Aging in our society can be tough. Where impossibly perky breasts and toned, cellulite-free thighs are considered minimal requirements for beauty, and natural, inevitable signs of aging are looked upon as failure or weakness, every wrinkle or gray hair can feel like another step towards invisibility.
We can put up a valiant struggle to stall the telltale signs of aging and lost youth with rigid diets that would arguably sustain the family gerbil, bleary-eyed 5 a.m. workouts while the rest of the house sleeps, or even sneaking in a touch of Botox or a well-placed nip/tuck that we’ll deny even to our mothers.
But we can’t stop it.
At some point, the evidence becomes impossible to dispute. Whether it’s simple chronological age or that person you no longer recognize, with her jiggly butt and migrating boobs, staring back at you in the mirror, we reach an age where we must acknowledge that our youth is gone and it’s never coming back.
And so we grieve.
Recently, I was reading an article on the 5 Stages of Grief, and I burst into admittedly inappropriate laughter, visualizing the process as it applied to the loss of our youth.
Stage 1: Denial. We’re vaguely aware that something is happening to our bodies, but we’re not ready to acknowledge it or give it a name. We regularly inspect our faces and bodies for sags, droops, lumps or lines with the vigilance of DEA dogs sniffing passenger luggage for cocaine at the airport, eventually living in sweatpants because we refuse to buy anything in our new, post-menopausal size and attempting to convince our partners that sex is actually hotter in the dark.
We say things like:
“Yes, I constantly forget where I put my readers. I have a lot on my mind. It’s not like I regularly misplace the grandkids. Okay, there was that one time. But they’re runners. I’m blaming that one on the parents.”
“I wouldn’t hold the menu so far away if they’d use a normal freakin’ font size.”
“I wear full-butt underwear because they’re more comfortable. I could still rock a thong. It’s a preference thing.”
“Those aren’t lines around my eyes. I’m just tired. A good night’s sleep will make them go away.”
Stage 2: Anger. Okay, God. I am not amused. This can’t be happening. It’s too soon. Do you hear me??
And then we say:
“As for that Doogie Howser doctor (When do people start medical school these days? At, like, 12??) who starts every sentence with “At your age,” what the hell does he know? He can’t even vote yet.”
“Yes, I fired the idiot photographer we hired for our anniversary photos. The preliminary pictures made me look 50, for God’s sake. Yes, I know I’m 50, but he made me look like it. He sucks at his job and obviously has no concept of proper lighting.”
“Take your ‘Ma’am’s,’ your stupid ‘senior workout’ classes, and your ‘age appropriate’ fashion recommendations and bite me. I can still work it. Stop laughing.”
Stage 3: Bargaining. God, I’m sorry for that last rant. I didn’t mean it. It was a hormonal mood swing. You should understand. You gave them to me. But here’s the deal. Remember when I was a little girl and I asked you to make Billy Beakerman like me? I promised that if you’d do that one thing, I’d never ask you for anything else as long as I lived. Well, you dropped the ball on that one. Billy took off with that stupid Missy Bagbottom who didn’t know tuna from chicken, and I cried for a whole year.
Here’s your chance to make it right.
If you’d just ease up on that gravity thing and leave my boobs and backside where you originally put them, that would be swell. And maybe lose the bumpy thighs and the underarm wind socks, and remove those lines around my eyes. They make me look old. And if you’re feeling generous, give me back my hair. I look like a Chihuahua. Think of it as kind of a Holy Photoshop. I promise I’ll be a better person. I’ll be nicer. I’ll drink less and exercise more. I’ll start a gratitude journal. Hello, up there. Helloooo?
Stage 4: Depression. Fine. It’s the Billy Beakerman saga all over again. You’re not going to help, are you? My body parts are headed due south with the determination of migrating geese in the winter, my thighs are bumpy, my underarms flap like turkey waddles, once-tiny laugh lines now resemble seismic fault lines, and my hair has starting sprouting up everywhere except on my head.
Obviously, you intend for me to spend my life on the couch in a Burka, drinking wine and eating cookie dough, watching reruns of Ally McBeal, until I die of old age. Which apparently won’t be long now. I forgive you for the Billy thing, but someday we’re going to chat about gravity. That was just mean.
