I’m about to turn fifty. Half a century, a milestone. An age I once thought of as ancient.
Until this birthday, I’ve not worried about my age, not ever. The number of years I’d been alive had never made me feel old. When I was a child, I’d felt differently, of course—back then, 17 seemed old, let alone 30 or 40. But as I reached each number, even the figures that began with a four, it still felt young, or young-ish at least.
I didn’t mind the changes to my physical body either—I took the gradual appearance of wrinkles in my stride; I accepted the need to wear glasses in order to see anything; and I definitely didn’t mind the stretch marks on my abdomen—I was proud of those and how they got there.
But as my body approaches this half-century milestone, I’m beginning to mind some of the changes:
I mind that the skin of my neck looks crepey, and I can pinch it into peaks that take a couple of minutes to flatten again.
I don’t like that even my knees are wrinkling and spider veins have begun to creep over my thighs.
I’m not crazy about the cellulite that’s developing on my arms and sunspots that are appearing on my hands.
I get annoyed that it takes me five minutes to straighten after I’ve been sitting cross-legged on the floor.
I’m mourning the loss of colour from my hair—the auburn colour I hated when I was growing up and swore I was going to dye brown with my first pay packet. Now, I’m grieving the loss of something that defined me so.
I resent that my metabolism is slowing so I can’t eat what I used to because my middle swells. My waist has become harder to find.
I don’t like that I’m slower than I used to be, physically and mentally, and I’m more tired but can sleep less.
I even begrudge that I no longer have periods—I don’t miss them per se, but I miss what they signified: that I was still in my prime. I don’t want any more children—goodness no!—but I hate that the reproductive stage of my life—those incredibly happy and exciting years—have drawn to a close. If I needed a reminder that I’m getting older, that was it—nature shutting down my ovaries and uterus and putting me out to pasture.
I get the feeling, sometimes, that young people in the street or a shop might be looking at me with pity because my best years are behind me, when I still want to be thought of as strong and capable and intelligent, with something worthwhile to give.
I worry, too, because I’ve reached the age where serious illnesses are more common. I was reminded of that when I received the letter from the government telling me how to do my faecal immunochemical test for bowel cancer. I’m awaiting my letter from BreastScreen.
To be honest, though, I can cope with all of the physical changes. I think about it but it doesn’t keep me awake at night.
What keeps me awake and worries me much more than it should, is when I forget something—a name, an appointment, what I just read—because my biggest fear is that my brain has the disease that took over my father’s and grandmother’s. When I forget the word for something or the name of the British Prime Minister or what I came into a room to fetch, I worry that the dementia has already started, that the disease is already forging its destructive way through my brain.
I could cope with anything but the loss of my brain.
As far as I know, I’m healthy, but these things flit through my mind—grief at the loss of my youth and fear for a brain that might be wasting.
The past few years have been a time of reckoning. Of facing the fact I’m getting older. That more than half my life has already been lived, and the future, although still before me, isn’t endless. In fact, it’s much shorter than it used to be. I feel more of an urgency about what I do, that I have to prioritise because time might run out. Those plans and dreams I’ve put off until one day, can’t be put off anymore: one day has arrived.
I feel as if I’m on the threshold of a new and different era, about to close the doors on an old stage of life and enter a new one. I can see that I’ve spent the last couple of years preparing for it—fixing what needed to be fixed, tying up loose ends, making sure nothing is left undone and no baggage remains to carry forward. I want this next period to be happy, productive, and peaceful.
I’m about to turn fifty. Half a century, a milestone. An age I once thought of as ancient.
Yet, in my mind, I still feel young, younger than the mirror or the number my age tells me I am. I feel as if I’m the same person I’ve always been, even though I know I’m not. I’ve changed, inwardly as well as outwardly, but at my core, I haven’t changed one iota—I’m exactly the same person at 50 that I was at five, 15, 25, and 35. Same needs and desires, same interests and loves, same sense of humour and foibles.
Sometimes, ageing frightens me, but I’m up for it. I have only one life and it’s not as long as I once thought it was. This birthday is reminding me of that.
