🧠 My no-fluff list of things lifting my mood at 40+ – from the practical to the peaceful.
You know when people say things like “You’ve got to fill your own cup first”? Well, some days I can’t even find the cup, let alone fill it. Is it in the dishwasher? Is it one of the three half-drunk mugs I’ve abandoned around the house? Probably. But still, I’ve been on a bit of a mission to do small, very doable things that help me stay vaguely upbeat, or at least less inclined to shout at an inanimate object (looking at you, printer).
So here it is: my no-fluff, midlife, mismatched-mug kind of list. Nothing polished. No affiliate links. Just what’s actually helping lift my mood, from the small rituals to the tiny victories, with a few side stories and minor disasters thrown in. Because life at 40+ isn’t a neat self-help book. It’s more of a part-memoir, part-chaotic recipe, part “did I actually brush my hair today?” diary.
☕ Morning Coffee, Afternoon Tea – The Only Routine I Stick To
Mornings start with coffee. It’s not fancy frothy stuff; it’s just strong, hot, and preferably handed to me before anyone tries to speak. That first sip? Bliss. Actual therapy.
Afternoons are for builders’ tea. Thick, tan, comforting. I like it just strong enough to make your spoon stand up for a second before slowly tipping over. And yes, in one of my gloriously mismatched mugs. I love a mug with personality, a chip, a cheeky quote, and a weirdly shaped handle. My husband, on the other hand, would colour-code the crockery if I let him. His mug of choice is plain white. (Love you, darling.)
🧘♀️ I Call It Stretching. Yoga Might Sue Me for Using Its Name
I don’t do “yoga” so much as I fling myself onto a mat in the vague shape of someone trying to feel zen. Mostly I lie on my back, do a few pelvic tilts, get distracted by a bit of fluff on the skirting board, and then call it Savasana.
The cat doesn’t help. If I did have a dog, it might offer support or at least a soulful gaze. But the cat just climbs on me and judges my form.
Still, these wobbly stretches do something. My hips crack less. My brain feels slightly less scrambled. That’s enough to keep me doing it.
💊 Supplements? Just Enough To Pretend I’m Doing Something
I’m not one of those supplement stackers with pill boxes and TikTok wellness routines. I take one general multivitamin (because of guilt) and one for hair and nails, a habit born after a particularly recent rogue gel nail experience that left me with talons like tissue paper.
Haven’t tried collagen yet. I’m not ruling it out. But I do worry it’s a slippery slope into buying marine powder with names like “Glow Elixir” and “Youth Dew.” Also, if I add one more thing to remember in the morning, something else is definitely falling out of the back of my brain, like school lunch forms or where I left my keys.
🎧 Mood Music: No Whining, Just Vibes
Music is a proper mood shifter for me, like therapy, but cheaper and with fewer tissues.
My one rule: nothing too whiny. I don’t want to hear a man whispering sadly about his feelings over a ukulele. I want life. Rhythm. Something that makes me want to strut around the kitchen like I’m in a ‘90s perfume advert.
Lately, I’ve been rotating between throwback pop, classic Motown, and those slightly unhinged Spotify playlists called things like “Main Character Energy” or “Songs That Would Play in a Movie Trailer About You”. I take those personally.
And every now and then, when the mood is right and the windows are shut, I go full Stevie Nicks. Arms swaying, socks slipping, twirling like I’m summoning spirits or just trying to shake off a stressful Tuesday. It’s less elegant ‘witch’, more dizzy mum with questionable balance, but it works.
Stevie understands midlife. She gets the drama of folding laundry while questioning all your life choices. She’s on the playlist forever.
📓 Affirmations I Can Actually Stomach
I want to be the kind of person who reads daily affirmations and feels instantly elevated. I do. But most of the time, they make me want to roll my eyes so hard I sprain something. You know the ones:
“I am light. I am in love. I am aligned with my highest purpose.”
No offence, but I’m just trying to remember if I’ve put the bins out.
That said, I have found a few that make me feel less like I’m faking it and more like I’m talking to a kind, slightly sarcastic version of myself. My current favourites include:
- “This is a wobble. Not a failure.”
- “You don’t need to have it all figured out by 4pm.”
- “Small things are still things.”
- “It’s ok to need a nap and a snack. You are not a machine.”
- “Repeat after me: I am not the only one losing the will in Aldi.”