Stage 5: Acceptance. Well, God, it’s been a while now, and I’m still here. But you know what? I’m kind of liking it. There’s a certain freedom to being this age. I don’t have to apologize for my opinions or my choices. I’m no longer responsible for the decisions of my offspring. I have grandchildren to spoil rotten and then return to their parents. I get to do what I love without constantly worrying about how to make the mortgage payment. My marriage is stronger than ever, and the sex is still great after 15 years. Go you, Big Guy.
Epilogue: I recently attended my 40th high school reunion and discovered that we all looked pretty much the same. A little lined, a little older, and yes, a bit heavier, but mostly happy. We laughed, we ate, we drank, we danced, and we talked the night away about the second chapter of our lives and what’s most important to us now.
And not once did anyone mention thin thighs.
Yes. Those young docs. THEY make me feel old. Was I ever that young, I wonder?
Carol, and they get younger every year! :)
You are right, Vikki…I am enjoying this age. Freedom..a little more maturity…pursuing what I want to do. It is really so much fun! Maybe less wrinkles would be nice!
I agree, Pam! A little “smoothing out” would be nice, but would you be 22 again?? :)
This is so horribly true every single bit of it! The pictures you paint are so vividly clear…oh wait that’s a mirror I’m looking into! Thanks for making me laugh this morning!
You’re welcome, Rena! My images are vivid because I look in the mirror and write about what I see. How did this happen?? :)
I love this Vikki! Yes my face and body looked amazingly better way back when but I didn’t even appreciate it. I’m so much happier now!
I’m with you, Nancy! That must be where “Youth is wasted on the young” came from! :)
Absolutely loved it. I go back and forth between those stages ….. ALL of them. :-D
Thanks, Lorraine! I think we all go through them zig-zagging, rather than straight through in sequence. My favorite pit stops are at #1 and then #5. Go figure! :)
You’re so right, Vikki and I love this post! These are definitely the stages. Right now, I seem to be stuck between 4 and 5. Some days I’m a 4. Some days I’m a 5. Depends on what kind of hormonal mood swing day I’m having. :)
I’m with you, Marcia! But I go between Denial (as in, SERIOUSLY??) and Acceptance. Bigger mood swings, but still a pendulum! :)
It’s all about the attitude, right? And good lighting. Maybe Photo Shop. But definitely attitude.
Loved this!
Thanks, Risa! Yes, all three. Good lighting, PhotoShop, and a good attitude are what’s necessary to keep smiling. So we can call them laugh lines! :)
I think I’m on #3 currently. I just about wept watching the SNL 40th Anniversary special last night. The whole time I was thinking “This is hilarious, and they all look old. And I’m old. And omg, Paul McCartney and Paul Simon can’t hit the high notes anymore, and omg, we’re all gonna die!” Great night of comedy over here. lol
I had the same reaction to SNL last night! When I saw Chevy Chase and Dan Aykroyd last night I went into instant depression! I’m way ahead of you! I’m on #4
Linda, I know how you feel! There’s nothing worse than seeing someone your own age and realizing that if THEY look that old, YOU probably do too! :)
Well, if I’m on #4 now, it’s only a matter of time before I hit the “I’m OLD – get over it” phase. Whew. Glad to know I’m so far along!
Anita, I can feel the “I’m old – Get over it” stage coming on! :)
Deny, deny, deny! Clearly I can’t move past stage 1 :).
Nodding my head throughout, Vikkie. :) Hurray for #5! I just turned 60, and, while it still shocks me to acknowledge that (as in “where did those years go and so quickly?!), the freedom is exhilarating. Thank you for articulating what most of us go through.
I’m fortunately still in stage 1. I have a long way to go. Thanks for laying out the sign posts!
I’m either in the denial stage or the acceptance stage…sometimes it’s hard to tell! Your reunion story reminds me of the time my mother reluctantly went to her 65th reunion. She was feeling down, kept telling me she was getting close to dying. The next day, I called and asked how she was and she said “I feel Great!” Turns out, most of her high school classmates were looking worse than she was. Today, she is 95 and still feeling pretty good!
Excellent! Funny yet so true. One great plus for me in reading your blog is that it often gives me ideas for a male version that I can use on my Bryan Jones Diary blog – partial plagiarism, perhaps, but I promise to give you a mention!!