I’ve found life to improve after fifty, beyond all the physical ailments and declines you list here. What a wonderful list. But with ageing comes the chance to be yourself, free of all those terrible anxieties about how you perform. As Helen Garner writes it’s also a time when you no longer need to get caught up in the anxieties of assault, both real and metaphorical, that come with being young and seemingly available to any man who chooses to impinge on you. I suppose feeling no longer desirable might have its draw backs – if it matters a great deal to you at the onset – but no longer to feel yourself cast under that critical and possessive gaze is freeing indeed. Welcome to the other side of fifty, Louise. I reckon you’ll love it here.
Thanks for welcoming me to the club, Lis! I’m looking forward to the other side of fifty, too—just needed a moment of mourning and reflection first!
I heard an interview with Kathy Lette recently, and she talked about how women come into themselves at menopause, often ditching that desire to serve and please that has defined their earlier years. It’s linked to our lowering oestrogen and rising testosterone levels, so we act more assertively, more confidently. It made sense to me, and I can feel it happening already! I think I’ll enjoy this phase of life, too.
xx
You are more beautiful in a different way now..experiences, achievements, gathered friendships & creativity.These are opening your next era of wonder.Wake every morning & first of all SMILE..you will immediately engage your brain to positive thought. If you look in the mirror you will begin to giggle too, I do.
You are loved by many xx
Thank you, Maureen—your words mean a lot to me, especially that I’m loved. I actually believe this new phase of life will be wonderful and exciting—I think this was my way of saying goodbye to the old one. x
Louise you are the youngest that you will ever be again- so enjoy the now! When I look back at fifty I think then- I could take on the world- I had so much energy I started my first degree in my fifties. you stop taking crap-you are more authentically yourself and become more so, True we know that youth is behind us- was it that great? Remember the dramas, the insecurities? Adventures and pleasures still lie ahead. We cannot control the length of our days – but we can control the breadth of them, filling them with things that are pleasing to us, useful to us or inspiring to us.xx
How fantastic that you started your first degree in your fifties! Presumably, if that was your *first* degree, you’ve done others since—you’re an absolute legend!
I love the idea of controlling the ‘breadth’ of our days—it’s so true! We do have control over what we put into them. I think I’ve crammed a fair bit into the time I’ve already lived and I’m looking forward to living the years ahead to the full, too! xx
Happy birthday!
Thank you, Lisa! Let the celebrations begin! x
Happy birthday Louise. Fantastic fifty! And a wonderful creative career ahead of you 🙂
Thanks, Iris. I’m looking forward to this next creative stage of my life!
Happy Birthday in advance and welcome to that other side xxx
Thanks, Rae! I’m actually happy to be joining the ’50’s Club’!
Happy Birthday, Louise. You are right another era opens up from fifty on. I’m more authentic, more confident. I reveal in the freedom that comes with age. No worries about what other people think. I’m older but definately not old.
That is so heartening to hear, Penny. You’re so right about the freedom that comes with confidence in yourself, in being authentic, and in not caring what others think. Thanks for sharing this. x
Happy birthday, Louise! I hope it’s a wonderful day for you 🙂 And what a lovely, honest essay about your feelings. I’m three years away and, like you, it’s the first looming ‘big’ birthday that has bothered me slightly. I have had similar thoughts flitting through my mind – my fertile years ended abruptly last summer, and, even though I wanted no more children, I mourned the loss. Strange how the mind works, isn’t it? However, growing older is inevitable, and I’m loving the comments here – it seems as though there is a lot to look forward to on the other side, so to speak. I have no doubt that you will march into fifty as fabulous as ever, and accomplish everything you dream of. Enjoy your day xx
Before I write anything else, I want to say that you don’t look like you’re three years away from 50! I suspect the English weather has something to do with it—you might complain about the drizzle and clouds, but it’s kinder to the skin than our Australian sun!
Yes, my fertile years ended abruptly, too, and without warning or fanfare, not even a hot flush. It’s been a couple of years and I keep thinking, surely, I’m not going to get away with it this easily …
I’ve loved the comments here, too—there is much to look forward to after 50. I think we have a lot of misconceptions about ageing.
Thanks for commenting, and thanks for the birthday wishes! x 🙂
Ah, thanks, Louise, and may I return the compliment 🙂 I did wear sunscreen pretty much constantly when I lived in Australia, so maybe that helped, and the sun is certainly a lot milder here.
