When I was in my 20s, my focus was entirely on appearances. I felt the need to be flawless at all times—perfect hair, impeccable makeup, and stylish heels. I was determined to make a mark, earn a good living, and surround myself with nice things while constantly worrying about others’ opinions of me.
As I transitioned into my 30s and embraced my roles as a wife and mother, my concern shifted toward my family’s perception. Yet, I still maintained an awareness of my looks. I dressed fashionably for work, often opting for an all-black wardrobe to avoid mismatches. I experimented with every hair color imaginable, slowly beginning to discover my true self. I was a young mom with a trendy job and a vibrant style, eager for approval from those around me. I was meticulous about how I appeared in public and the perfection of my social media posts. I was all in, all the time.
Then I hit my 40s, and suddenly, I realized that I genuinely didn’t care what anyone thought.
In this new chapter, I’ve come to appreciate the joys of makeup and hairstyling but have ditched the formal attire. I can pull off a full 12-step makeup routine even when I’m just running to Target in a tank top and gym shorts—not because I’m working out but because they’re cozy. Sure, I might wear a sports bra and have contoured cheeks, but I’m not hitting the gym anytime soon. My earrings may resemble Christmas ornaments, and yes, I wear shoes with custom orthotics—even if they’re not the prettiest. My nails might be chipped, but guess what? I simply don’t care what you think about my choices.
I make no excuses for my wardrobe, nor do I fret over snap decisions. For instance, one morning I craved Starbucks after dropping my kids off at school. Clad in a nightgown, slippers, and an oversized sweater that could double as a robe, I faced a long drive-thru line and opted to go inside. I received some odd looks—especially with a hospital nearby—but I didn’t care. I wanted a grande skinny vanilla latte just as much as the woman in the business suit wanted her fancy drink. The sign said to wear a mask, not to dress to impress. I’m 42, and I’ve earned the right to make my own choices.
Sometimes my kids aren’t thrilled with what’s for dinner. That’s okay; I made what I wanted, and their dad and some siblings enjoy it too. After years of cooking to please everyone, I’m ready to indulge in my favorites, like breaded chicken breasts with peas and couscous. If they’re unhappy with the menu, they know where the self-service station is—just clean up after themselves.
And let’s talk about my Diet Coke obsession. That’s what I drink, and I love it. Water isn’t my thing, and I have zero interest in flavored sparkling water. If I want to guzzle 44-ounce cups until my bladder protests, so be it. I’m not a child anymore! If I have to rummage for quarters to grab another soda from McDonald’s, I’m all for it. When my time comes, you’ll have to pry that can from my cold, dead hands—at least I’ll go out doing what I love.
I write a lot of essays, often with colorful language and personal insights. If you don’t want to read them, that’s perfectly fine. If you’re on my Facebook and can’t stand me, don’t friend me. If my posts annoy you, go ahead and unfriend. I won’t stop sharing videos of my mom trying on clothes in the middle of TJ Maxx—it brings me joy, and I’m allowed to enjoy it.
As a stay-at-home mom, I’m not a housekeeper. If you want pristine surroundings, check out the new model homes nearby. My house is lived in, with four kids who generate messes and endless laundry. I don’t make beds. If that bothers you, well, too bad.
In my 40s, I’m not focused on cultivating friendships. With a gaggle of kids and a busy schedule filled with practices and appointments, I don’t have the time to forge new connections. I cherish my few close friends, and we can pick up right where we left off, no matter how long it’s been. I refuse to feel guilty about not participating in weekly meetups. Let me live my life, and I’ll connect when I can.
My 40s are about embracing me. As I approach my 50s, the prospect of becoming a grandmother is on the horizon, bringing a new set of changes. For now, I want to savor this decade, rocking my red lipstick and blasting ’90s rap music from my minivan.
Speaking of which, I’m considering ordering eyelashes for my van’s headlights—it’s the perfect finishing touch. My kids might not want to ride with me again, but at least I’ll spot my car easily in the Target parking lot. Off to Amazon I go, because I can, and I have zero cares left.
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Summary: In her 40s, Jamie Reed embraces a carefree attitude, focusing on her own happiness rather than the opinions of others. She shares her journey from seeking approval in her 20s and 30s to confidently making choices that reflect her true self, from her casual wardrobe to her love for Diet Coke. As a busy stay-at-home mom, she prioritizes her family and personal interests, all while unapologetically enjoying life.