Alive and Aging

I wouldn't want it any other way

I’m just putting it out there that anti-aging is weird.

The whole concept and multi-billion dollar/euro/pound industry that it is. All of it is just flucking weird.

Because… if you don’t age, aren’t you dead?!

I feel like aging is a privilege. I mean, you survive your birth (tick). You survive your childhood (tick). Like that time when your dad took you on his motorcycle when you were three but instead of putting you at the front, he made you hold onto him at the back. And the time when he taught you to whittle when you were four and you ‘only’ sliced your thumb open. And the time we sat in beanbags in the back of a panel van with no seatbelts (because 1980s). And the time you scaled a cliff with backpacks on and no ropes. And the time you don’t remember getting home (because alcohol + teenager). Survived all that.

I quite like the fact I’m alive and aging.

I don’t love all the aspects of it. I mean, the chin hairs can fluck off. So can the hot flushes, brain fog, and dry skin. But I mean, there are tweezers, moisturisers, and Co-Enzyme Q10 (flucking amazing for helping the fog).

So why for the love of a flucking good fluck do women keep buying into the next bloody cure, thing, or fad and spend a ga-squillion dollars/euros/pounds on making some other flucker rich?

I know I know…marketing and psychology and shit. But I feel sad that there are women who have paid way too much moolah for surgery to look like all the other women who’ve had surgery—those weird sausage lips and strange cheekbones. I guess they make the caterpillar eyelashes look okay.

Why can’t we embrace our aging bodies?

I know that when I’m ninety I’ll look back at my fifty-year-old self and think “What a hottie!” I know the women I hang out with who are over 70 (yes, I have cool older women friends) look at me at 50 and think I’m a young thing.

It’s all relative. And the alternative is a bit shit.

In a perfect world, we’d all be loving ourselves sick. Looking in the mirror, and instead of screaming in horror at the visage before us, we’d be checking out that hottie, loving every centimetre of her.

I’ve become quite proactive about getting rid of those ads on the other social media platforms that have ads (thank Goddess Substack is ad-free!). I don’t want five tips to make me look younger, or to subscribe to a plastic surgeon who will sandblast my skin off so I look like some kind of weird, pink salamander in the hope my 'new’ skin will grow back and look like a baby’s derriere.

Part of what made me want to rant on the page and share it was an ad that popped up the other day with former-supermodel-turned-snake-oil-peddler Elle McPhearson. This might initially sound a little harsh but she’s turned her shiny former-supermodel self into a wellness expert and is selling shit to make us all young again. I mean, she’s a stunning human, and I remember loving her on the cover of Dolly magazine, all beach-bronzed and with long legs. She was in a film once, but who remembers the name of that? And now she’s pushing some wonder powder or tablet or something (I admit—I did subscribe but then unsubscribed before I could take in what the heck she was selling).

She’s working with a medical professional though. That makes it okay, doesn’t it?

Of course it flucking doesn’t!!

She’s simply cashing in on our fears of aging and the self-hatred many of us have about our changing bodies. Of course, her wonder powder-thingy might actually work but I’m not parting with my cash to try it. (And if you have tried it and it works, let us know) Because I don’t want to be ruled by fear of getting older and a deep hatred for who I am now.

It makes me sad. Because we have one life. (Although I do believe we probably have more than one but only one that we’re conscious about). It’s now. Now and now and now. Over and over. With aging skin and laugh lines. With perimenopause, menopause and post-menopause. All the women’s pauses. (I sometimes write manopause which always makes me chuckle.)

We can do a lot with how we feel (creaky, sore, tired) by tweaking our diet (those blue zones have it right), walking daily, and doing a bit of yoga or Qi Gong. A dose of acceptance and going gently on ourselves and into our day.

Can we start looking at ourselves like our best friend does—with the wonderful knowing that you’re an amazing human? Funny, kind, caring, wise, brave, vulnerable, and gorgeous.

Because life is too short to hate yourself.

Lisa x

---

📚 Download my free e-book, The Art of Being Here for some simple yet excellent ways you can reclaim a little more presence and self-love.
🌟Sign up for regular tips on living a mindful life with a generous dose of self-compassion.