As for me, my fertile years ended with a sadly necessary operation, so I’ve just stepped straight over to the other side, so to speak. It’s been interesting…
Hope you’ve had a wonderful birthday! xx
I remember when you had that operation—it’s such a big thing to go through as a result of surgery. You sound as if you’ve coped so well—at least publicly …
Unfortunately, I grew up in the pre-sunscreen days and with a hole in the ozone over Tasmania. I have to admit, I deliberately sunbaked and tried to barbecue myself, and spent summers red-raw. I even rolled myself over, like a rotisserie, so my sunburn could be as even as possible. Ugh! I cringe now when I think of all the UV damage I deliberately gave myself. My skin is rather mottled these days! I look at English people my age and older, and their peaches and cream complexions, and am envious. I’ve thought about staying inside, but I’m an outdoor person. At least I use sunscreen now—better late than never! x
Ah, I hadn’t remembered I’d told you – to be honest, I haven’t told many friends (she says, sharing it online!). And the only reason I didn’t sunbake while younger was because, no matter what I did, I never really changed colour. So it felt like a waste of time, really haha!
I think it was privately and I’m not sure you went into much detail, but I got the gist …
How wise of you not to sunbake. My skin is pale too—in the days when fridges were white, I was camouflaged if I stood in front of one. Yet, I persisted with trying to tan. My poor skin doesn’t thank me now! 🙂
Ah, we live and learn, don’t we? So much that was okay to do in our youth is (apparently) bad for us now. And now I sound like my parents!
I know—we’re a lot more enlightened with respect to our health, thank goodness. I just wish pale skin had been in fashion when I was growing up! 🙂
You and me both 😀 Although I didn’t have it so bad in the UK and Canada.
Hi Louise, my dad has Alzheimer’s so I know exactly what you mean. He’s had it since he was about 60 and while, in theory, I know that I’m a long way from 60, in reality I know those years will pass by more quickly than I can imagine. I also know that just because he has it, there is no reason to think I will get it but I also question every instance of forgetting and always have to reassure myself that it doesn’t mean anything sinister. To not be able to tell stories, or to remember my children, would be the most devastating thing for me. Thanks for writing this and I wish you a wonderful 50th birthday. x
Oh Natasha, I’m really sorry to hear about your dad. That must be so hard for him and for the rest of your family. It’s a cruel disease.
My dad had Alzheimer’s, too, and I could write an essay (and maybe I should) on the fears that have gone through my mind about inheriting it. I try not to think about it because there’s nothing I can do, but I have lain awake at night worrying. Our brains are just so precious—mine has got me a long way, as has yours, and the thought of losing it is frightening. xx
Turning 50 was much easier than turning 40 for me. I suppose I was unhappy at 40 and could see my life ahead and didn’t like it. I’m now careening towards 60. Well in four years anyway. Now that’s really old. Have a wonderful birthday, Louise xxx
I’m sure our states of mind affect how we view our birthdays. I remember feeling the same about my birthdays in my early twenties, for the same reason as you—that I was unhappy and my life ahead didn’t look any better. I completely understand your unhappiness back then, and I’m glad it’s turned around—you’re charging ahead now! Bring on our futures! Thanks for the birthday wishes. x
Good that you can reflect so honestly on your coming birthday, Louise, but I think too much fuss is made of the so-called ‘big birthdays’. For me, turning 47 was a wonderful liberating experience, for all sorts of personal reasons. My 65th was also memorable. I left work after a lifetime, and started my PhD the next year. Hardly noticed my 70th, and don’t plan on having an eightieth, because of my decision to remain at 78 recurring for a long time.It makes more sense than acknowledging that I am old-old.
Like yours, my periods stopped so abruptly that I didn’t notice for a few months. No hot flushes, no insomnia. Lucky us!
Enjoy your very special day!
.
Maureen, you’re so active and productive, and still have so much to give our society, and I thank you for the inspiration you are to us ‘younger’ women coming along behind.
With respect to menopause, I count my blessings it’s been so smooth, believe me. Mind you, my ovaries worked hard and they deserve their early retirement. It really is one good thing about getting older!
