A lengthy post/rant/jumbled plethora of thoughts on women, age, and our purpose. Buckle up, I’m a woman and I have a blog.
I will highlight the rationality and irrationality of what it is for a woman to be in her 40s and 50s. What it is to know that time has passed and that it is impossible to mask or evade the obvious. This post is for women of all ages to accept and embrace ourselves, our fears, our bodies. We are not enemies. We are not competition. We are different, yes. But we are all women.
Before I continue, I must emphasize that I will be writing this blog from the perspective of a woman. I will talk about opinions and feelings that women in general face when it comes to aging — whether or not I agree or share the same sentiments. That being said, I will still as per usual talk about my own experiences and gripes on the subject matter because of course I’m going talk about myself. I’m a hidden narcissist in Unicorn clothing in need of attention.
So this is 42. Thanks to genes, being Asian, having fat oily cheeks and dabbling in sorcery, I have pretty much maintained a youthful appearance, body and psyche. While grey hair, back pains and slowing metabolism had struck my peers by their early 30s, I had glided my way through just as I always had. I didn’t bother exercising much, eating healthily or investing in skincare just cuz I always assumed I’d look and feel young forever.
Then I hit 39.
It started with my lower back. Then I hit 40. Okay, I guess I need to start using retinol now. Then 41. My perfect vision now needs reading glasses. Today: 42.
The “descent” seems slow and fast at the same time. I was told that these changes are normal and inevitable, but the Unicorn cells in my body are aghast and in denial. Me? Age? But I look 12 (especially with braces)!
But it is what it is, and for the most part I belong to the lucky partition who pretty much eluded the perils that have befallen most of my contemporaries. I haven’t lost control of my body as so many others have. I haven’t had health related surgery and I don’t need to take maintenance medication. Older people who find out my age coo playful jealousy while younger people die from heart attacks when they realize I am actually lightyears older than them.
So what is it? What is aging and why are we so afraid of it?
Let’s start from when we were young. Since our late 20s, the topic of weight gain and greying hair had become a staple. Gone were our limber bodies ready for action. By this age, the majority of us either had overflowing responsibilities at work or at least one kid.
As a child I was bullied for being stick thin. As a young adult, I learned to identify women’s jealousy over my slim figure. “Good for you” never truly felt genuine and it wasn’t until my 30s when I learned to respond “I know right!” to shut them up. I can’t feel guilty for having a frail frame, then again, it must feel the same when I jokingly ask for some of their boobies since they have a lot to spare. Same-same.
We always want what somebody else has got. They wanted my Spanish blood and I wanted their perfect skin. They wanted my bone structure and I wanted their breast size. They wanted my metabolism and I wanted their vitality.
I was 16 years old when I had my first encounter with an eating disorder. A close friend was obsessed with exercise and counting calories, and her once healthy body started to get sallow and empty. At 16 I couldn’t quite comprehend why she would do such a thing, but two years later I would embark on that same journey.
Growing up in the 90s was the absolute best, but we cannot deny that back then, women everywhere felt they needed to either look like Cindy Crawford or Kate Moss. I chose the Kate Moss heroin chic route. And while the standards of beauty have changed immensely since then with more body positive outlooks being the norm, the young generation of today have their own battles which I am grateful to have missed entirely. More on that later.
But now, back to the grey. These days, I am happy to see women who used to dye their roots every other week now fully embracing the change. There are women younger than me who now have a head full of grey, and you know what? It looks fabulous! I can’t wait, lol.
But not everyone is ready for that. I know women in their 70s and 80s who still dye their hair and at the end of the day, it’s a matter of personal choice. It’s the same thing as my rejection of my dark hair, always having a little bit of blonde because I don’t feel like myself without lighter locks. Does that make me a hypocrite? It’s not that I am denying my Filipino-ness, I just feel much better about myself when I am blonde. But that being said, I am now 42 and I don’t wish to continue subjecting my hair to harsh chemicals and will have to learn to embrace that yes, I have dark brown hair. And you know what Brit? It’s gonna be all right.
It’s been about two years since I noticed a change in my menstrual cycle. What started off as “what the fuck is wrong with me” turned to “omigod is this perimenopause” to “okay, this is perimenopause”.
Seeing a gynecologist doesn’t really help. When I ask if I am on the road to extinction (relax, I’m kidding, my god), they take one look at me, check my age, and go “no, you’re too young”. For a lot of women, we’re on this journey on our own (check related gif) where Google is both our best friend and worst enemy.
