How I'm thinking about health and well-being after 50
Organic bubbles pop too: Making peace with uncertainty as my body and health change with age
Regardless of any headlines or studies, I’ve just turned 50 and know my health risks are going up at a faster rate. That’s just a fact of life. I can feel it too.
My body at 50 does not feel as efficient and resilient as it did at 40, and I don’t feel like a failure because of it. And I don’t think it’s all because my ovaries are “failing.” Everyone I know my age who wasn’t born with ovaries is aging right alongside me. And personally, I'm looking forward to the end of my monthly cycles. What’s so bad about changing anyway?
Still, I’m all for having evidence-based options to feel better—the more, the better, and for everyone to choose what’s right for them. But I don’t want to buy into thinking there’s a formula of options to indefinitely preserve an “optimal” state of health where feeling normal means always feeling good and never looking “old.”
Besides being a time and money drain, that “forever young” and “always healthy” magical thinking can lead to blaming. I don’t want to be blamed for “letting myself go” to the place we’re all going. Or feel like it’s my fault as my body changes in ways that make me look and feel differently, limit how I function or shorten how long I’m expected to live. No one ever should.
Pretending that my body won’t die does not make me feel better. And talking about death is not morbid. It reminds me that some risks are worth taking.
I want to approach aging with a softer stance and a sense of ease and curiosity. I want to enjoy my body in whatever state it’s in, knowing it’s such a lie that only young people can enjoy all the sensory pleasures that life brings—a lie that makes young people feel even worse when they’re feeling depressed or down.
“Don’t Panic, IT’S ORGANIC” mistake
A few years ago, my daughter bought me a MOTHER-brand T-shirt from the clothing store she worked at while in college. “Don’t Panic, IT’S ORGANIC,” it read. She gave it to me for Mother’s Day. And I got the message.
I agree 100% any time I hear someone call young people “ambassadors of the future” who should be listened to.
No, I’ve never been a full-on “almond mom.” And I’ve always been careful to avoid body-shaming language. (Besides being cruel, I never understood why it mattered so much how someone looked or why looking one certain way was “better” than another.) But regretfully, I’ve worried too much about eating “healthy” foods and (damn it) staying a “healthy” thin—which I swore I’d never do.
I’m learning that how other people see you view and take care of yourself can matter more than how you tell them to care for and view themselves. I should’ve known this. I experienced this long ago.
I remember watching my mom saying awful things about her body while trying to stuff her lower half into torturous non-stretch size 5’s or 7’s (which were more like today’s size 2’s). I “felt fat” at that moment and hated my body right along with her.
But my mom saw me as a more perfect version of herself. She couldn’t imagine me ever feeling bad about my body, which was somehow better than hers. I’ve felt the same way about my own daughter, assuming everything would be easier for her because she’s so amazing simply as-is, as herself. No self-improvement needed.
I don’t hold to heart many of my dad’s sayings, but the “Don’t forget the first three words of the word assume” adage he overused is worth remembering.
Listening and noticing is the only way to know how you’re affecting other people.
Worrying about what might
A lot of my almond-ish tendencies came from worries rooted in life experiences, and I imagine that’s true for a lot people. Once something bad happens, of course, it can happen again. So you worry about anything bad happening to the people you love and want to do whatever you can to keep them safe. And you worry about yourself, too, with the added worry of how getting sick might impact them.
I’ve been worried about something bad happening for as long as I can remember. One of my earliest memories is when my mom nearly died when I was barely three. My baby brother and I stayed with strangers for a week while she was in the hospital. Every time after that, when my mom was sick—which was often—I felt panicked, scared and helpless. And when I saw my stepdad slowly die as his liver slowly shut down during my teen years, I learned in more ways all the painfully awful things that can happen in a body.
Wellness world’s organic bubble seemed so appealing when I had a family of my own. In some ways, it seemed like a step up on the meritocratic ladder. I had the middle-class life my mom never had. Half an income bracket up, I wanted to give my kids the extra safety and opportunities I didn’t have—but I knew my mom would’ve given me if she could. Giving that life to my kids was also like honoring her.
“Organic” bubbles burst too
In the aughts, safety and wellness were newly for sale in a world wide web sort of way. Baby-proofing, brain-boosting, and statically proven stuff multiplied as inside secrets with outsized results spread. There was lots to know, to buy, and to do. And always new ways to watch how you ate. Free-from-this foods and others made super by that, powerful, 100% Whole and always, ALWAYS 365 Organic—every damn day.
But organic bubbles burst too. And that bubble has since popped. My concerns about my older kids are very different from when they were young. Grudgingly, I’ve given up thinking I can always keep them safe—or “keep them,” period. Plus, my own risk calculus at 50 feels different too.
Don’t get me wrong, many make-life-healthier or safer things I’m so grateful for and want for everyone. But there’s some point where that extra, added layer of theoretical or wishful protection or added focus on the minutiae of living ends up bringing an anxiety that’s contagious, a false sense of security and even a distance—a distance that divides in some way sociologists can explain but is palpable and feels wrong.
Focusing beyond the physical body also frees up space to focus more on community, mental, and spiritual health—all of which seem more to do with overall well-being for everyone all around.
And doesn’t everyone have a spiritual side? My husband isn’t religious but finds his something bigger and more in the great outdoors on his lone treks or overnight stays in the woods.
