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It’s Okay If You’re Mad Because Your Middle-Aged Body Is Betraying You
But hey, at least there’s hope for our brain…apparently
My dislike for middle age started with a picture my sister took of me in the wrong light.
Actually, there was nothing wrong with the light itself. It was my highlighted face in the photo that bothered me — it showed more wrinkles than I remembered, before I stood in front of a bush and let her immortalise me.
A year ago, I wrote a piece about how accepting midlife body changes helps us deal with ageing.
I meant every word — I even called our “metamorphosis” liberating. Again, that was before my picture was taken.
I don’t know about you, but I’m yet to come across a fellow woman who celebrates the loss of collagen the same way a butterfly cherishes its transformation.
Maybe a year ago, I was hoping that time would somehow stop. Freeze. Or that I’d “anti-age”.
But as of today, there are no signs of that, and I’m grateful for the eerie lighting in the bathroom first thing in the morning.
