The woman opposite me is inarguably gorgeous. The luminous skin of the young, the lithe figure, the unblemished skin, the teeth white and strong. The partner? husband? next to her who clearly adores her.
But she says she is jealous of me. A 60 year old woman with none of her attributes.
Why? Because I have the confidence of a 60 year old woman. She says that she loves how when women age that they grow into themselves, become more confident – I concur. I say it’s because we have no more fucks to give. The 60 something woman next to me disagrees, she says she is on the lookout for a partner to take some off her hands. I explain that I’m speaking metaphorically.
But it’s true. I turned 50 and suddenly it didn’t matter so much. What others thought of me? Hardly of interest. Let me be the judge of my own actions, own thoughts, own utterances, own worth.
Friends concur. The best part of being an older woman is no longer trying to put yourself into a box.
Getting dressed? No longer aware/in need of the male (or female) gaze, the older woman dresses to suit herself. Decorating your abode? Stuff what’s in style – you have earned the money you are spending, it can be done how you alone want it.
Opinions? Turns out you are full of them and after a life time of biting them off or expressing them and facing the consequences now you feel free (obliged even) to express them and heaven help the naysayers.
A boring event you feel obliged to attend? Wait till you are 50… “no” becomes your favourite word! Aware that your time left to create, to love, to live is limited, you suit yourself.
Hate something in the world? Angry about poverty or racism or sexism, or the inability of governments to get the urgency of our climate crisis? Wait till you’re over 50! Your rage also becomes unleashed. Your fury can change the world. And it may well be the only thing that does.
A mother? You will continue to love your children with a passion that is scary but boundaries become your new friends. They’ll survive.
Friends? You love your friends as passionately as ever – especially the women ones who have got you through so much crap in your life, but even they have to learn to deal with your new reluctance to pander.
In a relationship? Your time of overlooking dirty clothes on the floor or dishes in the sink have departed. And reciprocity is your new byword. Everywhere.
Brave? Crazy braveness comes easy when you no longer care. I sent a message to a new love interest the other day starting off with “I know that I’m an incredible woman.”
How sad I am for my teenage self that she had none of this bravado. None of this sense of worth.
I suppose that’s what growing up in a patriarchy does for one. I absorbed the message I wasn’t enough. That I wasn’t good looking enough, quiet enough desirable enough, ok enough, from an early age.
It took until I was in my fifties to realise that I am – and always was.
It’s my 60th birthday soon and I can’t wait to see where my confidence will take me next. I hope that it doesn’t take that gorgeous woman sitting opposite me, that long to get hers. It’s apparently just, oh so attractive to ooze confidence from every pore.
The enviable confidence I now have as an older woman