I never want to be stuck in a bubble again. What could feel less organic than that?
Whatever I want
This past year, I’ve been moving more towards eating whatever I want—for myself and anyone watching. Obviously, if something doesn’t make me feel good afterward (in my body, not my messed-up mind), then I factor that in. And if I had medical reasons to eat a certain way, I would. But I mostly focus on eating more of what I want and getting enough rather than limiting.
I’m also liking to wear dresses more because they feel freeing and less restrictive. And I’m not pushing my body if I don’t have to and don’t want to. I wanna be like I see young kids—free to move in whatever feels fun whenever energy in my body needs somewhere to go.
My mom has severe osteoporosis, at least partly from not having enough food to eat early in life. She was shamed in the 1950s for being the skinniest kid in her grade. Then when she had enough food as an adult, the pressure to stay skinny kept her from eating it. People are blamed when they’re deprived and then praised when they deprive themselves. Why is that?
Counting calories, smoking instead of snacking, and saying “No thank you, I’m full” when you wanted more—those dieting-culture norms had pay-now costs then and pay-later costs coming due now.
I’m trying to hang onto as much weight as I can. I have some weights to help me hold on to muscle. Just minutes here and there has an outsized impact you almost instantly feel. Still, I know my bones might start thinning too quickly. If they do, I plan to catch it early and take advantage of the osteoporosis treatments available.
I never wanted anyone to feel like they needed to make themselves smaller in any way. Now, I’m wanting that for myself too.
Learning how to live better with more uncertainty in the body seems like a worthwhile goal even before it feels or becomes necessary.
Finding peace
By letting go of the pretense that I can control everything going on inside my body, it’s easier to accept, enjoy (yes, enjoy!), and take care of the body I’ve got in whatever state it’s in as it changes over time.
I don’t ever want to turn myself into a testimonial—of anything. But I do like sharing ways of processing or thinking about life, and I like hearing how other people are doing the same. Below are what’s guiding me as I figure out how to live in my body, especially after 50.
I don’t want to live forever, but I can imagine always wanting just one more day. So I try to balance both in my choices now that might affect my future health.
I follow general health, preventative care, and screening guidance based on my own risk factors as best I can because I know they’ll improve my odds for better health outcomes. I try to set them on auto-pilot so I don’t forget or skip out.
I try to tune out miracle-cure clickbait and to-do lists of things I don’t have the time and money for. Still, I want to stay curious and open to new possibilities. It’s always okay to ask, wonder and want to know more.
I stay away from content that feels manipulative, with the main point being to provoke anxiety or turn me into a follower to places I know I don’t want to go.
It’s always OK to unfollow, change my focus, and change my mind—even last minute.
If something feels wrong in my own headspace and body, I talk about it and seek out care if needed.
I accept that modern medicine isn’t perfect, but I know it can often improve (and sometimes prevent) many health conditions and unwanted outcomes.
In addition to traditional medicine, I look for supportive measures and rituals that feel right to me. They matter too, even if there’s no proof that doing things that make me feel good or regulated could actually make me better. If there’s no harm, then it’s all upside to me.
But no matter what I choose to do, I don’t want to judge people who make different decisions about how to take care of their own bodies. That feels so wrong.
Individual decisions aside, caring for health should be built into the culture and built around everyone so it’s not leaving people out, overwhelmed, or overburdened. And in the end, no matter the outcome, no one should ever be blamed for being unwell or needing help. Blaming someone who gets sick or has any kind of health challenge is the worst.
Did our 30th wedding anniversary on July 30th count as golden? It felt like it did.
My husband and I were married 30 years ago this past July. Our wedding was on a whim and on a low budget. I wore Keds and a sundress from The Limited with the tags on so I could return it the next day. (This year, I bought a new sundress, for keeps.)
Brian’s artist soul drew me in. I had no doubt about marrying him because of how well he treated not just me, but everyone. Finding him is the most lucky I’ve been.
Related recs
’s Substack “shares and elevates stories of humans living with chronic illness and disability”—through documentaries, interviews and stories. Kimberly also shares her memoir and experiences of living with a rare neurological disorder. Her writing is gorgeous and her heart is huge.I love
’s Sunday Links (“Stuff I read, stuff I like”) on her Substack . I appreciate Kathleen’s suggestions, including the sundress splurge I’m wearing above. But, more than her link sharing, I especially love Kathleen’s personal essays, like this one, or this or this—actually, every single one. Everything she shares makes you feel better or less alone in some way, and what could be better than that?I love listening to Christina Applegate and Jamie-Lynn Sigler’s MeSsy podcast. They talk candidly about living with MS (multiple sclerosis), which I’m sure is hugely helpful for people experiencing something similar. Their conversations about living with uncertainty could be relatable and helpful for everyone.
Forget what’s next on the horizon. Savor the view now.
A living alarm clock—that’s what I’ve always felt like, having a fidgety internal hum counting down to the next “what’s next.” My one life to live feels like a jumble of timelines—intersecting ones, sequential ones, and others random and out of place—each competing for my attention, covering up old abandoned or forgotten ones. But ultimately timelines are all unforgiving. There’s no doing-over or real-time catching up. At some point, an end is an end.
Thank you so much and please apologize to your wallet for me.
"People are blamed when they’re deprived and then praised when they deprive themselves." Ugggh, this is SO true and SO well stated.