Surviving middleish: coping in this purgatory called mid-life

Middle Age or Middle Earth?

Middle age often feels like you are performing a circus-worthy plate-spinning act—one of complete futility. In this stage of life, we are sometimes referred to as "the sandwich generation," and rightfully so. It is the purgatory that falls between the oblivious youthful naivety of "I have NO idea who I am!" and the "This is who the hell I am, deal with it!" geriatric muse who has learned just to take those plates and say, "Opah!"

Middleish people are constantly in search of port (or at least a life raft life) in the form of drugs, food, entertainment and wrinkle cream, but nothing seems to diminish the crisis that is middle age. Although "crisis" doesn't describe mid-life accurately—it's more like the maneuverings of grumpy little hobbits through Middle Earth, slowly being led to the gates of Mordor.

What is this balance you speak of?

"Work-life balance" is one of the biggest fallacies perpetrated on humans to date. It seems there is a lot of work and not much balance, and the life part kind of just happens between the chaos. As middle-agers, we are tasked with looking after our elderly parents while supporting our adult children. Some might also care for minor children in cases of second marriages or grandchildren.

Most of the time, middles are barely treading water, trying to navigate a career (or three) to pay the bills. Sure, we might squeeze in a little quality time with the family here and there, but the only alone time we get is when we shower. Unless the dog hornswoggles its way into the bathroom, The days are filled with scheduling your colonoscopy between Little League and that diar meeting with the teacher about your youngest child flicking boogers at classmates again. Middle age consists of a never-ending bombardment of to-do list items and discoveries of hair growing from places it shouldn't.

Can I speak to the manager?

When my daughter was a teenager, she described the behavior of a woman slightly older than me who was causing a commotion at a public sporting event. "Uh, Mom! You could see it coming—she has that old lady haircut! "Can I speak to the manager?" Say what, now? "

I looked more closely at the lady's hairstyle; indeed, it was an aggressive cut. She had let the hairdresser use hedge trimmers rather than scissors to style it. The angled, jagged horror wasn't moving with her head - the hair gel was as palpable and crusty as her exasperation at the poor, unsuspecting usher who did not know what a "speak to the manager haircut was" either and foolishly wandered into her path. I swore then and there that I would NEVER get a haircut like that. Ever.

That dreaded "M" word.

No, not "M" for middle age. For women, immediately following the scourge of "the curse" comes an even more dreaded "M" word: menopause. You know, The Change of Life, the end of all things.

It signals the end of your child-bearing years and, along with it, your vitality, sanity and hotness. The hysterectomy is the final nail in the coffin that holds your youth. It's all gone, and what replaces it are hot flashes, night sweats, mood swings, cravings, aches and pains, weight gain, weird odors and other hormonal blasphemies.

"The change" has been happening to women since time immemorial. Yet, it's still an apparent enigma to the medical profession. They can't decide whether it's a disease, a mental illness or a natural occurrence in a woman's life. Maybe they will have figured it out by the time my granddaughters reach middle age.

I remember my mother talking in a secretive voice about her mother's going through menopause. I recall picturing my grandma morphing into a combination of Grendel from Beowulf and the ghost of Jacob Marley (you think that kind of stuff when you are a young girl who thinks they will NEVER be as old as their grandma is someday.) Now that I have reached the age of matriarchy, I have found that if you spend most of your time as Smeagul and not Gollum, you are doing pretty well!

Not-so-sage advice.

One lonely night between hot flashes, I scoured the internet for anything resembling helpful advice on how to get through this middle-age slump. I found all kinds of counsel - from acupuncture to consulting a psychiatrist to reinventing yourself by manifesting your youthful self. One article written by a middle-aged woman advised that "the key to surviving this period is balance and extensive planning. Setting realistic expectations and boundaries can significantly alleviate stress."

I thought, "Get real, Dalai Lama granny. I envision three empty wine bottles in your trash after the weekend. "Remember, taking care of yourself isn't selfish; it's necessary if you're going to effectively care for others." Yes, okay. I will see you later—at yoga class, right after I get my "can I speak to the manager" haircut.

Finding joy in the chaos.

Despite the apparent un-joys of middle age, it's about trying to find some meager sliver of happiness in the midst of it. I have decided that you find peace when you choose not to take yourself too seriously because you realize nobody else does. And when you feel momentarily overwhelmed, try making faces at yourself in the mirror. I'm serious; you can't NOT laugh at yourself when you make obnoxious faces in the mirror. For a bonus giggle, I sometimes shout something random like, "Bah! Humbug!" Or you remember these words of the Not-So-Sage Adivce-Giver; "Middle age is a chapter of your life that, though filled with responsibilities, can also be incredibly rewarding." Eye-roll to outer space.

With that, I leave you with the immortal lyrics of Prince (feel free to sing along):

Dearly beloved,
We are gathered here today
To get through this thing called "life."
Electric word, life
It means forever, and that's a mighty long time,
but I'm here to tell you there's something else:
The Afterworld
A world of never-ending happiness
You can always see the sun, day or night
So when you call up that shrink in Beverly Hills
You know the one, Dr. Everything'll-Be-All-Right
Instead of asking him how much of your time is left
Ask him how much of your mind, babe
'Cause in this life
Things are much harder than in the Afterworld...
in this life
You're on your own!
And if de-elevator tries to bring you down,
Go crazy! (punch a higher floor)!

Let's Go Crazy - 1984 (Prince)

This article was written by Kimberly Lambacher, a wife, mom, grammy, and mid-life warrior. It is meant to be dramatically satirical and should not be taken as medical advice. I'm not a real doctor; I just play one in my head.

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