She finds her voice

Aging is not going as intended. I am not the kind of over 50 I had planned on being so how do I redefine in my own head what it means to be middle aged so that I can be the kind of woman I respect and admire.

When I was in my late teens and twenties I observed from afar the older women in my view with a critic’s eye. I emphasise the word observe as I really wasn’t looking in order to critique but I certainly made mental notes. They wore their hair too long or too old-fashioned. Their clothes were frumpy or they were “mutton dressed as lamb”. They let themselves go or they were obsessed with looking young. I, on the other hand, was not going to be one of those women. I was going to be youthful yet wise, I was going to dress elegantly but age appropriately. When I hit 40 my hair was going to be cut above the shoulder (because the only examples of women over 40 with long hair were not, to be fair, great examples) styled by a quality hairdresser and I was going to ensure that pregnancy did not ruin my always trim figure.

Strangely, none of this was contemplated in a judgemental way … truly … not at all. I actually felt sorry for these poor “old” dears in their late forties and early fifties – they obviously didn’t have someone who could advise them or encourage them or they maybe they were overwhelmed with their responsibilities or just didn’t have any self-respect. Rather, everything I thought was overlaid with a simple concept held tightly to my sense of self; “When I’m their age I won’t be like that.”

For years I lived with a determined inner (and often, I suspect, subconscious) mantra;

I won’t be the kind of middle aged woman who lets herself go

I won’t be the kind of middle aged woman who gets fat

I won’t be the kind of middle aged woman who yo-yo diets

I won’t be the kind of middle aged woman who becomes unfit

I won’t be the kind of middle aged woman who moans about the menopause

I won’t be the kind of middle aged woman who talks about her age all the time

I won’t be the kind of middle aged woman who feels negative about the aging process

I won’t be middle aged

Interestingly, here I am in my early 50s and I can clearly see that I am or have been, that woman - and in spades. I go through phases of not even trying to look my best. I’m over 50% heavier (yes, you read that correctly – that was not a typo) than I was before my children were born and I have been yo-yoing for years. I am the most unfit I have ever been and even though I used to look forward to the menopause as a gateway to the freedom of no more periods (and in my case no more migraines) I whine and whinge about that bad bitch ALL THE TIME. Now I loved turning 30; it was a rite of passage in the way that 18 and 21 never were for me. I no longer had to try to pretend to be a grown-up – I really was one and could just be myself in all my nuttiness and pseudo-youthfulness. 40, however, was an entirely different kettle of psychotic sardines. I was horrified that I was now middle aged and man did I feel old. And don’t even get me started on 50 – the sound of 50 in my head is like a physical pain. I feel over the hill; a dinosaur and completely past it. I’m told I don’t really look my age but I’m starting to see the signs. A little clump of grey hair here, a crow’s foot there and before you know it your décolletage is crepey and your eye brows are more grey than brown (and why does NO-ONE warn you about the grey hair DOWN THERE!?). And don’t even start me on my dreadful memory and drastically depleted capacity to access my not inconsiderable vocabulary. You think baby brain is bad – wait till you experience menopause muddle. Somewhere in the midst of all this uncertainty I’ve realised that I am losing a sense of who I am. I don’t look like me anymore and, to be honest, the words that come out of my mouth don’t really sound like me anymore either.

So, if, against all the great intentions of my youth, I have become the very woman that I swore I would not become, I need to find a new definition of my middle age. I need to examine and contemplate myself with the same critical eye that considered women my age 30+ years ago. There are things I certainly can address rather than accept; I can stop yo-yo dieting and instead change the way I eat, I can get more exercise and I can empower my friends to hold me accountable when the “old lady moaning” starts. But something more fundamental needs to change. Why is it that my age is so abhorrent to me? If I can admire and deeply respect the older women in my life why can I not look at myself with those same appreciative eyes? I have long desired wisdom as a spiritual gift yet Job 12:12 says, “Wisdom is with the aged, and understanding in length of days.” And if, “..beauty fades; but a woman who fears the LORD will be praised.” (Proverbs 31:30) then I also need to hold fast to the fact that, “Gray hair is a crown of splendor; it is attained in the way of righteousness.” (Proverbs 16:31) Maybe it’s time to look a little deeper into what it means to me to be “that woman” in my 50s and to see what I can do to redefine my own view of this older version of myself. To that end, and even to help share the load of other women going through the same phase of life, maybe “that woman” needs to finally find her voice.