Once upon a time, I couldn’t wait to turn fifty.

Back in the early to mid-nineties, most of my role models were in their fifties.

These forces of nature and nurture ranged from small business owners to corporate power-suits; marital teams who’d achieved domestic deification (sex-lives intact); LGBTQA+ artists brave enough to live their truths underground, unaware they were paving a yellow-bricked road to a rainbow future. From religious leaders in thriving churches, to the lifestyles of the rich and famous.

My teachers, my coworkers, my castmates, my bosses, my boss’s bosses, my friends’ parents, my own parents, my aunts and uncles, and friends of the family that I’d considered family.

They’d put in some real f*cking work, and by their fifties, had arrived at this magical place of ability and stability. They just seemed so… confident. Secure. Functional. From the outside looking in, I had concluded that these midlife unicorns, worthy of admiration and emulation truly had their shit together.

God, I can’t wait to be fifty.

But when you don’t exactly see the entire picture, it’s tinted in a bright and cheery shade of rose, until it isn’t. Magical thinking is a beautiful, messed up survival mechanism that can keep you in a bubble of your own making. And then…? What happens when the true colors start to set in?

Well, I’ve got some good news and some difficult news about that…

Over time, as the child-adult gap decreases, and you become the adult in the room too, the secrets unravel and the unf*cking begins. “Did you know that she had three miscarriages by the time she had X?” “Did you know that he had an affair and they were sleeping in separate rooms for two years?” “Did you know that we were desperately poor?” “Did you know?” “Did you know?”

Our role models suffered. A fuck ton. But they didn’t show it because they felt like they had to protect us. So we grew up thinking that there’s some kind of magic happening in a future self somewhere. Then, when that future self never shows up, who the fuck are we anyway?

That’s what I’m here to find out: once the magical thinking is gone, once the bubble has burst, once the programming has short-circuited, who the fuck am I anyway?

I thought I would know by now, but I don’t. Maybe I never will.

Or maybe, just maybe, I will figure it out. All of it? Some of it? Most of it?

As of today, I have no idea…

What I do know is that I will be documenting this process on the gods-forsaken internet.

*devilish grins* 😈🖤

Hi, I’m Jaye, and I’m here to unf*ck myself.

Unf*cked Quote of the Day:

“All that is gold does not glitter, Not all those who wander are lost.”

J.R.R. Tolkien

So tell me, internet: is everything f*cked for you right now too? How do you feel when you look at my generation (Gen-X)? Do we look like we have our shit together, or are we just all a bunch of big kids who’ve lost our way? What are the biggest areas you’re working on in life right now? Or are you cool with just TikTokking it all out and calling it a day? Introduce yourself! I may not be here to help you in a codependent way, but I’d love to get to know you and share our stories. 😍