When is it my turn?

Midlife is a time for reflection. If we ascribe to the general beliefs of our society, we think that we should have well-established careers, long-term successful marriages and completely- or mostly-raised kids.

If you look at the ads, it seems we’re on the cusp of weekends in wine country with the hubby, touring in a fabulous convertible, a scarf protecting our grey yet stylish hair. Soon we’ll be playing tennis; meeting other fabulous couples at the club for doubles before brunch on the sunlit patio.

But is that true? What about those of us who suffered financial setbacks; who can afford the racket but not the club? Who cashed in RRSPs to pay the mortgage? Who have developed mid-life acne and wrinkles? Or look fabulous but lost the hubby somewhere along the way? Whose kids are still quite young or refuse to move out, or whose parents are aging?

We’re starting to understand that we will soon become, if we haven’t already, the caretakers of our parents. Many of us still have school-aged children. Some of us have grandchildren.

We’re starting to wonder when we get time for ourselves. When is it my turn?

How do we carve out time and energy for our own lives? When do we get to live for ourselves? Or do we? Is that kind of thinking unrealistic?

Is the secret to happiness to have neither kids nor parents? Or maybe just to be a model in those retirement ads?

When did life stop being about preparing – getting ready for adulthood, college, work, marriage, home ownership, babies, and school – and become about caretaking; endless mindless caretaking? Maintenance of kids, roofs, and jobs; trying to avoid losing things you didn’t necessarily set out to gain? When does the fun start?

I think it’s so important to carve out territory for us alone. As women, we often spend at least part of our lives caring for others – partners, babies, parents. Once in the habit, it’s all too easy to forget to put ourselves first.

We’ve all heard that analogy of oxygen masks in an airplane; that you’re no help to anyone else unless you put yours on first. Slumping unconscious is not helpful.

But what about giving yourself oxygen just to keep yourself alive? Why do we assume putting others first is better? We’re here to live our lives and that’s our first responsibility. When did we decide we need an excuse to save ourselves?

At mid-life we realise that life does indeed pass and really is finite. That there is an expiry date on our bodies and our dreams. It’s no longer all before us, in a sunny fantasy. It’s gone away or passed us by.

Mid-life is when we have to admit that some things just aren’t going to happen. We need to mourn those dreams.

Then we need to turn and face – and fully embrace – that which is, those who are in our lives, and all that we do have. It’s most likely not what we planned, but it’s what we’ve got.

Then it’s time to make new dreams for the second half of our lives. 

Aging

Notice how tightly we cling to rules about aging?

I hear experts and laymen saying that of course your back hurts when you’re over forty. Or that you have to get transition lenses when you’re fifty. Or that you can’t lose belly fat after thirty-five.

Many people my age are experiencing what I take to be the classic mid-life crisis, both in their lives and regarding health. “I’m X years old – that’s too old to start this, try that or wear those.”

Even my sporty friends decry the breakdown of their bodies now that they’re ancient – you know; over forty.

I’ve discovered how rigidly we apply these rules in almost all areas of life. Sometimes, it’s a good thing – no mini skirts after 35, for example, is a directive that benefits us all.

What about those who simply don’t buy into the “at age X your body is X” schools of thought?

I have to provide full disclosure on this topic. In human years I’m forty-seven, but my Wii Fit age is 29. In mentality and outlook, I’m about thirty-five. My emotional maturity has – thank god – finally kicked in and is closing on seventy-five, although it’s been known to dip as low as seven.

When I look at my “aged” friends with their bad backs, sore knees and aching shoulders, I think maybe it’s not age; maybe it’s the years and years of repetitive strain they put on their knees and backs, with no practice of yoga, tai chi or qigong to alleviate it.

Maybe aging is not so much about what you do or how old you are, but of the care you take of your mental and physical well-being.

Maybe aging is mitigated by new experiences, open minds and an open heart.

Asking for what we want

I realised today that I have not been asking for what I want. And what's even worse is that I didn't realise it. I thought I was asking clearly for what I wanted. Then I realised that I kept asking for the "I know I don't really deserve what I want, so I'll ask for the next best thing" runner-up to what I really wanted.

I interviewed for a job where I was one of two applicants. They were really stuck; then needed someone to start yesterday, was willing to work temporarily and intelligent enough to be the face of the company, step in where needed and capable enough to pull it off.

My contact had told me it was a part-time job; hours that would suit my lifestyle exactly. In the interview the boss mentioned that it was fulltime. Fulltime for three or four months. Hmm. I'd felt I was giving up a lot taking a two-thirds-time position for three or four months. How did I feel about fulltime?

After a moment's thought I announced I could accept fulltime. But my face was hot and I was anxious. All afternoon I was off and couldn't really get my act together. I stumbled through a staccato of efforts to work, but I couldn't relax either.

