i had my first mammogram
am i really this old?
it’s a weird time in life when you tell your mom that you had your first mammogram.
“It’s your first mammogram?” she asked.
“Yes, Mom,” I said. “How old do you think I am?”
well, to be clear I’m 41.
of course I’m grateful to be old enough to live this long — yes, it’s great to have lived four decades (even if as women, we are often led to believe we’re entering the Bermuda triangle at this age) — and yet even saying that out loud is a trip.
i’ve been alive for four decades?
it sounds so trite but really — where has the time gone?
This is the thing. I don’t feel 41. Whatever that’s supposed to mean. I exercise weekly and can probably outrun a 22-year-old, I wear cargo pants and baby tees because I hate the way slacks and oxford shirts feel on my body (too stuffy), and I love playing and doing fun things, like karaoke, escape rooms, and dancing til midnight – even if it’s in my kitchen and my only audience is Olive and the judgmental snap of her tail – and guess what? My hips don’t hurt or lie.
I don’t think I look 41, either. Whatever that’s supposed to mean. Thanks to genetics or lifestyle or just being #blessed, I don’t have many fine lines and wrinkles except for the small lines around my eyes when I smile. I have a full head of my natural hair color with not a gray hair in sight. Last week, a nineteen-year-old server thought I was 23 “max” — I could’ve kissed him. Do I think I look 23? No. Because I know what I looked like at 23. But it’s fair to say I’ve been mistaken for being a lot younger than I am for the last 10 years, and I get it. I don’t look like what you consider to be a “40 year old woman.”
I’m not saying this to brag — truly! — but to maybe make sense of the reality of aging when I don’t feel “old” at all. Or maybe it’s an attempt to even bump against this notion of what it means to be a woman of certain age.
Because let’s not skip over the details of my lifestyle. How can we not? I’m a single woman. Without children. I live alone. I travel. I write. I freelance. You might even call it a “freestyle” instead of a lifestyle.
OK, maybe we won’t.
But, let’s be real. My values in life are different compared to what we assume to want to have by this age. I value freedom, creativity, and connection. Connection meaning, not necessarily a long-term relationship (although that is something I would like to have) but also connection in a broader meaning — to community, to the universe, to myself.
These are values not typically associated with a 40something women. They might seem “immature” or be confused with being “lost.” That word is thrown around a lot at people who stray from the beaten path. At the people who keep trying new things and who stick to creating their own joy no matter what it might look like to others. (I talk about this at length in my podcast episode with Lorrae Bradbury, a child-free, sex-positive writer in her mid-30s, who’s navigating vanlife and casual connections.)
Look. I don’t think there’s any wrong or right way to do life. But I do think there’s a stigma attached to being a woman over 40, and it’s one that, while I don’t agree with, I’m not immune to its vitriol, either. Last year, I entertained the idea of doing an “ask me anything” column on here because I felt I had/have some wisdom to share about life (I mean, heck, I am 41, guys!).
The first question I received was: “Do you ever regret not having kids at your age?”
Needless to say I didn’t start the column. I found the question too personal, too accusatory, too presumptuous. Too wrapped up in a patriarchal expectation that if a woman hasn’t prioritized relationships and children, then somehow she’ll regret it because her life is devoid of meaning, and I didn’t want my priceless advice to be focused on arguing against that. As if I need to explain myself for living how I live! Pfft. If these were the types of questions I’m going to receive, count me OUT.
And for the record: who said I don’t want kids? Children can come in many forms. Stepkids, adopted kids, heck Cameron Diaz had her first kid at 47! And if it doesn’t happen, it doesn’t happen (and it won’t be because I didn’t have Cameron Diaz money to help make me a kid).
That’s beside the point.
The point is…the struggle of computing my biological age with the age I feel, especially when it doesn’t align with societal expectations of who I should be at 41. (And, also, it needs to be said: having children and getting married doesn’t make you more of a grownup or more mature #sorrynotsorry. There’s a difference between what it means to “mature” and what it means to “age.” I think marriage and kids can “age” you but I don’t think it necessarily makes you more mature.)
Back to aging. Aging is weird. There is no guidebook (even if we think there is, alas, there’s not). No one prepares you to accept these basic-yet-necessary passages of time, like getting a mammogram. I’ve never been someone who measures my life or my ability to create or do what I want based on the number of birthdays I’ve had, so it’s confronting to know that no matter how I might feel in my body, my body is getting older. Getting older is a fact of life, and man, it’s a trip to realize that I’m 41 years old.
Even if I don’t look it or feel like it. #slay
Does it sound like I’m having a midlife crisis?
Maybe! I mean, I am using #hashtags like it’s my job, or my vain attempt at sounding younger, but I swear I’m not going to buy a sports car tomorrow! I can accept I’m getting older. It’s inevitable, if I’m lucky. I’m grateful for another day, another trip around the sun. Because another birthday is another gift of being alive.
No, what I think the greatest challenge of aging is the ability to keep believing that age doesn’t define me. That no matter what society might accuse me of, such as “wasting time,” or that I didn't plan enough or that I’ve been too careless with time, I can say instead:
I define me. And I will keep showing up in my life the way that feels congruent to me.
…as I wait to book my first colonoscopy. Woohoo! #gettingolder
I’m curious to hear your thoughts on aging and being a woman. If this post aligns with you, please let me know — heart it, leave a comment, send me a DM. Topics like these foster community and connection. It’s important to know we are not alone with the thoughts/fears/struggles we have.
Thanks for being here!
Love, Brie
LATEST FROM THE PODCAST
my most toxic dating trait is…staying in fantasy land! I just had this huge AHA moment in my latest dating coaching session, and i had to share it on this episode. basically, i've been stuck in fantasy land for most of my relationships...and it has gotten me nowhere! except maybe going round and round on an annoying merry-go-round!
so what's fantasy land? I will explain it here! and also share with you the new land i am creating for myself when it comes to my personal life.. clarity land! and what that entails!
i hope this lands and resonates with you!
Random musings…
I am so sad since I finished Jane Bertch’s The French Ingredient. It was like saying goodbye to a friend and a place (Paris!) that I didn’t want to say goodbye to! And now I am reading a book (that shall remain nameless) and I hate it and I don’t know why I’m still reading it…only to say that I can remain in the conversation about it and have a valid opinion if someone were to ask me for one. Who will?! I dunno! But better to be well equipped just in case, I think! “But have you read it?” they will ask me, and what? i’m going to say no?! So. I will trudge on even if I am rolling my eyes at basically every page. And no, I don’t know who is “they” but I am prepared to shout my opinion! Not shout, but share.
Anyway. I’m going to start a new book for the summer because I think this book is going to take me a loooong time to get through. Most readers might suggest to DNF (which, I have to admit, I thought used to mean ‘down to fuck’ and, boy, that would’ve gotten awkward at the next book club meeting) but no…I’m stubborn. I will FINISH! (which also says a lot about my sex life, too, ironically.)
At any rate, I think I will start The Soulmate Equation by Christina Lauren or Cult Classic by Sloane Crosley.