maybe she's born with it or maybe it's caffeine, the midult, midult mantra

More mantras for Midults

No more Mrs Nice Guy

It’s the time of year when you could come over all Mrs Claus; all patient and twinkly and hand rolling pastry for the mince pies. Or you could channel that other Christmas character John McClane in Die Hard and be all Yippee-ki-yai motherfuckers. You know what you need to do: you have the singlet and the emotional muscle.

Reminder: no one has their shit together

Not even that woman at the party in the Zimmerman dress you want. Or the lady on the tube laughing into her headphones as if she doesn’t have a care in the world. Or the girl on your Instagram with the velvet sofa and not a stain in sight. Or the old friend on Facebook writing books and being promoted and having 23 children and a dog and still gazing at her husband adoringly. Repeat after us, no one has their shit together, over and over again until we all die (which will probably be soon).

You are only as brave as what you want

For those times when the demons are all conspiring together and having a goddamn negativity festival in your head (hey, let’s call it Burning Woman) and all you can think is ‘How can I?’ or ‘I just don’t have the juice’ or ‘I can’t, I can’t, I can’t’. Sit down, take a deep breath, work out just how much you want the thing that you want: a pay rise, a baby, space, a good relationship, a tough conversation with a parent. Now, look how brave you can be. Oof.

Underestimate me – that’ll be fun

For all the times when you’ve walked into a meeting and there’s been just the slightest flicker of disappointment in someone’s eye. Or maybe you are nice to people and you see the furnace of ‘this one’s a sucker’ ignite behind someone’s eyes. Or perhaps you have decided, unequivocally, to ask for a pay rise. Or, possibly, someone is just taking the piss. Just try it. Make your day…

Push your luck, think of it as cardio

Pushing your luck is cardio. Running out of fucks is cardio. Breaking barriers is cardio. Smashing the patriarchy is cardio. It’s all cardio.

Maybe she’s born with it, maybe it’s caffeine

Maybe you skip out of bed with an Excel spreadsheet and a song, and you head to the gym for a brisk workout and glow with energy and good health and grains. Or maybe you’ve been sitting in a towel on the edge of your bed, staring at the wall since 5:30am and the only thing propping you up – emotionally and physically – is the thought of all the flat whites you are going to consume until your hands start shaking and you hear colours and see strange shapes in the corners of your vision.

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