Are You Stuck? The Strange Tolerance of 38-42 (And Why We Stay Until We Can't)
When I was 40, I was working a corporate gig and wishing and dreaming for something else.
The problem? I didn't actually know what that "something else" was. I just knew this wasn't it.
I didn't hate my job—not exactly. Some days were perfectly fine. But I felt stuck. Restless. Like I was waiting for something to click, for some clarity to arrive that would tell me what to do next.
So I'd look at other job postings during lunch breaks. Scroll through LinkedIn. Research other companies, other roles, other industries. And nothing lit me up. The idea of trading one corporate gig for another felt pointless. It wasn't the job that was wrong—it was the entire direction I was pointed.
But I didn't know that yet. Or maybe I did know it, somewhere deep down, but I wasn't ready to admit it.
Because admitting it would mean I'd have to do something about it. And I had no idea what that something was.
So I stayed. Wishing. Dreaming. Stuck. For two more years.
The Strange Shedding Season: 38-42
There's something that happens to women between 38 and 42 that I've seen again and again in my clients and experienced myself. It's like we start to feel our skin getting too tight. The life we built, the roles we've been playing, the person we've been being—it starts to itch.
Not dramatically at first. Just little moments of "huh, that doesn't feel right anymore." Little flashes of "is this it?" Little whispers of "I want something different, but I don't know what."
It's the very beginning of Fall—that transition from Summer to Autumn—and you can feel the shift in the air even if the leaves haven't changed yet.
Some women start shedding during this window:
Relationships that don't fit anymore
Careers that feel suffocating
Friendships that have become performative
Versions of themselves they've outgrown
Beliefs about who they "should" be
Others (like me) feel the itch to shed but freeze. We know something needs to change. We just don't know what, or how, or if we're brave enough to do it.
So we stay stuck in this weird limbo. One foot in the life we've built, one foot reaching toward something else we can't quite see yet.
The Tolerance Threshold: We Endure Until We Can't
Here's what I've learned, both from my own experience and from coaching dozens of women through this phase:
We can tolerate so much. And we will tolerate it until we can't.
That point—that threshold where we finally can't tolerate it anymore—is critical. That's when change becomes possible. Not before.
You can read all the self-help books. Attend all the workshops. Know intellectually that you need to change. But until your desire for something different becomes greater than your fear of change? You won't move.
I knew for two years that I needed to leave my job. Two years of being miserable. Two years of Sunday night dread. Two years of fantasizing about quitting. But I stayed because my fear was still bigger than my desire.
Fear of financial instability. Fear of disappointing people. Fear of making the wrong choice. Fear of discovering I couldn't do anything else. Fear of being seen as ungrateful or flaky or irresponsible.
And then one day, something shifted. The scales tipped. The pain of staying became greater than the fear of leaving. I hit my tolerance threshold, and suddenly—finally—I could move.
Your Brain is Not Trying to Sabotage You (It's Trying to Protect You)
Here's where it helps to understand what's actually happening in your brain when you're stuck.
Your brain has one primary job: keep you alive. And from your brain's perspective, alive = predictable. Your brain loves predictable. Predictable is safe. Predictable is known. Predictable doesn't get you eaten by a predator.
So when you think about making a change—quitting your job, ending a relationship, completely reinventing yourself—your brain sounds the alarm: "DANGER! UNPREDICTABLE! ABORT MISSION!"
It doesn't matter that your current situation is making you miserable. Miserable but predictable feels safer to your brain than unknown but potentially better.
This is why you can be absolutely certain you need to leave your job and still find yourself paralyzed, unable to update your resume. This is why you know your relationship is slowly dying but you can't bring yourself to have the conversation. This is why you want to change everything about your life but you keep not doing it.
It's not weakness. It's neurobiology.
Your brain is doing exactly what it's designed to do: keep you in the known, even when the known is slowly killing your soul.
The Cognitive Dissonance of Early Change
And here's the other thing that makes this phase so uncomfortable: cognitive dissonance.
Cognitive dissonance is what happens when what you believe and what you do don't match up. When there's a gap between your values and your actions. When you know one thing but you're doing another thing.
Like this:
"I value my health" + "I never exercise or prioritize sleep" = cognitive dissonance
"I deserve to be happy" + "I stay in situations that make me miserable" = cognitive dissonance
"Life is short and precious" + "I waste years doing things I hate" = cognitive dissonance
That gap creates psychological tension. Discomfort. It's your internal alarm system saying "something here doesn't add up."
You have two options when faced with cognitive dissonance:
Change your beliefs to match your actions ("I guess health isn't actually that important to me")
Change your actions to match your beliefs (start exercising and prioritizing sleep)
Most of us do option one because it's easier. We adjust our story about who we are to match what we're actually doing. We tell ourselves we're fine. We're grateful. We don't need more. We shouldn't be so demanding.
