Whoever called these the “golden years” clearly had excellent knees.
Because aging is not for sissies.
It’s for warriors.
And by warriors, I mean women who can sleep wrong and somehow injure themselves.
When I was 25, I could stay out until 2 a.m., eat questionable food at midnight, sleep four hours and still go to work looking reasonably human.
Now?
If I use the wrong pillow, I need three business days to recover.
Getting older requires a level of courage nobody warned us about.
Every morning starts with a quick systems check.
Feet on floor.
Pause.
Knees functioning?
Back cooperating?
Any mysterious new pain?
Excellent. Proceed to coffee.
And let’s talk about getting up from the floor.
At some point in life, getting down on the floor stops being a casual activity and becomes a commitment.
You don’t just sit on the floor anymore.
You look around first.
“If I go down there… what am I using to get back up?”
Coffee table?
Chair?
Dog?
Because once you’re down there, you might as well accomplish everything that needs doing at floor level.
Pick up the sock.
Look under the couch.
Find the missing remote.
Dust the baseboard.
You’re not making this trip twice.
Then there are the sounds.
Not the sounds around us.
The sounds WE make.
The little grunt getting out of the car.
The “ooof” when bending over.
The “ahhhh” when finally sitting down.
At some point our bodies apparently come with their own sound effects.
And why does everything suddenly require glasses?
Read a menu?
Glasses.
Read a label?
Glasses.
See the expiry date?
Glasses plus bright light plus holding the package approximately six feet away.
I’ve stood in a grocery store aisle trying to read tiny instructions while moving a box back and forth like I’m playing a trombone.
But here’s the thing.
We’ve earned every bit of this.
We’ve raised families, worked jobs, paid bills, survived heartbreak, moved houses, lost people we loved, worried ourselves sick over things that eventually worked out, and learned that half the things we stressed about at 30 weren’t worth the wrinkle they gave us.
We’ve learned how to say no.
We’ve learned that comfortable shoes are not surrender.
We’ve learned that cancelling plans can be downright delightful.
And we’ve finally reached the glorious age where we don’t need everyone to like us.
That’s freedom, ladies.
So yes, aging comes with reading glasses scattered throughout the house, mystery bruises we don’t remember getting, joints that occasionally predict rain, and a bedtime that would have horrified our younger selves.
But look at us.
We’re still here.
Still laughing.
Still learning.
Still loving.
Still making plans.
Still buying purses we absolutely do not need.
And still getting back up off that floor.
Eventually.
So the next time you catch yourself complaining about getting older, remember:
Aging is not for sissies.
It’s for women who’ve been through enough to know exactly who they are.
It’s for survivors.
It’s for warriors.
Warriors who occasionally need Advil, a heating pad and somebody to tell us where we left our glasses.
And if you happen to find mine…
They’re probably on top of my head.
— Arctic Blonde Society ❄️👓