Wisely I decided to go do some yoga and stretching. Afterwards, I realised that the fulltime had been bugging me. I am afraid of living frantically, rushing about trying to get places on time and to do all that needs to be done. And I know that fulltime work will preclude my writing and photography and cooking. And that I've worked so hard to build these practices. I don't want to lose them.

Then I realised I had actually been asking for the wrong thing. While I enjoy new experiences, they don't have to be through the employment sphere. What I really want is to be paid - well paid - to write this blog. And my other blogs, and for my photos and maybe even my paintings. What I really want is to be paid for what I already do.

Now I can ask for that. I ask not for a job, because I don't want one, but for abundant material support for what I do. That the universe will want to support someone spending time with her kids, thinking and translating new ideas, making great food and teaching others to do the same, living easily and well. I want my beliefs to be supported by the universe with abundance and good humour.

This is why I love getting older - the insight and discernment with which we can view our circumstances. The clarity I can bring to my life.

Letting Go

I had lunch with a friend today. As we caught up, she told me of her successes - a nice day with her hubby, a school solution for her troubled teenager, and managing her work load.

She looked fantastic - very relaxed - and her manner supported it. Her life is not that different than a few weeks ago, when she was stressed, but now she is relaxed, confident and positive.

She says it came from letting go - from finding a long-term solution to a chronic problem, to not taking on every project at work, and making clear boundaries with those projects she does take on, to honoring her body by making time to run and eat well.

It's easy to take on too much, and to take responsibility for too much. Because she can do it easily, she takes on every project offered. Because her son is dear to her, she takes on his happiness an her own. She has been trying to arrange, fix, or do everything for everybody. Typical woman, typical mother.

But what made her analysis so interesting is that she recognized her own part in it. She admitted the incredible ego stroking you get from being the centre of everything; indispensable, irreplaceable, and how hard that is to let go of.

And that when you do let go, there is so much freedom - more time, more energy for oneself and other relationships, and emotional lightening.

It takes a lot of trust to be able to let the world include you without needing to do so. Or trusting that you will always be wanted, even if you're not needed. That they will need you for your love, not because you know where the socks are.

The idea of filling up

I have a mother who cooks, cleans, and irons to show love; a husband who buys electronics and performs home renovations; and a friend who gives plants. (Lucky me, a lot of people in my life show love through giving me food :)

Initially, when I was much younger, I didn't understand and didn't see those actions as valid expressions of love. In my mind, you had to say the words. Non-verbal expression didn't count.

As I matured, I began to see that not everyone expresses love or other emotions, in words. Maturing some more, I began to understand then finally accept it.

Now I am learning to express in actions - something I previously thought incorrect and unenlightened. But if you're going to be expending this "I love you" energy, someone might as well get a clean bathroom out of it. (My ex cleaned the bathrooms every day - something I did not appreciate at the time, and now sorely miss.)

I enjoy the un-awkwardness of depositing a small herb in someone's hand and not making a big deal out of it. Yeah, I love you, we all know that, let's move on.

I was thinking about this while surveying the bathroom vanity. We have less storage than the previous house, so I am learning how to make things fit. I decided that eliminating costco runs for toothpaste, shampoo etc, would decrease the amount I have to store; that it's more efficient to buy one tube at a time. Yes, over the consumption of ten tubes, we would save four dollars but really, it's worth two dollars a year to not have to store it.

And I wondered why having all that stuff had seemed so important before. Before the move and before the divorce. Nowadays I'm perfectly happy to buy one thing at a time. Before, the idea of 'having a supply of everything' was a sort of sense of having it all, and being complete, and being safe.

I realised that I have been buying in bulk for a sense of providing for my family. It's the same motivation as when you overeat. To make me and them feel warm and comforted.

So I've change my "I love you/providing for my family" actions from consumerism, to creating with my kids. Time spent in an activity together, in an as egalitarian manner as possible, really says I love you.

Refinding myself

Now that I'm over the stress of reaching my forties (just in time to face my fifties!), I'm starting to calm down, relax and accept.

I no longer feel the need to accelerate my career, in fact, to be honest, I don't want a career. It's a relief to admit that my work doesn't have a lot to do with money-acquisition.

I need to do my work to be happy, and I need to acquire money, but the two are not necessarily related. I have no interest in climbing a career ladder or defining myself by my job title.

I'm also relieved by giving up the need to get ahead - the never-ending quest that so preoccupied my thoughts when I was career-oriented. I wanted more money, more power, more respect.

By finding respect and rewards within myself, as I matured, I also gave up the need for external validation. In Wayne Dyer's words, I gave up the need for the good opinion of others.

