Age Acceptance: How Do You Grow Older Gracefully?
I have a lot of experience with body acceptance but, it turns out, not so much with age acceptance. I almost titled this post, in all caps, AGE ACCEPTANCE: PLEASE HELP ME.
In approximately a month, I’ll be turning 35. I’ve been noticing more gray hairs, a few wrinkles on my face. 35 is a big age for women because our eggs officially become geriatric, and so that’s happening too. And it’s freaking me out, you guys. I have fallen for all of those “you must look younger!” ads and actually purchased something called anti-aging serum that is probably not even real. And yet there’s no denying that next month, I will officially be one year closer to death. And it’s pretty sobering.
You see, the thing with “growing old gracefully” is that there is the whole mortality thing to consider, and it’s not some societal pressure, it’s an actual thing. It’s a thing that has preoccupied human beings (particularly poets) from time immemorial. So I’m not freaking out about nothing, exactly. But I still feel that I’m overreacting just a tad. There’s nothing I can do about it, after all, other than to live life to the fullest. And freaking out about wrinkles and gray hairs is just vanity, isn’t it?
So on the one hand, I’m turning to you for advice: how do I grow older gracefully? I already know that I should be more Helen Mirren than Melanie Griffith, and I won’t be injecting butt fat into my lips anytime soon. But coloring my hair seems harmless, wearing sunscreen seems like a wise idea. Where does one draw the line in the quest to extend one’s youth? How old are you, and how you feel about it? Do you accept your age, or do you rage, rage against the dying of the light?
And on the other hand, I’ve decided my theme for Year 35 is going to be carpe diem, and to that end, I’m going to try and cross 35 items off my lifelong to-do list. Carpe diem, man, it’s a classic. I mean come on, I don’t have that poetry degree for nothing!
Posted by mo pie
Filed under: Celebrities, Personal, Question
I’m 25 and I’m starting to freak out about being a quarter of a century old, and it’s not so much about my looks because I feel I am in complete acceptance with my body, looks, and how it changes as I age, but mainly because I am afraid of death too. I admit, even though it sounds silly, I secretly am hoping for a miraculous invention to come along that significantly prolongs life. Sometimes I lay in bed at night and dwell on it, and I will start having a panic attack. I’m trying to accept death, and I understand why it has to happen, but I just hate that it does.
Anyways, back on track…I really wish I could explain to you how I have come to accept my aging. At 25, I don’t think I have experienced any lines, wrinkles, grays, sagging, etc so maybe I might change my mind when it happens, but I somehow also doubt it. But my grandma accepts her aging because she sees all of the physical changes as evidence of wisdom… only she explained it in much better words.
I am about to turn 46.
I am more than okay with my gray hair. I have earned every one of them. And I love where they are most noticeable. On both sides of my face.
I am irish/greek, and very fair skinned. I have wrinkles.
What did women do before MSM started telling us that to be successful we had to look, dress, moisturize, plump with collagen, freeze with botox? They were still women of distinction. Character, grace, beauty all their own.
I hit 35 in April. Until recently, I figured it would really bother me.Then I got cancer, then got sick multiple times, in fact, I’m sitting in a hospital bed right now.
Now, every damn year added is one I survived. And, I’m doing it in Suzy style. My hair is still pink, my tattoo list is still growing, the wrinkles are coming but, screw them, I worked for them.
The only thing that bothers me is the whole “and I think that as long as you act your age, you are aging gracefully” No matter how I act, that is how this 34, almost 35 year old acts. I hate that society imposes some sort of rules on how we should dress, look, dye our hair, or not, etc. etc. You only life once. It is short damn time, why not dye your hair that weird color you’ve always wanted? Or shave your head? Or get that tattoo? You may regret getting them but won’t you regret not doing it more?
Thought provoking, and great responses from everyone!
I appear to be in a minority (here and in general), but I really don’t have the same mortality-related fear of growing older. Being all Dramatically Poignant in my teens, followed having a few close friends die when I was in my 20s def. brought home the fact that we’re all going to die, and that we have very, very little control over it. When it comes to aging, I try and go for what I think of as a more historical approach to age – “You’ve reached 62? That’s fucking awesome!”
As for the day-to-day, appearance related stuff, I think that a lot of it is vanity, but we as a society have linked that vanity to very powerful emotions. Just as people fret about beauty and thinness because they’re *really* afraid of being rejected and ostracized, many of us freak out about wrinkles and our age because we’re really scared of ill health, or of our powerlessness when it comes to death [aside – I think this powerlessness is related to a bunch of the OMGbesity stuff, too]. Clairol to cover grey hairs won’t address the underlying fears, but it isn’t actively harmful the way that dieting is, so I say go for it, while making time to deal with the emotional side, too.
