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[Excerpt from my upcoming book "Aging Naked"]
Shaming experiences are deeply personal in the sense that what shames me, might not shame you and visa-versa. I find certain things shameful because of the lenses I use in life to create meaning, and those lenses were created over a lifetime of meaning-making experiences, rooted in my childhood and reinforced throughout my life. Shame is also the core driving force behind those "shoulds" I referenced earlier – beliefs we have internalized through the years that tell us whether we are good or bad, on track or off, worthy or unworthy. We all have some should-driven notions about our ideal selves – our narratives of who we believe we are (or should be), and if we veer too far off of our should-driven path, we often feel shame in response. If shame is left unchecked in our lives, we risk having the targets of our shame serve as a portal through which we view ourselves, how we think others view us, and eventually, how we view the world.
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{Excerpt from my upcoming book "Aging Naked"]
One of the driving emotions that keeps authenticity and transparency at bay is shame. Almost every woman I’ve worked with in my counseling practice has admitted to experiencing intense feelings of shame. They’re ashamed of some aspect of their personality, ashamed of feelings they have, ashamed of their bodies, ashamed of something that has happened to them, or something they did to someone else. Men feel shame as well, but because so many aspects of the female experience are stigmatized, women tend to feel shame more profoundly and holistically. There are also fewer supportive outlets where women can admit to their feelings of shame and receive support, because often in society, when a woman does admit to something she feels ashamed about—past promiscuity, low self-confidence, concerns about her body shape or size, she is likely to be shamed even more, by both men and women. Aging can exacerbate our feelings of shame in many ways and for many reasons. Several of the signs of aging tend to be highly stigmatized, particularly for women, such as graying hair, wrinkled necks, sagging breasts, weight gain, and loss of overall skin tone. Add to that the fact that 40% of women over 50 snore, which isn’t considered very feminine, and over 50% have leaking bladders, also traditionally “unfeminine.” It’s not very surprising then that many women feel ashamed and want to hide themselves, while trying desperately not to sneeze.  I have a beach cove I go to when I need some Zen time or a quiet place to write. It’s a beautiful part of Laguna Beach, my home for the past two years. It’s generally unknown to tourists, hidden away down a long path and a steep flight of stairs. There are shallow caves along the back of the cove that provide some protection from the sun in the summer, and in the winter make for some great little writing spots.
That’s where I am right now—tucked away in a shallow beach cave, writing, listening to the crashing waves inch closer to me as the tide creeps in. I have other favorite writing spots too, but I come here when I’m having an off day, which for me means a day dealing with unchecked fear and anxiety.  I read a book years ago about Chinese culture in the mid-seventeenth century. The way the story went, young girls got their feet bound so they would be desirable to a future suitor. There really were no other options available for women back then, and parents who rejected this custom were all but ensuring their daughters lived solitary lives of dependence, with no independent means of support.
The process was quite gruesome. Girls would have their feet bound with ribbons so tightly that their bones would break. Every few days the ribbons would be removed, and their feet would be rebound, until more bones would break, and eventually turn dust.  I have been told how nice I am my entire life. This is usually a great compliment to me. I love it when people tell me I'm nice, because I am nice. In fact, throughout my life I've tried my best to be kind, caring, empathetic and helpful to just about everyone I meet. These qualities are the bedrock on which much of my identity is based.
I have learned over the years though that "nice" is good, but "too nice" is not. "Too nice" is the person who doesn't like to ruffle feathers. "Too nice" is the person who is afraid to set boundaries. "Too nice" is the person who is afraid to say no. "Too nice" is the person who I used to be (and still am, sometimes).  Aging can be difficult, even for the most hardy. Our hair follicles die, our bodies ache, and our skin sags. A few weeks ago I went to a concert and had to stand for five hours and my feet still hurt (and so does my left hip).
And recently I've noticed I have to be very careful with my chin placement, especially in photos (it's either that or demand Photoshop rights from all of my friends and family), because if I don't, my once proud chin collapses into a series of smaller, less proud "chins," sliding right into my neck.  A 2014 study on women and middle age found that most women began to feel invisible and dismissed in society by the time they were 50. Among the thousands of women surveyed:
When asked what contributed to their lack of self-confidence, most of the women cited things like graying hair, having to wear reading glasses, and a lack of appropriate fashion opportunities. What a stark reality for middle-aged women! Are you wondering why these women didn't just simply dye their hair, get contacts, and go on a little shopping spree?  I have always worn masks. I didn't know I wore masks, but I did. I wore masks to protect myself, and to project images that I believed were more acceptable than the real me. I wore these masks so automatically, that I wasn't always aware of their existence.
Although I've willingly worn multiple masks throughout my life and have worked diligently to keep them all in place, at some point I began to question their necessity. This questioning peaked when I reached middle age and began to experience a growing sense of discontentment. When I turned 50 I began to yearn for more honesty, more boldness, and more courage. I yearned to be more visible, more relevant, and more cohesive. I yearned to be more authentic and more transparent. I yearned to wear fewer masks. In fact, I yearned to wear no masks at all. |
Hello!This is a blog for middle-aged women, like me, who want to live a life of increased authenticity, and greater well-being, with fewer façades, less role-playing and a lot more fun. I chose a photo with myself and my son because he is my heart. You can also find my blog posts featured on
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