by Mary Lou Roe ©

I turned 40 last week. And I felt fully prepared for the transition into my middle years. Age has not typically meant that much to me. My husband is 17 years older than I am.

I had my first child at 38. I am beginning a new career path at 40. Life experience has always been what counted – what I learn, how I grow as a person, how I can positively impact the lives of others. And yet, when my 40th birthday finally arrived, it rolled over me like a freight train.

I felt an unshakable sense of distress when I woke the morning of my birthday. A feeling that somehow I had crossed an invisible threshold I couldn’t return from. Suddenly my reflection wasn’t so familiar. When had the wrinkles around my eyes appeared? Why was my skin no longer glowing and pristine? Why did my clothes feel unexpectedly frumpy and outdated? I catapulted into a dizzying tailspin. Oh my goodness! Was I old?

I was horrified to find myself frantically researching beauty products that promised to reverse the aging process. Anti-aging creams, Botox, skin peels, pharmaceutical remedies. All designed to make me look, and feel, younger. And I had to ask myself – how did this happen? How did I of all people feel somehow “less than acceptable” because of the number 40?

When I stopped my lamenting long enough to look at society’s preoccupation with youth, it wasn’t surprising that I found myself in such a panic-stricken state. From movies, TV shows and commercials to beauty products and cosmetic procedures that all showcase flawless people, our reverence for youth is impossible to ignore. The message to me was clear – if I want to count in today’s society I need to be, or at the very least look, young.

For women, specifically, the pressure to appear younger than our years is intense. From hormone replacement therapy during menopause, to face lifts, breast implants and tummy tucks, we are encouraged to fight the natural advancement of age and negate the physical and emotional changes that it brings. Wrinkles, sagging breasts, laugh lines and cellulite are viewed as distasteful characteristics to be rubbed out, instead of testaments to a life well-lived.

And I think we are missing out. The unrestrained adoration of youthfulness discards the magnificent power and wisdom that only age and lived experience can bring. It ignores the inner strength and confidence that develops over time. And it devalues a lifetime of knowledge. All because aging isn’t attractive.

Don’t misunderstand me. I don’t for a minute think that women shouldn’t access the options available to them for looking and feeling their best. I say, do what makes you feel good about yourself. (I personally love L’Oreal # 58 Bronze Shimmer hair colour!) But as we enter our middle years I hope we can learn to value ourselves based on who we are, not what we look like. We cannot hang onto our youth. But we can embrace who we are becoming and revel in our greatness!

When the tidal wave of emotions began to calm inside me, positive examples of aging sprang to mind. From social pioneers like Oprah Winfrey, to women’s groups such as The Red Hat Society, aging women are visibly celebrating their advancing years and refusing to adhere to societal stereotypes. They are openly defying the assumption that we lose our intrinsic value as our beauty and youth fades. And I took a deep breath. And I found my centre again – the part of me that knows instinctively that the condition of my face and body does not reflect who I am.

So, would I trade the life experience and clarity of my fortieth year for a flawless face and a flat stomach? Not on your life. I am grateful for every single line and wrinkle that has brought me to this age. Every perceived imperfection bears witness to hard lessons learned, the greatest joys celebrated and the deepest sorrows grieved. Forty years has taught me who I am. And wrinkle cream can’t touch that!

Filed under: Author Mary Lou, Life, Spring Chick