Lastly, this SO makes me want to find movies and works of fiction that deal with ‘older’ women in realistic ways. So much art focuses on youth and the transition to adulthood (or to coupledom, or parenthood), but so little talks about just plain old growing older. ‘Dancing at Lughnasadh’ is one of the only movies I’ve found to do this (and it does it AWESOMELY), but I’m really longing for more. For me, at least, seeing how stuff gets done through fiction helps me to figure out how I want to do it – growing old is no exception.
44 here and loving it. I love not feeling the pressure to be the youngest, prettiest and wittiest thing in the room anymore. I may still be the wittiest, but the other two, well that doesn’t happen as much anymore. I feel happy just living life and being me.
When I was 25 I was beautiful. Like drop dead gorgeous. I had men and women after me like crazy. The beauty was only skin deep. I was miserable much of the time, insecure, financially unstable. I don’t miss anything about those days.
Life is so good now. I’ll take the greying, sagging 44 year old me over the they gorgeous 25 year old me any day.
I’m 47. My life has only gotten better every year…age is just a number! So far, my age hasn’t slower me down, or at least not noticeably for me. I like being in my 40’s and look forward to all the rest of my years, too.
I don’t color my hair–I did for a year, a few years ago, and found out that it was too much work for this low-maintenance girl! I like my silvery streaks. I think whether you color your hair or not is a personal preference.
I do use moisturizer. What’s wrong with using moisturizer?! My opinion is use what makes you feel good & what you can afford, if it’s the anti-aging stuff, well that’s your choice. I use a Neutrogena lotion that has an SPF of 30–win! Your moisturizer doesn’t have to be pricey. I use sunscreen all over because of a family history of skin cancer.
I am a large-sized person, who lives life large. I do work-out–for flexibility (hey I can the splits! woo!), strength, and endurance. Those physical attributes help me live my life the way I like.
Just keep on living your life in the way that makes you happy, do a good turn or two along the way, and well…you’ll be fine.
So, I’m 32 and I seem to have a slightly different opinion than most folks here. I want to say that simply because I don’t want anyone here to think I’m saying y’all are wrong or calling anyone stupid. I don’t think anyone here is. This is one of those things where we all have our own truth and the most important thing is following that for yourself, damn the torpedoes, full steam ahead.
Anyway, the way I see it is there is nothing wrong with a little bit of vanity. I wear moisturizer with sunscreen everyday because I want to fight crowsfeet every step of the way. I hate them and will not willingly let them encroach anymore than they already have. I don’t want melanoma either, obviously, but the reason I remember to grab the bottle every morning is the damned wrinkles. I dye my hair because I do not think the random grays are cute at all. I just don’t, and it’s easy for me to change so I do. I have already given myself permission to get a boob lift when I’m 50 should I so choose. Will I? I have no idea yet, but if I feel I want to at that point, I will.
Here’s the thing, for me at least. As long as I don’t spend more time looking in the mirror and worrying about it than I do living my life, the few things that I’m doing to make myself feel better don’t hurt anyone. So if it makes me happy, why the hell not? Now, if I ever find myself freaking out about things beyond my control or spending more time on this than anything else, or putting myself in the poor house to pay for it, well, it’ll be time for a reality check.
Basically, I came to this decision because I got tired of trying to find the “right” justification for why I was doing what I wanted to do. Finally, I just said to myself, “f*ck it. I know I’m not shallow, if someone else does because I don’t relish wrinkles, that’s their problem.”
So, basically, the really great thing about feminism, in my world, anyway, is that we are allowed to make our own decisions on these things. So mo, if you want to dye your hair, for whatever reason at all, go for it. If you do not want to, for whatever reason at all, don’t. I, for myself, will be dying it until you pry the bottle out of my cold, dead, hand. :)
I think you are looking at it wrong. You have always been aging since you came into existence and before now it hasn’t bothered you.
Just keep doing what you are doing, take care of yourself, do whatever you like to make yourself feel good about the way you look and don’t stress about comparing yourself to others because you are yourself, not them. Be a beautiful you no matter what age or size. Just enjoy life, age and weight are after all just numbers.
