There are times in life when it behooves us to be in denial, and middle age is one of those times. If the term keeps making an appearance in your life, following you around like a deranged stalker, and has gotten under your youthful skin, then it’s time to say “F**k you, Middle age!”
And feel free to shoot it the bird.
It seems a little bit far-fetched, even for me, to deny the existence of middle age, but that’s basically what I’m doing here. Sort of. You see, according to society, I am considered middle-aged. Actually, if you take current statistics on life expectancy for women— which is around 81 — I was considered middle age at 40 and a half.
What?
What happened to 40 is the new 30?
I can guarantee you that at 40, the last thing I was thinking about was middle age. Perhaps it’s because I had my kids in my thirties which extended my ‘young mom’ title a bit; kicked that can down the I’m still a spring chicken road.
Young kids.
Young mom.
Young.
If I’m playing in the sandbox, even if it’s not my own sandbox, don’t you dare call me middle aged.
Or maybe it’s because I’ve never subscribed to titles – at least not to titles given to me by others. And definitely not titles given to me because of my chronological age.
When I read or hear the term middle age, something inside of me starts to twitch. I feel discomfort. There’s a strange feeling in the pit of my stomach. My heart starts to race. My fists start to clench. Everything inside of me prepares for battle.
I rebel.
You know when I will consider myself middle-aged?
Never. That’s when.
I won’t subscribe to that particular label. Thank you very much.
Ageism? pfft. Don’t look over here. I’m busy getting Botox and buying a new bikini that I will put on my un middle-aged body and proudly flaunt down the beach or at a pool party full of millennials.
My plan is to bypass middle age altogether, skip to my lou my darlin’ all the way to old age — in the far, far future. As far as I’m concerned there should be only two categories: young and old.
There needs to be no damn middle.
So when does middle age actually start? Well, here’s the good news: There’s no hard data. No clear markers of this murky milestone. So. It’s. Up. To. You. It’s up to each of us to determine when that middle marker will be — or not.
And…
Be a rebel
What I am saying is that we don’t have to live within severe quotation marks that imply limitation, restriction, and decline. So I propose this: don’t let this title define you. Don’t let the stigma of middleness stop you from thinking of yourself as young. I’m not stepping inside those quotation marks voluntarily. Nor should you. I will defiantly live outside where it’s fun and light and full of hope and possibility. And tight skin.
And I urge you, Chickies to do the same. Stand up proud and reject any term, label, or otherwise rude nomenclature that will serve to marginalize, demean, or box you into a version of you that doesn’t quite fit.
Ensure that the second half of your life is just as good, or better than your first
How? By giving zero fuckaroos. Live how you want to live. Dress how you want to dress. Act how you want to act…without making excuses or apologizing for your inappropriate behavior, or attire.
Maintain a younger age identity
The impact of the term “middle age” on a woman’s sense of self is anything but positive. So first, pick an age with which you associate and then reverse engineer. After you decide what age you want to be, work your butt off to look it, act it…
Be it.
I always maintain a younger age identity than my chronological age. In my head, I’m in my thirties. Early 40’s on a bad day. I don’t go past 43. Which is why I do everything I can to keep the vessel youthful. My outside has to match my inside. Otherwise, it won’t work. I’ll be categorized, marginalized, and put out to pasture before I can say, “Botox.”
Work on your self-image
A positive self-image goes a long way in changing your own perception of where you are on this journey we call life.
Now here is where someone else might tell you to value your inner traits rather than your superficial ones. But I’m not going to tell you that.
I’d be a hypocrite.
And if there is something I’m not, it’s a hypocrite.
Hear me out.
I’m not saying that if your body isn’t up to your unrealistic standards that you should be down on yourself. I am certainly not saying that if you are showing signs of aging that you should hate yourself, your life, and all the young people around you.
Feeling good about yourself, first of all, is specific to each person. Second, I am convinced that if you try to look the best that you can look for your age, you will feel better about yourself. When you look good, you feel good. And when you feel good, you look better and more confident.
And bonus: when you take the time and effort to look the best that you can; when you put yourself at the top of your priority list, it’s empowering.
Did you get that?
Empowering.
Power.
Yours.
If you feel that losing weight, getting toned, getting anti-aging treatments, changing the way you dress — whatever — will make you happier with yourself…do it. That is if it’s within your control and within your budget.
If it’s not. Release it.
You do not have to be a size 4 if you feel good at a size 10. Just own it, babe. If your skin isn’t as tight and glowy as it once was, but you are lasering the crap out of it, masking, exfoliating and doing everything you have the power to do, then sister, show off that just-sloughed skin and be proud.
Don’t hide. Go out into the world kicking ass and taking names, and shooting the bird at anyone who tries to stuff you in that pathetic middle-age box.
Look, if you’ve gotten to the point in life where (others) consider you ‘middle-aged,’ then you have earned the right to be confident and happy with yourself just by the fact that you’ve stuck around this long.
You’ve earned the right to label yourself a spring chicken for as long you want…until you are wheeled into the old folk’s home if that is what you wish. Until then, you can raise your fist in defiance, pop that middle finger into the air and declare,
“FU middle age!”
Your turn: Do you have a problem with the term “middle-age?” How do you handle it? leave a comment below, I’d love to know your take.
xoxo,
V