once, I didn’t give a shit (ha) about bran or gut flora. Now, sometimes a well-timed and satisfying poo can be the highlight of my day.
11. You need a recovery day for absolutely anything
Went out last night? Need a recovery day. Did a food shop and hoovered? Need a recovery day. Stood up for too long at a school fair? Cancel the weekend plans, I’m going to need a sit and a snack.
12. You literally can’t recall the last time you slept through the night without waking for a piss
My bladder identifies as a pensioner.
13. You grow hair in all the wrong places, like, really fast
Chin hairs appear overnight, and not small ones. Over an inch, easily.
Meanwhile, you reach perimenopause and suddenly actual head hair is thinning like it’s been through a war.
14. Everything is much louder, brighter, and more annoying than it used to be
Crowds. Music. People chewing near you. My tolerance for noise, drama, and other humans drops with every passing year. Do not get me started on those bellends who can’t seem to use headphones when they’re on public transport. Hanging is too good for them.
I am sure I used to be good fun. Now I kind of just want everyone to calm down and bring me a cup of tea and a biscuit.
15. Your hormones are playing a game of ‘Perimenopause Roulette’ and you’re always losing
Thought I’d save this one for last; but it’s certainly not the best.
You may have wondered whether you’re in perimenopause yet or not, so here is a guide. I am fairly sure this topic is deserving of its own post and I’l probably write one soon, but just for now, let’s see…
- You’ve cried at an advert for dishwasher tablets or a dog you saw that looked a bit sad.
- You have had to stop yourself from screaming at someone at the supermarket because they took the last pack of Lincolnshire sausages on the shelf. Or maybe you didn’t stop yourself and now you’re banned from the Co-Op.
- You’re boiling hot in the middle of winter and suddenly freezing during a summer heatwave and this has made you very, very angry.
- Your sleep is in absolute tatters and it’s quite normal to spend between 2 and 5.35am tossing, turning and doomscrolling, and surviving on 6 minute disco naps between the school run and the weekly shop.
- You’re mid-chat and suddenly can’t remember the word for ‘cupboard’ or ‘washing machine’ or your own child’s name.
- Your cycle is either 14 days or 48 and you can’t even remember.
- Your boobs hurt, just for fun!
- You want your partner absolutely no where near you and have started picking fights about stupid shit so they won’t dare to try and touch you.
- Alternatively, if you’re one of the chosen few, your body is having a going-out-of business sale and you want to jump your partners’ bones at every given opportunity. As a result they’ve got that nervous, slightly panicked look in their eye at all times.
If you recognise any of these, then congratulations! You’ve entered the charming world of perimenopause, where every month is a surprise and your hormones are riding a unicycle through your nervous system yelling weeeeeee. Grand.
Doctors tend to dismiss it with a ‘well, that’s just life’, but no. This is not life. This is hormonal Jumanji, and you’re in level 4 with no map and a malfunctioning pelvic floor. If it is fucking you up, demand that HRT (I am not quite there, but I will, you mark my words).
Also, don’t expect anyone else in your house to notice you’re slowly combusting unless you scream it through a locked bathroom door. Twice.
If you relate to this, I’m sorry.
Look at it this way… maybe you do make weird noises now. Maybe your lower back is on a permanent tea break and your knees sound like popcorn. But you’ve survived life this far, and you’ve earned the right to moan about it with a glass of wine and a hot water bottle.
And if all else fails: elasticated waistbands and Skechers exist for a reason.
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