I’m 64. At 16 I was a nervous wreck, crippled by anxiety over my looks, my figure, my hair and my clothes. I didn’t actually reach my physical peak until I was 39, and by then I was old enough to be able to enjoy it without all the hang ups and insecurities that plagued my youth.
I’m no longer a size 8, and I don’t care. I did once, but being a size 8 doesn’t make you attractive, funny, intelligent, or nice to be with. It’s just numbers on a tape measure and nothing more.
I’m a widow and I’m single. I’m celibate(ish). It doesn’t bother me in the slightest. I don’t have to worry about my ‘performance’. I don’t obsess about whether he’ll call me tomorrow. I don’t worry that I might be dating a married man who’s never going to leave his wife. Women in my position find our own solutions and are perfectly capable of scratching our own itches; they aren’t dependant on having a man in the room.
I can sit in the chair at the hairdressing salon and tell my stylist how I want my hair to look, instead of agonising over what style will be the most acceptable to society.
I wear what’s comfortable, not what’s necessarily in fashion.
I don’t feel any urge to look like the seemingly millions of young women paying hundreds of thousands of pounds to all look the same - duck-lip fillers, halogen dental veneers, cheap hair extensions, Trumpesque spray-tans, false eyelashes, acrylic nails, a pierced navel, a vagazzle, a Brazilian, breast augmentation, rhinoplasty, etc. I’ve still got long, naturally dark hair (thank you, Mum and Dad, for your wonderful genes), decent nails, and very few wrinkles (I’ve never had a suntan in my life).
Living alone (the dog doesn’t count) means I can wander around naked after a bath without the fear of being seen (and ridiculed).
I no longer care if people like me or not. It once dominated my entire life. I spent decades as a people-pleaser and all I did was trash my own sense of self-worth. While I’d rather have a friend than an enemy, today, people can take me or leave me. I’m not out to impress anybody.
I can eat whatever I want, when I want. With plenty of time to exercise, I can pig out on carb-heavy junk food without worrying about my figure.
I have spare time! Im just beginning to write the first of a trilogy of novels. They may take off, they may not. If I don’t make it at my first attempt, I won’t imagine that the world has just ended. I’ll make a toasted cheese sandwich, wash it down with a bottle of Lucozade and try again.
I have grandchildren! My relationships with them are very different to the relationships I had with my young children. They are so much more fun. I spent my youth screaming at my badly behaved children. I now spend my time giggling with my obnoxious grandchildren. They’re not my responsibility. If anything, I encourage them, because it’s funny.
As I’ve grown older, I’ve learned that I’m mortal after all. I’m OK with it. I’m not ready for it yet, but I no longer fear it, because death is part of life.
Best thing of all? I no longer have the monthly mess of menstruation or the fear of an unwanted pregnancy. That shit is so over.
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