Age is a fact of life, but the journey is more dramatic for women. Our whole lives, we’ve been warned about the horrors of aging and the devastating changes of menopause. One day, you’re young and hot; the next, you’re… not. Navigating the shift in outside perception is complex. We desperately try to hang on to youth, sometimes at the expense of what brings us joy.
I fought the reality of aging for a long time. But I finally figured out I’m not old — I’m mature. I’m embracing my new era: sophisticated, sexy, and confident.
Stuck in Neverland
Psychologists use the phrase Peter Pan Syndrome to describe people who have difficulty entering adulthood. I had no trouble becoming an adult; I didn’t know what to do after that.
My early 30s were a rollercoaster. I started a new career, leaving behind the profession I’d pursued since the age of 12. After two decades, I defined myself by that career. I was 32 and trying to figure out what I wanted to be when I grew up.
But that wasn’t the only change: I was also pregnant. I left my job three weeks before my due date. So, not only was I navigating a new and unknown career and personal identity, but the transition to motherhood was about to rock my world. Any mother will tell you that finding yourself after having a baby is a wild ride.
Then came a global shutdown that spawned chronic stress and social isolation.
I was totally lost, desperately trying to regain my sense of self. I reverted to the person I was in my 20s: a social drinker who stayed out until three in the morning. My friends were all reasonable adults who preferred moderation and sleep, so I made friends with people in their mid-to-late 20s and closed down Tin Roof several times. Did it feel weird being a decade older than everyone else? Sure. Did I have anything in common with these people? Absolutely not. But this is what all the cool kids did, right?
I was trying to be Peter Pan, but Neverland was not my home.
Tick-tock, it’s time to grow up
One night out with a bunch of 20-somethings, I had an epiphany. Unfortunately, it was after a night of drinking gin, so it came in the form of a public mental breakdown. But, I realized my place was not out at 1 a.m. with functional strangers. I should be at home sleeping like a responsible adult so I could do the things I actually wanted to do — old lady things, like spending time with my family and reading.
After that night, I began to view myself differently. I felt more my age — in a good way. I embraced going to the zoo, picking pumpkins, having family movie nights, running, and doing countless other cliche suburban mom things. Sure, it’s trite and expected, but it’s actually really fun.
I realized that it’s okay to let go of my youth. Let the young people get dressed up and go out multiple nights in a row. Give me family activities, book clubs, wine tastings, upscale galas, and spending my weekend nights on the couch. 22-year-old me would be absolutely horrified.
Goodbye to being young and hot, and good riddance to the desperate need for validation that came with that era. I’m leveling up to sexy, sophisticated, and confident. I love who I’ve become.
You don’t have to buy into the superficial, hostile aging narrative the world gives you. It’s your journey. Embrace who you were, who you are, and who you might become.
And if your sophisticated and sexy vibe is closing down Tin Roof — do it! Just know that I’ve checked, and it’s not the way to Neverland.