I first realized that women in their middle age often become invisible when I was a teenager, watching my mother navigate her 50s. She would often urge me to engage with customer service representatives, claiming I’d receive better treatment than she would. Since turning 40, she said, she felt she’d faded from view.
I understood invisibility all too well from my childhood. As a young girl, I was often overlooked, and then, during my teenage years, I suddenly found myself in the spotlight. It was exhilarating, yet the thought of losing that attention someday weighed heavily on my mind. However, at that time, the idea of being over 40 felt like a distant worry—I had youth-related issues to focus on.
Fast forward to my 43rd birthday, and I found myself navigating the challenges of new motherhood. My body had gone through changes that felt more dramatic than history’s most famous conquests. Years spent pregnant and postpartum left me wearing clothes that my younger self would have scoffed at, often adorned with remnants of baby spit-up. I reluctantly embraced the new reality of squeezing my softer body into spandex undergarments—apologies to my grandmother for once chuckling at girdles.
In my early 40s, I feared that the invisibility that accompanied raising multiple children would transition into the obscurity of middle age.
Then, during a professional conference in my mid-40s, I encountered two remarkable women. One, in her 20s, radiated that fresh, youthful glow that only comes with age. While I still felt good for my age, I couldn’t deny that I no longer looked like that. The second woman was in her 50s, tall and graceful, with stunning gray-streaked hair. Her stylish attire and elegant accessories were captivating, reminding me that beauty can evolve beautifully with age. It was evident I wasn’t the only one enchanted by her presence; my colleagues shared the same admiration.
Observing both women filled me with a reassuring sense of peace; the young woman’s beauty was a fleeting memory, while the older woman embodied the kind of beauty I could aspire to. Our engaging discussions highlighted that, at this stage in my life, what I said mattered more than how I appeared.
Contrary to my initial fears, my 40s became a vibrant and fulfilling decade. After my fourth child, I managed to shed the baby weight once more and found myself in the best shape of my life. While I may not attract as many glances as I did in my youth, I still turn a few heads—and they’re not all gray.
As Harvard psychologist Dan Gilbert insightfully points out, humans are like unfinished works of art, often believing we’re complete. We tend to misjudge our future selves and desires, miscalculating how we’ll evolve over the years. My teenage self had no idea what my 40-something self would experience, and at 40, I misjudged what my 50s would hold. While I can’t predict what my 60s will entail, I’m grateful for the fabulous 40s I’ve had and look forward to the next chapter with anticipation.
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In summary, the fear of turning 40 is often misplaced. Embrace this decade with open arms; it may surprise you in the best ways possible.
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