(Or: Why I Now Own Five Water Bottles and have a large seed collection!)

The Before Shot

I just found a photo of me from 1999.

There I am: Power suit. Sharp short haircut. Heels you could hear coming before you saw me. Matt pink lipstick and a very committed eyeliner situation.

And yes — technically, that’s me. But it’s also… not.

Because the version of me I’ve grown into? She wears trail shoes. She swears by gardening clogs. She owns more practical jackets than she ever thought possible. And she definitely does not wear lipstick to plant tomatoes.

(And if you’re a midlifer, you know an LK Bennett kitten heel won’t dig a veg patch.)

The Rebrand No One Warned You About

There’s no HR form for this kind of transformation. No LinkedIn update that quite says:

“Stepping away from performance. Currently focused on becoming wildly myself, and studying if I can grow broccoli in October.”

But that’s what it is.

You start questioning things like:

- Why do I even own shapewear? And how many versions of it do I really need?

- Why do my sports bras resemble body armour for a heavyweight statue?

- Do I actually need to attend that meeting? I mean… really do I?

And then the radical thoughts creep in:

What would happen if I just stopped? Just sat with a cup of tea and said… “No.” Would the world stop? I mean, yes — I think I’m important. But not that important.

And before you know it, you’re planning your week around wellness walks. You’re Googling whether it’s too soon (or too late) to plant Brussels Sprouts. You’ve somehow gone from wildly corporate to wildly chaotic — mentally and physically — and weirdly? It suits you.

My Midlife Essentials Kit (In No Particular Order)

So it’s now 2025, not 1999…

And what does my essentials kit look like these days?

(Spoiler alert: no matt pink lipstick in sight.)

Five emotional support water bottles — varying colours, designs, and sizes. One for the short walk, one for the long walk, and one just to look like I know what I’m doing (even if I don’t).

Three kinds of clogs (and no shame) — gardening clogs, indoor mules, and one rogue pair bought on impulse at TK Maxx that still make no sense but I’m committed.

An activity tracking app I forget to stop — which means yes, I can do a mean 100m sprint… in the car.

A playlist called “Something Is Shifting” — no idea what’s shifting. My mindset? My pelvic floor? We’ll never know.

One pair of jeans that never gets washed — because they’re always being worn. The waistband is questionable. The comfort? Unmatched.

A rotating cast of herbal teas I never finish — Pause. Detox. Calm. Sleepy. I only need Energise, Minty and Matcha Matcha and I’ve got the Seven Dwarves of Tea.

A rucksack instead of a handbag — gone are the shoulder-breaking leather totes. (I got a decent price for them on Vinted though!). Now I carry oatcakes (plain, ginger and choc chip), rescue remedy, and a smooth stone I picked up on a walk because it felt important.

What I’ve Let Go Of (And What I’ve Gained)

I’ve let go of the version of me who was always “on.”

The one who could network at 7:30 a.m. on a train platform — powered by caffeine and people-pleasing.

The one who got emails that started with “I know it’s late but…” — and, stupidly, answered them.

The one who confused being good at coping with actually being okay.

What a blooming mad thought that is now.

“Yes, I’m fine” — while drowning in a crippling inbox, reviewing 3,000 CVs, trying to find a unicorn trainer on a short-term contract at minimum wage.

YES. I’M FINE.

Arrgghhhhhh.

And in her place?

A woman who’s still figuring it out — and loving every minute of it.

With less pressure. (Okay… maybe not less. But different pressure. The kind that comes with no deadlines.)

More truth. And if people don’t like it? That’s a shiny new midlife boundary for the collection.

And far more trail mix, homemade carrot muffins, and brussels sprout slaw (Ok the slaw is a lie, but the recipe book has been open on this page for quite some time, I’ll make it one day!)

Because midlife joy doesn’t come in a spreadsheet. It comes in snacks, sass, and saying no.

Final Thought

Reinvention isn’t always a dramatic pivot or a neon-lit “new chapter.”

Sometimes, it’s just quietly retiring your power suit… and realising you actually quite like waterproofs.

It’s planning your week around peace, not pressure.

It’s saying no without guilt.

It’s clogs, carbs, and conversations that don’t drain you.

So no — I don’t recognise that woman in the power suit.

But I honour her. She got me this far.

And this version?

She’s not polished. She’s not proving.

She’s exactly who I was always meant to become —

with messy hair, mismatched socks, and a rucksack full of oatcakes.