It’s a weird one. I don’t consider myself middle aged. My mum brought this up today. She said something like “now you’ll see how horrible it is to be a middle aged woman. Not being able to look good against younger women. Think how hard it will be to find someone!!” I have to love her for her practical yet dementia addled stance on these matters. But it has gnawed it’s way in to my head now and I need to think about this. I’m 45 in march. I certainly don’t feel old. I’ve definitely done 45 years of things but I actually feel totally refreshed now. Itching to do more. Especially now I’ve left my job. Everything from now on will be done by Jayes hand, not a handover between him and me. It’s feels good to have a clean slate so to speak. I definitely understand the older woman vs younger woman thing but I’m too busy getting myself together to stress out about that. I look at all the women around me, young, old, cis and trans and see all sorts if things that I like, want to try and want to feel. I’m too busy enjoying all of this to worry about not being attractive or viable. I am lonely, it would be nice to hold someone and for them to hold me. It would be lovely to find someone to share this with but I need to find myself before I find someone else. The first movement in this transition has been about clearing the yard, setting the scene, prepping the work area, cleaning my brushes. A redactive process of steering myself away from all that hurt, sadness and disfunction. This next movement is about doing things, making marks, adding colour, shape and line. Exploration and connection.
Middle age just means the second movement. It can’t be over as I’ve only just started. 45 is just a number.