Getting Older Means Understanding More—And That’s Bittersweet (Trigger Warning!)

MJ Wynn
Apr 28
4 min read

Updated: May 25

It's 12 AM, and I'm sitting cross-legged on my bed, staring at an old photo of my dad. You know that moment at the eye doctor when they flip those lenses and suddenly everything snaps into focus? That's what getting older feels like. 👀 One day you're looking at childhood memories, and it hits you - those "grown-ups" who seemed to have it all figured out? They were just... people. Beautiful, messy, overwhelmed people trying their best to keep it together.

Tonight, my thoughts keep circling back to him. I'm 34 now, just two years shy of when his story ended. There are nights when I lie awake, replaying memories like old film reels, wishing I could reach through time and just... be there. Just sit with him, you know?

Because now I get it - that bone-deep exhaustion that settles in when existing feels like carrying the weight of the world. When you're doing everything "right" (hello, meditation apps and gratitude journals gathering dust on my nightstand 📱), but life's still coming at you like a game of cosmic dodgeball.

Beyond Instagram's Mental Health Aesthetic

Can we have an honest conversation about mental health? Not the pretty Instagram version with pastel colors and aesthetic fonts, but the real, messy, 12 AM kind? We're all posting about ending stigma while real people are drowning in silence. Still telling guys to "man up" (seriously, can we retire this phrase already? 🚫). Still throwing around band-aid solutions like "just think positive!" to people who've probably tried every self-help hack in the book.

The disconnect between our social media mental health activism and reality is like watching someone you love stay in a toxic relationship while their Instagram feed is nothing but self-love quotes. It's heartbreaking. 💔

66 Candles (And All The What-Ifs)

66 years old today. 🎂

I keep catching myself daydreaming about what he'd be like now. Would his laugh lines have deepened like mine are starting to? Would he be that adorably embarrassing dad on TikTok, trying to learn the latest dance trend while I die of secondhand cringe? 🕺

Some days it feels impossible to hold both those truths, but somehow we do.

But here's the thing - he never made it here. I did. And wow, what a complex emotion that is to sit with. It's like having your heart break and heal in the same moment, celebrating the fact that you're still breathing while mourning someone who stopped too soon. Some days it feels impossible to hold both those truths, but somehow we do. 🌅

So tonight, I'm raising my glass (it's herbal tea because your girl needs sleep, but we're making it fancy). Here's to him - to all the sunrises he missed, the dad jokes that never got told, the moments of pure joy that slipped through his fingers too soon. 🍵

And here's to me. To 34. To this beautiful mess of a life I'm still figuring out how to live.

12 AM Thoughts (And Why I Keep Choosing to Stay)

Sometimes during those can't-sleep-might-as-well-scroll moments (face mask getting crusty, doom-scrolling through TikTok 🌙), I wonder about alternate timelines. Like, in another universe, is my dad sending me terrible memes in our family group chat?

What I do know is that I'm here, showing up for another day. Not just existing - choosing to stay. Even on my worst days - when getting out of bed feels like running a marathon in Crocs (which, let's be honest, is a terrible idea) - I know there are lifelines everywhere. And unlike him, I've got this weird gift of perspective, this ability to look at the dark road ahead and say "Actually, you know what? I think I'll take the scenic route today." 🌈

Happy Birthday, Dad 🎂

Sometimes I find myself grieving not just you as my dad, but all the versions of you I never got to meet. Not just "Dad" with your bad jokes and embarrassing dance moves, but Ken - the whole person. The guy who had favorite songs I'll never know about, secret dreams he never shared, probably some wild stories from his 20s that would've made me see him in a whole new light. It's like having a book you loved but finding out half the pages are missing. 📚

So today, I'm sipping this overpriced oat milk latte (with an extra shot because... obviously 😌) and toasting to all of you. Maybe you'd be that grandpa with an unexpectedly awesome garden, or the one who got weirdly into true crime podcasts, or maybe you'd still be trying to figure out how to cook rice without burning the bottom (seriously, why is it so hard though?). 🌱

Your story ended at 36, but mine? I'm still here, still writing.

Because here's the truth, served straight up: Your story ended at 36, but mine? I'm still here, still writing, still figuring it out. Even on days when all I can manage is a single sentence. ✍️

And so are you, reading this. We're all still writing our stories, even when the words feel heavy. ✨

If You're Reading This…

Here's what I know in my bones: mental health struggles are real, raw, and messy as hell, and they don't make you weak or dramatic or "too much." You are NOT a burden. Not today, not ever. And if that lying voice ever tries to tell you different, I need you to know that there are people - whether they're already in your world or waiting in your future chapters - who want you here. Who need you here. 💫

You are NOT a burden. Not today, not ever.

And from someone who's walked through the dark and kept walking? I'm so incredibly grateful you're here. Like, tears-in-my-coffee, squeeze-you-in-a-hug grateful. 🤍