I’m a year older and squarely in midlife. This year, I marked the occasion with a dear friend. We shared good food, a beautiful view, and lots of laughter. Every time I see her, I leave energised and optimistic. She has a wisdom that breathes light into every conversation.

The next morning, she texted me something that I’ve been thinking about ever since. As she reflected on our chat, she thought about snakes (and yes it's the Year of the Snake in Chinese Astrology). How they shed their skin when they grow. Not because something is broken, but because what once fit becomes too tight. Growth, she said, is not about starting over or tearing everything down. It’s about recognising when the old shape no longer holds who we are becoming.

That image of shedding naturally, slowly, sometimes inelegantly, sometimes with effort and vulnerability just felt right.

So much of life teaches us to hold on. We hold onto roles, expectations, identities that once served us well. We hold onto a version of ourselves that others recognise or reward or rely on.

But sometimes, what once felt comfortable begins to constrict us. It may be a job, a belief or even patterns that we once celebrated. Behaviours like working harder, showing up stronger, never asking for help, making sure to please.

And then suddenly there’s a familiar feeling, an internal tug, a quiet whisper that may say, “Something no longer fits.”

The temptation may be to call it crisis or a failure or simply confusion, but maybe it’s growth.

Snakes shed when their bodies need space. The new skin already exists beneath the old; the letting go simply reveals it. Friction loosens the layers. There is nothing smooth or effortless about it. But it is necessary.

Psychologists describe growth as a process of identity transition where we work to move from one way of being to another. Developmental psychology shows that major turning points in adulthood aren’t created by dramatic reinventions, but by small, repeated adjustments that align our outer life with our inner truth. We evolve not all at once, but layer by layer, choice by tiny choice.

Perhaps we don’t become new people rather we become more ourselves. The shedding isn’t loud or radical. Sometimes it looks like doing the same things differently. Saying no where we used to say yes. Speaking gently instead of critically. Letting the light in instead of dimming it to keep the peace.

So perhaps growth doesn’t have to be visible. Perhaps it’s found when we stop pretending that we’re comfortable in skins we’ve long outgrown. Perhaps the turning point in midlife isn’t the transformation itself. Rather it’s the moment we admit it’s time.

Reach in: Notice what feels too tight. What part of your life feels constricting, heavy, or outdated? What might it be asking you to release?

Reset: Peel back a layer. Make one small shift that honours who you are becoming, not who you were. Growth doesn’t need to be dramatic to be real.

Reach out: Share your shedding. Tell someone you trust what you are letting go of or stepping into. We don’t shed alone; connection eases the friction.

As midlife firmly takes hold, maybe I’m not growing up but growing deep. Maybe it’s never been about changing everything but changing enough. Learning to loosen my grip on what no longer serves me AND learning to trust what’s emerging beneath. One layer at a time. One breath at a time. One choice at a time.