Renowned menopause advocate Dr. Mary Claire Haver explained that women’s health — especially menopause — is still very much a mystery that is only being thoroughly researched today. Things we thought we knew about our hormones and the appropriate ways to handle this rite of passage are now highly debated and scrutinized. The truth of the matter is that even medical professionals don’t know much about women’s bodies and menopause. We’re all just as confused as the other, and it would be wonderful if the world made it easier for us to go through this with open arms, instead of in fear that we no longer have merit.
That’s it. Not only do we not fully understand the changes in our bodies, but we now no longer feel we have merit.
I remember a conversation I had with one of my clients last year. Despite being a very driven career woman who was never interested in love and having a family of her own, embracing her menopause proved to be difficult and she needed time to process. She found it perplexing how at 55 she was crying tears over the sudden realization that the chance of being a mother was suddenly torn away from her – even if she’s never wanted kids. It was almost as if the ability to conceive and care for a child was what made her a woman. And although it never appealed to her, the fact that it no longer was a choice made her grovel.
While waiting for my transvaginal ultrasound 2 months ago, a hilarious woman chatted me up. It started from bemoaning how much longer we had to wait for our turn (it had been hours) and it went on to become a full conversation about our previous pregnancies and such. She was there to check if her miscarried baby was still inside of her (it was), and I was there to check if I had any monsters living inside of me (I had none). When she found out I had no intention of having children, she clutched her pearls and asked why? I told her my reasons and she once again asked “But who will take care of you when you are old?”
Once I had gone inside for my checkup, the Obe-Gyne too asked if I have children, to which I said none. “Sayang naman ang beauty mo! Kaya mo pa sa edad mo.” Translation: “Such a waste of your beauty. You can still make it at your age.”
I don’t blame them for reacting the way they did as that’s what we’ve been taught all our lives. But to think that my beauty would only do me good to pass it on genetically was beyond me. My beauty is for me and for the love of God, if I had children I’d let them live their lives and not have them take care of me when I’m old and grey. In the end I had no desire to defend my stance and they had no desire to prod further.
I will forever be grateful to have been brought up in The Philippines. Boy, I never thought I’d say that. And although the Philippine standard of beauty had always been “white” (aka, ghostly white), for the majority, altering our appearance be it through whitening products, plastic surgery or the magic of makeup doesn’t seem to be in the same level as that in the west.
Don’t get me wrong, we want to be beautiful. We want to invest in non-evasive cosmetic procedures and buy a shitload of products that will enhance our beauty. And that’s the keyword here: enhance. Not alter. Mostly.
As older women are now sharing the same face elsewhere in the world, I guess I am glad to see that women here haven’t fallen for that same trap. Mostly. But maybe it isn’t so much a choice as it is a poverty thing. For the most part, maybe we’d rather put food on the table than try to look 20 when we’re 50. I dunno, I can’t speak for everyone.
Then there is the sudden phenomenon of Gen Zers (is that how you call them?) looking much older than Millennials. From what has been widely discussed on social media, it affects mostly women who have started injecting fillers from their teen years. Fillers that are supposed to make older women look younger have ironically started making younger women look older. What a wild world we live in.
As a side note, it’s not just the women. Coming out of your mother’s vagina with a mobile phone and internet access apparently makes even young men look old. But that’s another story.
As I’ve watched my face change over the course of the last two years, it would be hypocritical to deem myself higher and above younger women who are afraid of aging. The lines – although few, are there and I cannot deny their existence. Thankfully, what used to be the bane of my teen years (oily prone skin) has since become my elixir of youth.
But what does it mean that we are looking older? Is it really so bad? Are we unattractive to men? Are we unattractive to ourselves? The day my skin starts to fold, will I be done for? Will I see no point to my life as the manifestation of being older and wiser be evermore present?
With the young generation no longer knowing who the Spice Girls are (yes, that is my parameter) my generation is fighting to keep what we hold dear relevant. While it is refreshing to see South Park and Beavis and Butt-head continue to keep Gen Xers and Millennials entertained, Gen Z has no idea what we snicker about – and frankly my dear, they don’t give a damn.
With actresses in their 40s being cast as grandmothers, it does make women this age everywhere wonder how the rest of society see us. And although I look young, I had no idea that walking on the jogging path everyday with my ankle socks would give my age away.
