10 Things I Learnt in My 40s That I Do Not Wish I Knew Before

1. Friends Will Let You Down. Friendships Will Change

As a recently retired people pleaser, I’m discovering how drastically people shift once you start considering your own needs.

Some will cheer you on and grow closer. Others will distance themselves—quietly or dramatically.

It’s all fine, as long as you are in the front row, applauding your own efforts in spite of the empty theatre.

2. A Relationship with Yourself Is Awesome

And way more entertaining than I expected. I now decorate with mismatched colours, eat dessert before lunch, sing out of tune loudly, and even find my awkward, naked mirror dances kind of sexy.

This radical self-acceptance—of my body, thoughts, flaws, quirks—and the self-compassion that follows, feels like freedom. I’m no longer waiting for approval. I already have mine.

3. Suffering Is a Portal and a Teacher

You can either harden or soften through suffering. I’ve done both.

The turning point was when I started meeting pain with curiosity. (Usually after resistance, denial, and a small existential tantrum.)

During a recent health crisis, I dropped all my addictions: tobacco, alcohol, compulsive reading, and Netflix. I saw how they blurred my vision, numbing me to the truth of my relationships and actions.

The veil lifted. And with it, I left a ten-year abusive relationship, redefined what “friendship” means, and rewired how I relate to people.

4. You Can’t Cut Out What Formed You—Only Integrate It

An energy healer once told me my childhood traumas were “rubbish to throw out.” It hit a nerve.

At the time, I was reading Sophie Strand’s beautiful memoir The Body is a Doorway, where she dreams of being healed—only to reject the person she would be without the painful illness that shaped her.

Same here. I am not my trauma. I am also my trauma. And I am much more than that.

I’ve integrated what I went through. That pain made me wiser, stronger, and more connected to myself—and to nature. I now know what a healthy relationship looks like. I know what I want. And I’d rather be alone than perform for crumbs.

5. It’s Possible to Feel Joy Without Numbing

“We’re all running from pain. Some of us take pills. Some of us couch‑surf while binge‑watching Netflix. Some of us read romance novels… Yet all this trying to insulate ourselves from pain seems only to have made our pain worse.” — Anna Lembke, Dopamine Nation

Since detoxing from my addictions (five months now), I’ve started getting high on things like:

The feel of grass under my feet

The shifting scent of mountain bushes

The softness of my dog’s ears

Writing and publishing—whether or not anyone reads

It’s a grounded kind of joy. No crash. No regret. Just presence.

6. When to Be Silent

I used to panic in silence, scrambling to fill every conversational pause with awkward oversharing—only to replay it in shame for days.

Now? I just sit.

Silence isn’t awkward anymore. It’s space. For others to speak. Or for no one to. It’s companionship without pressure—and it often reveals more than words ever could.

7. When to Step Back

I once treated “being reliable” like a holy commandment. I still value it—but not when it means betraying my needs.

These days, I give myself permission to reconsider commitments. I ask, “Is this aligned with who I am now?”

Sometimes the answer is no. And that’s okay.

I’ve learned to listen to my gut. It roars when something’s wrong. And when I take that step back—once the guilt fades—there’s peace, sleep, and restored energy waiting for me.

8. I’d Rather Lose Friends, Partners, Comfort, or Money—Than Lose Myself

I’ve lived in seven countries, changed careers three times, and lost my savings more than once. That kind of upheaval killed my fear of starting over.

Through it all, the only constant has been me. The deeper this relationship with myself grows, the more sacred it becomes.

So yes, I’ll walk away—from a job, a relationship, comfort, or being understood—if it costs me my integrity.

Because once you’ve experienced wholeness, compromise feels like self-abandonment.

Funny thing? Every time I’ve chosen integrity, I didn’t lose. I just changed direction. And it’s always been for the better.

9. You Don’t Have to Take All or Nothing from the People You Love or Admire

I used to idealise people. Devour every word. Then discard them completely when they disappointed me.

Charles Eisenstein? Loved him—until politics. Zach Bush? Watched everything—until he cited A Course in Miracles. A Medium writer I admired? Wrote a cringeworthy article on women. Still can’t believe it.

Now? I hold nuance.

I still follow them. I still learn from them. But I check in with myself more. They have biases. We all do.

Even my closest friends aren’t saints. And I’m not a monster when I screw up.

People can be wise and flawed. Generous and self-absorbed. Helpful and wrong. I can hold two truths. And one of those people can be me.

10. Being Honest and Respectful Is a Selfish—and Powerful—Act

I’m reading The 48 Laws of Power by Robert Greene. It reads like a villain’s manual. Wealth, fame, manipulation—framed as power? Nope.

To me, power is:

Telling the truth, even when it costs you

Not pretending to gain someone’s trust

Refusing to act superior to feel secure

I don’t believe in power that comes from stepping on others. I believe in power that expands when shared.

And the ultimate power? Living in a way where you don’t have to look over your shoulder.

But hey—this is just me in my 40s. Let’s see what my 50s think.

Final Thought

I don’t wish I’d known all this earlier. Because what would I have done with it? Probably ignored it.

These truths didn’t arrive with age. They came with experience, missteps, grief, and the guts to begin again.

And that’s the beautiful trap of learning: it only sticks when it’s yours.

I’m curious about what’s next—five minutes from now, tomorrow, ten years down the line.

And you?What truths have only revealed themselves to you later in life? I’d love to hear.