Thank you for the birthday wishes. xx
50, huh. Well, you are a great reason not to be scared of numbers and the limitations we allow them to force on us. We maturing women are a force to be reckoned with and I am in vey positive, esteemed company. 50 birthday energy hugs to you Louise! M
If there’s one message I’m getting it’s that we’re really hitting our prime at this age. I actually enjoyed my forties best of all my decades to date, because I feel as if I’ve tossed off the shackles of self-doubt and low self-confidence, and accepted myself as I am. I feel confident about the future, actually. Maybe our lives before 50 are in preparation for our lives beyond. I fully intend to make the most of them!
Thanks for your inspiring comment, and thanks for the birthday wishes. xx
Thank you so much for writing this Louise. I feel better knowing I am not alone… Sorry, I know, misery loves company, although you don’t really have misery; I do. And because I feel worse about aging despite having 5 years and a bit still to 50, I am so dreading it that I can’t quite express how much I wish I stayed 30 as I had been trying for the last 10 years and more. 🙂
But let me not spread the negative that carry especially it’s your birthday. 🙂 Between us, you are much more hopeful and positive about this thing that scares me and you therefore deserve only the loveliest of birthday greetings and wishes.
Happy, happy birthday! I wish you only the very best of the good stuff – none of what you fear!
I’m glad my words resonated with you, Anne. There’s nothing nicer for a writer to hear than that their words spoke to someone.
I understand what you’re saying—turning fifty is scary, and believe me when I say I haven’t always felt this hopeful about my future! I’ve spent the past couple of years writing and talking, and working towards this point. I wasn’t conscious of what I was doing or had that as a plan, but I think my subconscious knew this milestone birthday, and menopause, was coming up, and started preparing. It didn’t want things left undone to carry into the next stage of life.
There’s lots more I could write about this, but suffice to say it’s been long trek to reach this point of acceptance and happiness. I hope you can find happiness, too.
Thank you for the birthday wishes. x
I am sure that you will be providing more words of wisdom and inspiration as I go along. I’m in good hands. ???? The best person to give advice is the one who have experienced the same. Much love and hugs ????????
Thanks, Anne! Feel free to write to me anytime if you’d like to talk more. xx
Thanks so much, Louise. I appreciate that. I will definitely keep that in mind. Hugs xxx
Hugs to you, too. x
Ah Louise how lovely to read your honest words. I beat you to fifty by eight months and I can tell you that I’m already blossoming into the rebel that I always said I would be as I grow older. I feel as though I’ve started my life all over again and have so much to learn in the years ahead. I am seeing things differently. I am discovering more about myself that I need to alter in order to live a fuller life. I wish that I could say that I have a publishing contract for my first book, like you, but I haven’t and I have to be honest and say I don’t deserve one either. I haven’t made it a priority and now I’m wondering will I ever. It’s all a matter of deciding what’s important to me and that’s all part of having turned fifty!
I went into early menopause at 44 and suffered the most horrendous hot flushes, nights sweats and dangerous mood swings. My doctor advised me to take HRT which I did for six years. I started to worry that it might be doing me more bad than good so I took the brave step of stopping and I am delighted to say that, three months on, I have none of those awful symptoms. Perhaps I’m over it. I truly hope so.
Wishing you many fun years ahead – you have so much to look forward to. One big birthday hug to you. Gill xx
I loved reading every word of your comment, Gill! I’m hearing similar from just about every woman who’s reached this golden age!
I love that it’s fine if your novel isn’t a priority right now and might never be. I totally understand—we only have one life, and it’s fairly short I’m realising, so we do have to prioritise, and we can’t do everything we’d like to.
I wouldn’t worry too much about taking HRT as you have done for premature menopause—most women still have natural hormones until around age 50, so it’s been true replacement, and needed for your bones, etc. (I used to spend a significant amount of my workday counselling women regarding this, and that’s what the thinking used to be. Maybe the recommendations have changed since I stopped work …)
Thanks for visiting and commenting! x
PS. 1966 was a good vintage!
Congratulations on reaching such a significant milestone! I hope you have some lovely celebrations planned. I love the thought and reflection you’ve put into what 50 means. Thank you for sharing!
I had a lovely celebration, Marie, and feel blessed with abundance! I’m glad you enjoyed this post. Thank you for visiting. 🙂