I have a male client in his 50s who is single and ready to mingle. As I listen to him talk about his encounters with women – usually in their 20s who wear their Lululemons well – I wonder to myself if women my age are no longer an option to some men. Have we been discarded as too old, too jaded, no longer impressionable? Are we too used, too smart, too much done with bullshit to be considered? Or is it that for many women who have reached a certain point, our bodies are no longer as toned or as obedient to orders as they had been in the past? Are we too tired to be sexy?
Let’s be clear here. I have zero problems with age gaps. I don’t care who you fuck, just make sure they are age appropriate. Not Alabama age appropriate. And it goes both ways, cougars are on the rise and I myself flirted with men much younger than myself and it was pretty fun. But unlike my male client who seems to be going through his red Porsche moment, I quickly learned that younger men aren’t for me. That being said, if you find me a gorgeous, intelligent and mature young man, give him my number. But for the most part, I’d prefer not have to go through kindergarten obstacle courses while they figure out who they are when I already am where I’m at.
And while I would never date a man like my client, a lot of other women his age might. And to watch him not even look their way and only focus on the young ones makes me sad that they’ve been overlooked, but at the same time happy they’ve dodged a bullet.
On to the “ugh” part of this post. Although the symptoms may differ from woman to woman, here is a short list of things we go through that have been brushed off as “dramatic nonsense”:
- difficulty falling asleep and staying asleep
- night sweats
- hot flashes
- changes in period
– getting periods 2x a month
– missing periods altogether, then out of nowhere getting it again
– shorter/longer periods
– having a menstrual cramp for the first time in your life
– worse/less cramps - missing ovulation
- anxiety, panic attacks, depression, mood swings
- electrical shocks
- ringing in the ears
- brain fog
- vaginal dryness
- weight gain; slowing metabolism
Black and Hispanic women have it harder according to Dr. Lisa Mosconi and apparently, both suicide and divorce rates are at an all time high during menopause.
Brain function is only now being researched and it has recently been revealed that 62% of women suffer from brain fog where scans show that for us, it’s “not just all in our heads” metaphorically. It’s literal. Something is happening in our brains and we don’t appreciate your tone, sir.
An interesting fact is that Obe-Gynes are given only a few hours training with regards to menopause, making a majority of them ill equipped to answer your questions. So if you have severe symptoms, it is best to find a Menopause Specialist to guide you on your journey.
Gah.
Reading the comments section on menopause discussions can be very distressing. Women from 35-55 are all sharing the changes in their bodies, and it seems like one big cry for help: “Hey! These (insert symptoms) are happening to me! I’m (insert age)! I’m freaking out! Is there anyone else out there going through the same?”. Some women are 35 and already in POST MENOPAUSE and others are 55 and are still in EARLY PERIMENOPAUSE. It’s hard to gauge where we are at based on age, therefore the best advice is to just listen to our bodies.
The fear in every comment is palpable. Women are afraid of aging. Women are afraid of the symptoms getting worse. Women are afraid they spent their lives building their careers and now it’s too late to have children. Women are afraid to lose it all: their looks, their health, their youth, their freedom, heck, many are afraid to lose their husbands.
As for me, I guess my greatest fear is “Is this all there is?”
And although I know that there is more, I had beforementioned the rationalities and irrationalities that women my age go through. Anxiety reaches a peak and the sudden panic that life has flashed before our very own eyes is despairing. As the sands of time show up in our physical bodies, a midlife crisis is in order. Have we done all that we could to live our best lives? Have we wasted our time and energy on the wrong things? Have we loved the wrong people? Have we loved ourselves enough?
Is there more to this? Is this all there is?
As I transition into the next book of my life, I embrace my age and the ease and comfort of being myself instead of trying to prove my relevance. I will continue to wear my ankle socks like a proper millennial and let the sun tan my entire leg. I will continue to study, having just enrolled in Year 2 of my Astrology training, for the first time in my life studious and focused on a path. I will let my hormones do their thing, allowing the validity of their changes, instrumental to my evolution.
I’m aware though that most women do not have the same response to perimenopause as me. For the majority, women my age are afraid of being passed on for someone younger, more active, more vital. Women with more social skills, who are more in the know how with the trends and with technology. Women who have no kids to care for. Women who are still more willing to say yes than no. Who don’t know their boundaries yet. Who are wide eyed and open to everything still.
It’s a legitimate fear. But I will never exchange where I am at now for the chance of being 20 again. I like my wisdom. My raw vulnerabilities that I balance with confidence and openness. I like knowing how to say no. And I love knowing how to say oh hell no. And to be honest, I love being passed on for younger women. So cheers to the filtration system, doing its job well.
aging like fine wine,
brit mikagami
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