But in that 38-42 window? That strategy starts to break down. You can't quite convince yourself anymore. The cognitive dissonance gets louder. The gap between who you are and who you're pretending to be becomes too painful to ignore.
That's the itch. That's the shedding impulse. That's your psyche saying "we need to make a change, and adjusting the story isn't going to cut it anymore."
Why It Took Me Two Years (And Why That's Okay)
I used to be embarrassed that it took me two years to leave a job I knew wasn't right for me. Like I was weak or indecisive or couldn't get my shit together.
But now I understand: I needed those two years.
I needed time to:
Build up enough discomfort that my desire finally outweighed my fear
Slowly shift my identity from "corporate executive" to "something else"
Save enough money to feel a tiny bit safer about the leap
Test small changes before making the big change
Get angry enough at myself for staying that I finally got unstuck
Find support and guidance from people who'd made similar changes
Grieve the version of myself I was letting go of
Change doesn't happen on a schedule. It happens when you're ready. And "ready" often looks like "I finally can't tolerate this anymore."
If you're in that space right now—knowing you need to change but not yet able to move—you're not broken. You're in process. You're building toward your threshold.
The question isn't "why am I still stuck?" The question is "what needs to be true for me to finally move?"
What Actually Gets You Unstuck
I wish I could give you a simple formula. "Do these three things and you'll get unstuck!" But it doesn't work that way.
What I can tell you is what helped me, and what I've seen help my clients:
1. Stop judging yourself for being stuck
Shame doesn't create change. It creates paralysis. If you're beating yourself up for not moving faster, you're just adding another layer of stuck on top of your existing stuck.
2. Get curious about your tolerance threshold
Ask yourself: "What would have to happen for this to become intolerable? What would finally tip the scales?" Sometimes just identifying what that threshold is helps you get closer to it.
3. Make your brain feel safer about change
Remember, your brain resists change because it seems dangerous. So make it less dangerous:
Research what you're considering (reduces unknown)
Talk to people who've done it (proof it's survivable)
Save money (financial buffer reduces threat)
Make small changes first (builds confidence)
Find support (you're not alone in the jungle)
4. Increase the discomfort of staying
This sounds counterintuitive, but sometimes you need to stop numbing out. Stop telling yourself it's fine. Stop making excuses. Let yourself feel how much this actually sucks. Sometimes we need the full weight of our unhappiness to finally move.
5. Tell the truth to someone
There's something about saying out loud "I'm stuck and I hate it" that makes it real. Find one person who won't try to fix you or talk you out of it—just someone who will witness your truth.
6. Get help
Sometimes you can't see your way out alone. Sometimes you need a guide, a therapist, a coach—someone who can see your patterns and help you interrupt them. Someone who's walked the path and can light the way.
Where I Am Now (And Why It Mattered)
I eventually left that job. Started my own business. Completely reinvented my life and my sense of self. And I'm currently training for a marathon at 55, which would have been utterly inconceivable to 40-year-old me sitting in that corner office.
But here's what I want you to know: the two years I spent stuck weren't wasted years.
They were the years I needed to get ready. To build courage. To clarify what I actually wanted. To reach my tolerance threshold. To become the person who could make the leap.
If I'd forced it earlier, I might have failed. I might have retreated back to safety. I needed to be truly done with the old way before I could fully commit to a new way.
So if you're 38, 40, 42, or any age in that strange shedding season, and you're feeling stuck between who you've been and who you're becoming, hear this:
You're not failing. You're in process.
The discomfort you're feeling? That's not a sign something's wrong with you. That's a sign you're waking up. That you're starting to shed what doesn't fit anymore.
And when your desire finally becomes greater than your fear—when you hit your tolerance threshold—you'll move. Not because you force it. But because you finally can't not move.
Until then? Be gentle with yourself. Get curious. Get support. And trust that you're building toward something, even when it doesn't feel like it.
Your Next Step
If this post resonated with you, here's what I want you to do:
Ask yourself one question:
"On a scale of 1-10, how close am I to my tolerance threshold? How much more can I actually endure?"
Just notice the number. Don't judge it. Just notice.
If you're at a 3 or 4, you might have more process to go through. That's okay.
If you're at an 8 or 9, you're close. Really close. And you might need support to make the leap when you're ready.
If you're at a 10—if you've hit your threshold and you're ready to move but you don't know how—reach out. To someone. To me. To anyone who can help you take the next step.
Because here's what I know: the life on the other side of stuck is worth it. The authentic Fall season, where you're finally yourself, where you're preparing for Winter on your terms, where you're living instead of tolerating—it's worth the discomfort of change.
You just have to get to your threshold. And then take the leap.
Where are you on the tolerance threshold scale? What's keeping you stuck, and what might finally tip the scales? I'd love to hear your story in the comments.