So funny, that your thread started on my 50th birthday! I didn’t liked my 30th birthday at all, I felt so old – ’till a friend (50+) embraced me and said: Finally your old enough that adults will listen to you and the ones still will, too. Last week I just thought: I get better every day, having a self-esteem I never had before; proud for what I achived and even for the fine wrinkles around the eyes – because they are the results of life’s experiences and laughter. I care for myself with creams, hair-dye and whatever I think is good for me, because I am worth it and my soul likes to have a nice outfit. Since I am aware, that live in most of the times ends with death, I live now and here and it is very rewarding!
I am 36 and I am loving all the responses from ladies in their 40s. 31 was my most difficult birthday because I couldn’t bear to live the next 40 or so years the way I lived my 30th. So I made some changes and at 36, I am happier than I’ve ever been in my life. Age is indeed just a number, it’s how you live those days that defines your quality of life. Luckily as you get older you realize there will always be someone younger, more beautiful, smarter, more accomplished… but there will only be one YOU. And no one cares how you live your days, except you.
I’m 35… I think… (does the math) Yep, I turn 36 this year. It’s kind of odd for me. I apparently have a very mild touch of body dismorphia: I don’t dislike how I look, I have absolutely no idea how I look. I have memorized facts about myself, pale skin, brown hair, brown eyes, and occasionally need to add new things to the list. I recently added a wrinkle- a concentration-frown line between the eyes. I added the occasional silver hair to the list when I was 16, so they don’t even show up on the radar.
I think I’m actually lucky in this, since the things that so many women fret about simply don’t make a difference to me, since I don’t even know about them.
As for the “aging leads to a closeness to death” thing, that’s not much of an issue for me either – After all, you never know if you’re going to live to be 110 or get hit by a bus when you’re 19, so what does it really matter?
What really matters is living the way that the “you” inside your skin wants to live. Do what feels right, accept that you have no control over the calendar, the laws of physics, or other people, and live your life whatever way makes you happy.
I’m a little late to this party, but I’ll comment anyway.
Oh, honey – lighten up! Two summers ago I turned 50! I was entering menopause, was gaining weight, was aching somewhere different everyday. But: I felt free. I finally felt that I no longer had to answer to anybody buy myself. I basically told the world, “F*** it, I’m going to spend the rest of my life living my own way.” And so far, I think I am doing just that.
And I threw myself a 50th birthday party! I hadn’t had a birthday party since I was a child, and I knew that I wanted to celebrate this milestone. I told my husband that all I wanted from him was – (wait for it…) – a parade. With my daughter’s assistance, I got one. My party guests wandered through the back yard with pots and pans and wooden spoon, blowing on kazoos. It was the highlight of the party, and something I will never forget.
Enjoy and look forward to your future instead of dreading it. It’s coming whether you want it to or not.
Sweet friend, I am staring down the barrel of FIFTY FUCKING YEARS OLD. I’ll be 49 this year. I gave up trying to keep up with my grey hair last year and let it grow out. Turns out I have mostly white hair. WHO KNEW? I am still shocked every time I look in the mirror. To celebrate the 50-year mark, I’m finally planning my trip to my father’s ancestral homeland of Lebanon. I’ve talked about it all my life and all of a sudden….FIFTY FUCKING YEARS OLD is only a year away. If not now, when, I ask you? So that’s how I’m celebrating 50. That and I bought a little race car that I am learning how to drive. Dried up eggs – that was tough. No babies for me. I swear, I only LOOK like I am a midlife crisis with legs……
The hard facts of age come when one does the math. 40 is middle age. Not 50 or 55. 40-45, not even that age if that if you are male.
It is important, and often difficult when dealing with the telephone company, to remember that life is a gift.
Consciousness is a rare thing on this planet. Certainly, consciousness to the degree that most us possess it.
The trick, Tolkien said, came when someone made us afraid of death. Instead of a natural progression it became a judging finality.
Pingback: Big Fat Deal » Carpe Diem: What’s On Your List?
This has been amazing to read. And funny, in an odd way, because of our cultural training via advertising. You are who you are as old as you are and everybody sees you looking like you do today no matter what age you are. There is no faking it – only the illusion of faking it. Own it. Be your age! Enjoy it as your body continues to change and alter itself to the environment. If people are LUCKY they get to be whatever age you are now and someday you’ll look back on photos of yourself today and wonder why in the hell didn’t I enjoy it! It doesn’t matter what age I am – the only thing that matters is that all who read this will want to know so they can classify my response. If you accept body image, accept it as it moves through time.