Why being 50 has me shook!

“I think when the full horror of being fifty hits you, you should stay home and have a good cry” 

Alan Bleasdale

In April of this year, I turned 50.

When I was in my teens, I never imagined myself older than 30. I used to believe that I would die young, like so many of the people whose writing and music I admired.

Two decades ago, my 30th birthday was tinged with sadness. I was hospitalised for the first time for suicidal ideation, which led to my being diagnosed with a mood disorder. I was certain the world was coming to an end, and this had come to pass because I had hit the age of 30.

Falling apart

My husband and I seriously hit some bad snags in that same year. It was the first time he mentioned the D word, and I recall sitting on the floor, crying and rocking back and forth, as I felt my heart breaking.

Things had been bad for a few years. I had spent more than a few years in the same floor-seated position as the man I believed was the love of my life went through what must have been a terrible experience for him, realising he wasn’t in love with his wife, who was also his best friend.

It took a few more years before I finally realised that our marriage had to end, as I wanted much more for my best friend than to see him trapped in a marriage. I loved him too much to keep him from living his life apart from me and maybe, just maybe, finding the love of his life.

Finally, real love

By 34, I had found someone new with whom I was living when I found out I was pregnant. I had a wonderful pregnancy, was off almost all my medication, and almost felt as if I was cured of my mood disorder.

Holding my baby in my arms, I felt as if the world was finally complete. Even though I had not planned this pregnancy, it resulted in the birth of a child who, in many ways, is my heart outside my body. Finally, real love!

Sadly, that was not the case with her father. After four years fraught with complications, mistakes on both our parts and a lot of personal growth for me, I had to end the relationship when, on the day of my father’s memorial service, I needed to be apart from him for the sake of both me and my daughter. That was the year I turned 40.

“Forty is the age of youth. Fifty is the youth of old age” 

Victor Hugo

Sometimes being alone is best

Raw from the collapse of my whole world, I did what today I believe was the single act of wisdom of my life. I set a moratorium for myself on romantic relationships.

Admittedly, I broke that moratorium, but until then, I experienced that it was possible not to be part of a couple, just as dating after that time taught me that it is far better to be alone than to wish you were alone.

Long story short, by the time I was 45, I was no longer looking for love. I was content with the love that I had already had in my life—not just one or two, but a few really great love stories and all the memories that go along with them.

I was focused on my child, who, entering pre-adolescence, really needed my full attention, and I was happy to be able to give it.

Who is this stranger?

Now I am 50, much older than I ever expected I would be. I see myself in the mirror, and I don’t recognise the girl who was always told she looked like the girl from “Pretty in Pink”.

I see gray hair and extra folds of skin and fat. I see elements of my elders and realise I have turned into some of them, but I still feel like that 16-year-old girl bumbling her way through the 80s.

I imagine myself, and the person I see in my mind isn’t the person looking back at me in the mirrors at my child’s ballet studio. I am struggling with the knowledge that people are not seeing the person I imagine I am, but rather that old fat lady in the mirror.

I realise I need to make peace with this stranger, learn to appreciate them, and accept that they are there for good. That, dear reader, is a work in progress, which, many days, I have to begin with each new day.

Last laugh

I am making peace with my age, and part of that is being realistic about what I can and can’t do. One of the things I can’t do anymore is touch my toes; however, that isn’t because of my age, but because I am unfit and don’t have time or energy to go to yoga classes.

While I was looking for employment, my age counted against me almost as much as it did in my 20s. I wasn’t looking for, or am qualified for, high-level positions; those things have never interested me all that much, but the recruiters just saw my age as an indication that I was not suitable for positions they considered “junior,” which I was actually quite keen on.

This led me to conclude that there is not really any “perfect age” when all the pieces of the puzzle that is life fall into place. I had thought so, but the wisdom of five decades has taught me to know better.

Perhaps it will always be life that will have the last laugh on all of us, regardless of how many years we have spun around the sun.