Confessions of a Forty-Something F**k Up

by Alexandra Potter

Hi and welcome to Confessions of a Forty-Something F**k Up, the podcast for any woman who wonders how the hell she got here, and why life isn’t quite how she imagined it was going to be.

And who does not feel #blessed and #winningatlife but mostly #noideawhatthefuckIamdoing and #canIgoogleit?

Confessions is a show about the daily trials and tribulations of what it feels like to find yourself on the wrong side of forty, only to discover things haven’t worked out how you expected.

It’s the pressure and the panic to tick all the boxes and reach all the goals . . . and what happens when you don’t.

it’s so easy to feel like you’re failing when everyone around you appears to be succeeding.

By writing down all the things you’re grateful for, you will feel more positive, stop negative thought patterns, and transform your life.

I was not going to marry the prince and live happily ever after with our cute kids and adorable rescue dog. Instead I was going to pack up what was left of my life, cash in all my air miles for an upgrade, and sob my way across the Atlantic.

I was still on the outside, waiting for my happy ever after, whatever that may

“But that’s one of the good things about getting older: often the most terrible of things turn into the most amusing through the lens of time.”

“Don’t worry about getting older, worry about becoming dull.”

It’s waiting for me when I wake up. Like a school bully,

I can sense it before I even open my eyes,

It was a year ago today. I remember, as it was the day we’d been to the hospital. That time it beat me up pretty badly, leaving me feeling bruised and battered for weeks. I didn’t tell anyone,

Some people might name this bully Anxiety or Depression. Others label it a Panic Attack. While many describe it as the famous Black Dog that you can’t chase away. But I simply call it The Fear.

A nameless terror

It’s your dirty little secret, and I’ve kept mine for years.

“Remember that, love. When life buries us under all its heartache and disappointment, think about a seed. It needs to be buried in order for it to grow. That’s how the magic happens. But you have to have faith. Remember that. Patience and faith.”

I’m firmly stuck in the slow lane. Actually, no, it’s worse: I’ve pulled over onto the shoulder of the road, map splayed over the steering wheel, wondering where the hell I’m supposed to be going.

A freshly laundered sky. Bright sunshine. A balmy 75 degrees. It’s one of those perfect summer days that makes you fall back in love with the city that held you hostage all winter and dicked you around for most of spring.

And no, I don’t need a man. But I do have a fundamental need for love. I think we all do, don’t we?

I can’t compare what happened between us with what happened with Johnny. I loved Ethan. I was completely in love with Ethan. We had a life together. I thought we had a future together. I was devastated when it ended. Johnny was a distraction from all that. He was handsome and charming and entertaining, but now I’ve had time to get some perspective I’ve realized we never had any proper conversations, never revealed our true selves. It was just banter and flirting and rosé and sex. And it was fun while it lasted.

We’re encouraged to be our true, authentic selves, but being told to feel happy when you’re just not feeling it only encourages us to be the exact opposite. Life can be wonderful but it can also be scary and hard. We should be free to feel sad or gloomy or

just downright bloody miserable, without feeling like there’s something wrong with us.

“But it does mean most likely you’re going through the perimenopause.”

I realize this is just a new stage of life, and one that—if all this midlife stuff is to be believed—I should be embracing. But what if you’re not ready for this new stage?

No one wants to be The Woman For Whom Time Ran Out. You want to be the one making the decisions.

While if you believe everything you read, turning fifty appears to hold the joys of dealing with The Menopause. I can’t wait! Meanwhile, men get to buy a sports car and a leather jacket.

“Voltaire, the French philosopher, wrote ‘the best is the enemy of the good,’” she explains. “Though I think a better translation would be ‘don’t let perfect be the enemy of good.’”

He tells me all about how he’s been staying in a cheap hotel in town at the weekends for some months now, ever since he and his wife Sophie split up. And how he’s been too embarrassed and ashamed to admit it to anyone.

“Our marriage was over a long time ago and staying in it wasn’t going to fix anything, it was just going to waste the rest of our lives. I’m grateful to her for having the balls to do something about it.”

“I’ve always found that the best experiences in life are the ones you didn’t plan, the ones you stumble across

“I’m eighty-one years old and I’ve learned if there’s one gift you can give yourself in life, it’s the freedom and courage to say ‘I don’t know.’ Because I’ll let you into a secret—you don’t have to know. You don’t have to know how you feel, or what you want, or if you’re happy or if you’re sad.

Life is full of choices and decisions, and there is so much pressure on us to make all the right ones.

“Would you be mad if someone called you poopy-pants?” she says finally, raising her eyes to mine.

“Would you be mad if someone hit you?” I feel myself stiffen. “Izzy, did someone hit you at school?”

“You know you can tell me anything, don’t you?” Her expression is serious. “They said I mustn’t tell. If I tell I’m going to get into trouble.” Her voice is almost a whisper against the rumbling of the traffic. “Of course you’re not—why would you get into trouble?”

“Mummy will be angry with me.” “Mummy loves you, she would never be angry with you. Why do you think that?”

“Because we won’t be able to go swimming at her house anymore.” And suddenly I realize what she’s telling me. “Because her mummy is my mummy’s friend.” “I promise you won’t get into trouble.” I reach out my little finger. “Pinky promise.” Now her eyes meet mine and, linking her little finger with mine, she tells me who’s been bullying her. But of course I already know. Clementine.

All hell breaks loose.

I think her intention was to try and sort this out calmly and nip things in the bud, but bullying is a highly charged topic for everyone involved,

Annabel was understandably shocked and upset but, at the same time, furious.

Refusing to believe that Clementine could do such a thing, she strenuously defended her daughter and accused Izzy of lying. Accusations

and emotions flew back ...

The school has a zero-tolerance policy toward bullying and they took it all very seriously. They also knew how to deal with it correctly and calmly, resulting in the discovery that Izzy’s claims were indeed true, and Clementine admitting to calling her names and hitting her on several occasions.

“I just feel awful that Izzy didn’t come to me first,” she bursts out. “That she felt she couldn’t tell me.” Her eyes brim with tears. “I blame myself.”

“I’m just glad she felt she could tell you,” she says quietly.

“It’s mine. I shouldn’t have let her take over Max’s birthday or the baby shower . . . I thought she was just being nice, but looking back now I think she wanted to take control of everyone else’s life because her own life was so out of control . . .” “I think she was also being nice,” I say generously, and Fiona nods.

“I was in a job interview.”

“I didn’t know you wanted to go back to work.”

“Nell, you have no idea how desperate I am to use my mind again,” she sighs, looking up at me. “I spent three years studying archaeology. I’ve got a master’s in Byzantine studies and Greek paleography. Before I had the children I was part of a team doing fieldwork on ancient sites in Europe; then I got my dream job as a museum curator and I was responsible for putting together exhibitions.