The fifties, a decade of changes, once known as the time in a woman’s life as ‘the change’. In the beginnings I joyfully embraced this season of freedom to wear white pants every day of the month. Rediscovered the new me, without the highs and lows of hormone fluctuation. Added to the physical changes were family changes, as the rooms of our children began to empty, as changes in hubby’s career meant less demands on myself.
Now, sitting squarely in the middle of this decade, along with the pounds that refuse to budge, the aches that come from sleeping too long on one side as opposed to tenacious physical exertion, the fatigue that seems to never go away, the hairs that grow inches in the night on chin (only to be discovered after the work day), the wings that have developed from the flesh of my upper arms, the tugs (real and perceived) of generations before and beyond, the areas of life where one of this stage is simply no longer needed … one might wonder about identity, purpose.
“I used to float,
now I just fall down
I used to know,
but I’m not sure now
What I was made for?”
-Billie Eilish
Yet, there is something more to being a woman in her fifties, more than the oft common feeling of being dried up and drifting …
There is a connection, a solidarity with all women, of all ages.
A woman shared a new song with me. It was the same day a young mum at church was holding her precious child, bellowing loudly his hunger, unhappiness, fatigue (so many reasons to bellow in this life). The same day a young woman shared her thankfulness for her foster mum who taught her what her mum of blood and flesh and DNA could not, due to her dependence of drugs. The same day a friend messaged it’s time for an ice cream, even though we will probably need to wait until the end of the school year. The same day a young man, living away from family, came for dinner and the realization set in that this is how we fulfil vows made by a congregation to one who is baptized or become a member. As I looked across the room to one who has become like a daughter, whose own momma lives so far away,
I smiled as I realized the grace in being a woman, loving for other women, loving other’s children, supporting each other, lifting each other up, laughing and crying with other women. A word, a touch, a connection whispering into the souls of other women.
“She’s the artist that paints in the colours unseen
Every stroke of her brush is an act of belief
She’s a true work of art
She is playing her part of a woman
What a woman”
That Woman
itsawonderfilledlife 