I tend to scribble these onto the backs of receipts or inside the cover of whatever book I’m reading (usually with a crumb or two nearby). Not quite the ‘manifestation journal’ of Instagram fame, but it’s real. And sometimes real is more than enough.
🚶♀️ Walking: I Know It’s Good for Me. Still Don’t Do It Enough
Let’s be real, I aspire to be the kind of woman who walks daily. Briskly. Mindfully. Possibly with a podcast and a subtle flick of dry shampoo perfection. But the reality? I mostly walk from the kettle to the laundry basket, occasionally stopping to kick a rogue slipper across the floor.
I do enjoy a walk when I actually get out there. I imagine I’m in a BBC drama, coat flapping, secrets unravelling in the wind. But getting out the door in the first place? That’s the battle. It’s always too cold, too hot, too wet, too something. And sometimes I’m just too “meh”.
My dad likes to get out for a walk when he can; he’s definitely the walker in the family. And watching him make the effort, even on his creaky days, reminds me that it’s worth doing while you still can. My mum’s had a hip and knee replacement and can barely move these days. She hasn’t been able to walk far for years, and that reality sits quietly in the back of my mind, a nudge not to take movement for granted, even if it’s just a slow stomp to the postbox and back.
Still, when I do drag myself out, even just around the block, I never regret it. I mean, I’ll complain before, during, and after, obviously. But deep down? I know it helps. Must try harder. Might even put it on a post-it.
🍽️ Comfort Food: No Quinoa, Just Carbs and Nostalgia
My go-to dinner isn’t some plant-based Buddha bowl with a tahini drizzle. Oh no. It’s proper food. Real food. Stuff your nan might have made while wearing a pinny and humming along to the radio.
Think:
- Spaghetti and meatballs (extra parmesan, no regrets)
- Sausage casserole (low on finesse, high on joy)
- Pie and mash (if it’s from the freezer aisle, I won’t tell if you don’t)
- A big roast with all the trimmings, even on a Wednesday, if I’m feeling wild
Sweet potatoes? No, thank you. They look like they want to be chips but taste like disappointment.
🛁 Baths: Where I Hide from Everyone
My bath isn’t about getting clean. It’s about getting quiet. Epsom salts, candles, a book, and a locked door. Sometimes I run a bath just to sit in it and do nothing. Is it indulgent? Maybe. Is it vital for my mental health? Absolutely.
Also, bath reading is a sport. I’ve lost more than one paperback to a slippery shampoo bottle incident. I once dropped my Kindle and caught it with a reflex I didn’t know I had. Midlife reflexes, it turns out, are better when a plot twist is at stake.
💬 The Moan Chat With a Mate – Better Than Any Therapist
Sometimes, the most uplifting thing is a good old-fashioned moan. No solutions. No forced positivity. Just a trusted friend, a cup of tea (or wine, depending on the hour), and a chance to say, “Is it me or is everything mildly annoying today?”
We bounce from parenting politics to chin hairs to that weird email from school that made no sense. One of us usually ends up ranting about potholes. It’s glorious.
And somehow, even when we’re both frazzled, frail, and forgetting why we started talking in the first place, we finish the call lighter. Seen. Heard. Slightly hoarse, but lifted.
What’s Actually Working Then?
Not perfection. Not green juice. Not waking up at 5am to write gratitude lists while the world sleeps (although kudos if that’s your jam). What’s working is the tiny, daily things that anchor me to some version of myself that feels vaguely sane, vaguely soothed, and occasionally amused.
It’s cups of tea in mugs with slogans. Stretching like a grumpy cat. Listening to music that reminds me of who I used to be before I became the designated household IT support and bedtime negotiator. It’s carbs. Baths. Real conversations. And learning to laugh at myself, often, loudly, and ideally with a biscuit in hand.
So no, I haven’t cracked the code to eternal inner peace. But I have found a few lifelines that keep the wobble manageable, the mood just buoyant enough, and the spirit a little lighter, mismatched mugs and all.
☕ Over to You…
What’s actually helping your mood right now? I’d love to know if you’ve got your own little rituals, soundtrack favourites, or things that keep you from losing it in the pasta aisle.
Come say hello over on Instagram or Facebook, that’s where I share the messy, midlife magic in real-time. And if you enjoyed this post, feel free to share it, save it, or print it out and stick it on the fridge next to the emergency chocolate.
You’re not alone in this. You’re just… in a slightly creaky body, trying to remember why you came into the kitchen. Same. 💛
Take care, stay safe.
Becks xo
My life and style over 40 