Freedom from social and career pressure makes me so much more relaxed! I now work when, where and how I want, wear what pleases me, and don't worry what the neighbors say.

I think being able to give trying to please others is one reason mid-life women are so relaxed! We've followed our dreams to the end of their rainbows, found success in one form or another, and learned to depend on ourselves. All the people-pleasing that seemed so important in our twenties and thirties now falls away as learn to please ourselves.

The magic of liberation!

update on "the freedom in forgiving myself"

the freedom in forgiving myself is an article i wrote fourteen months ago. I have this lovely update

the freedom in forgiving myself

This morning I recognized and released some guilt I have been carrying. My big shameful secret is that I don't enjoy being around babies and toddlers. That's not exactly correct; I adore and enjoy them, but I do have a time limit of two hours.

Babies are wonderful miracles, and also cacophonous and stressful. Faced with imminent babies, my stomach knots like a in a gastro-intestinal ad.

This is something I have always thought of as a giant failing on my part. I am, after all, a mother and an aunt - shouldn't I always be maternal and lovey? - but it's just not who I am. It was, however, a guilt albatross I wore for years. I felt selfish and guilty because I had the notion that I should love and adore being with children.

I have never felt so trapped as I did when my kids were little. Being home with small kids gave me the chance to learn patience, and to deal with frustration, but I was often depressed. My attention span and personality type do not lend themselves to long hours spent in company of small children. I don't enjoy not being able to be peaceful, and not being able to complete a thought. Constant interruption is torturous to me.

Today I was able to accept myself around this issue so that I don't feel a "should" or "must". I am now able to admit without embarrassment that I don't like taking care of little ones for more than a few hours because I find it too tiring.

How freeing that is. I'm getting good at being gentle with myself. How nice to forgive myself: what I saw as a weakness to be judged is actually just another truth about my personality. It's part of who I am and now that I have recognized this I can work with it.

originally published on May 1, 2009 on lucindaatwood.com

hipponess

I was writing for a different blog and wrote the following:

It's time just to fade into the sunset of life; a lovely, gorgeous time of relaxed happiness. 

In the process, I made a typo and wrote hipponess instead of happiness. Kinda cute.

And then I thought about it. Hipponess, hmm, I like it - I'm a hippo. I love to wallow in the luxury of self-knowledge and inner peace. And hot tubs. 

I'm a hippo - I wear my physical body with power. I don't care if others think me beautiful or indeed if they think about me at all. 

And I'm generally peaceful because you don't want to f-ck with me. I do my thing and leave others alone.

I'm a hippo.

There are groups of us: middle-aged women with intelligence and skill. We understand the lies of love and marriage because we fell for them. We have managed to return our lives to the way we wanted, and altered our relationships, ending some, updating others, until we live life to the fullest - on our terms. 

Most of us married; some have left our marriages - some have not. Most of us have children. We love life and feel young, and free. We are curious and expressive. We love men and can live without them. We are open to life's variety, accepting and judgmental.

Most of us do work that's meaningful to us and that values us. We are empowered emotionally and financially self-sufficient. We don't worry - we do yoga.

We are hippos, wallowing in the beautifulness of life.  

Reaching an age of cultural invisibility

A friend complained to me recently that she was becoming invisible. That middle-aged women are invisible, and she was no longer noticed.

I commiserated: as women we spend so much of our lives chasing pretty, only to get thrown out of the game.

I too have noticed growing invisibility. I don't wear makeup or bright colors. I don't wear designer clothes or high heels. There's nothing about me that screams 'look at me'.

Initially it bothered me that no one looks at me, but now I see the fun in it. Self-consciousness dwindles. Risks are taken. My invisibility cloaks me.

A Discussion of Life, Femininity and the Canadian Way.

Welcome to the project, Between the Ribs. I was guided to write the title and to add this section to my blog. I was guided in my color and font choices for the title, and even the surtitle.

I'm not sure what it all means. I don't know what it will be. I think it's going to become a place for commentary on the plight incredibly fulfilling life of the 40-something divorcee.

Today it's what to wear. How do you dress when you're twenty-five years old in your heart? And 17 in your maturity? ;)

And the truth is those are varicose veins, and that is cellulite and the boobs - well let's just say you need a bra. In your swimsuit. And pyjamas. And two at the gym.

One inside the shower might help too, especially if there are mirrors within sight.

But thankfully your vision is going too, and the fog on the mirror acts like a giant photoshop blur, giving you the Doris Day Filter effect.

My new dress code is comfort, comfort, comfort; flattering in cut and color; practical to move in; and washable. I'm pretty hard on my clothes. But I'm always comfortable, and that's the payoff of middle age: I no longer give a sh*t.  ;)

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