I’d like to say that my brain breaks include watching Ken Burns documentaries or ruminating on some of life’s great mysteries, but when I need several minutes of distraction from work I default to reading memes. It could be worse. But it could also be a lot better. One that hit home with me a few weeks back went something like “I’ve reached an age where sleeping on the wrong pillow feels like falling down a flight of stairs,” and I’ve never felt more seen. I know what falling down the stairs feels like. I even know what it feels like to be hit by a cement truck and to be dragged by one leg across a field by a maniac horse. So when I say my body just doesn’t bounce back, literally or figuratively, the way it once did, it is informed by a life of self-generated mishaps. Fortunately, though, on most days I’m less “I’m much too young to feel this damn old” and more “I’m still standing,” wrong pillow or not.
I had some routine bloodwork done last week, and while the nurse was noting my blood pressure and other vitals he said tentatively, “I don’t want to risk insulting you, but you’re at the age where you might consider a shingles vaccination.” I laughed and assured him that I wasn’t at all insulted by his observation of my age. I appreciated his effort to spare my feelings, but also wondered if he is compelled to speak as carefully to male patients “of a certain age.” I don’t know if there’s ever been a time in history (at least in the United States) when women of advanced years are equally desirable as their younger counterparts. And desirability is what much of society believes is a women’s holy grail. Instead of becoming more of a presence as they age, women often vanish. This is not a novel observation, especially among women who’ve known this for years. There’s even a term for it: Invisible Woman Syndrome. Several articles have been written about how women, beginning at age 52 according to one study, begin to feel “unseen,” “overlooked,” and “worthless.” In a nation that prizes youthfulness and vitality, it’s no surprise that there’s been an increase in the number of reported cases of disordered eating in older women as well as cosmetic procedures to combat the natural aging process.
I’ve mentioned before that in a group of female friends where graduate degrees, numerous achievements, and full lives are the norm, our conversation has turned to what we would trade just to be five years younger, ten pounds lighter, or have the looks of the supermodel du jour. These aren’t vapid, vain women, either. I might be a little biased, but these women I call friends are top-tier in all categories except recognizing their own worth. But is it any wonder they can’t, when we struggle to name one aging female celebrity who has embraced the natural and has maintained her status? I’m grateful for women such as Viola Davis, Sheryl Crow, and Jane Goodall who are leaning in to growing older and proving that their talent and tenacity are going strong. But I have a feeling that it’s going to take a whole lot more than this to cause a cultural shift from the funereal attitude and pity we have for women as they leave their 30s, 40s, 50s, and so on in the rearview mirror.
Growing older has never been one of those things I’ve dreaded. Don’t get me wrong, I have plenty of hang-ups I wish I didn’t; I’m just glad that shame of my age isn’t one of them. For more years than I’d like to admit, a daily battle of trying not to be “too much” or “too little” in personal interactions ate up my time and thoughts. Even when I thought I’d hit the sweet spot of being “just right,” it never lasted long before something newer and better came along to grab the attention I once held, and I fell headlong into a spiral of self-loathing, analyzing my imperfections. If only I’d been this or done that, I would have earned a permanent place of worth and priority.
I don’t blame society or “the system” for the lack of belief I had in myself, although those machines certainly didn’t make life any easier. When not only are young, physically attractive women elevated and objectified, but the “men will be men” attitude is so often rewarded with a hearty slap on the back, it can be difficult for the women whose beauty isn’t captured by Instagram swimsuit pages with millions of followers to feel pride, even if they lead companies, mother children, cure diseases, or hold multiple advanced degrees. I don’t think I’m alone when I say that widespread adoration isn’t the goal; to be seen, known, prized, and encouraged by one’s partner or family is what sustains the women I know. I don’t often wish to return to an earlier time in my life, and when I do it’s never because I miss being young; instead, I wish I could visit my younger self and tell her not to exhaust herself chasing the dragon of acceptance, because she will hold the gaze of the people who matter most and will be loved exactly how she is, young or old.
PartWolf 