I don’t remember agreeing to any of this.
Apparently somewhere around 53, the rules change and there is no handbook for it.
Let’s start with hormones.
What the hell is going on with this body of mine?
Actually, is it even mine anymore?
Because there are days I would genuinely like to climb out of my own skin.
And the hot flashes.
Can we talk about the hot flashes?
Hot flashes should seriously come with a handbook.
Congratulations! You’ve reached this exciting stage of womanhood. You will now spontaneously combust for absolutely no reason.
One minute I’m hot.
Not regular hot.
HOT.
Like, get these clothes off my body immediately hot.
Five minutes later?
I’m freezing.
Apparently my internal thermostat has completely given up and is just pushing buttons at random now.
Then there’s the brain fog.
Some days I feel like I’m walking around inside a cloud. It’s this weird, hazy, almost out-of-body feeling where I’m functioning, talking, working and doing all the normal things…
But part of my brain is apparently buffering.
I don’t know how to explain to my husband that an alien has taken over my body!
And sleep.
I vaguely remember sleep.
Before 53, my head would hit the pillow and I’d wake up eight hours later.
That was it.
I did not appreciate that nearly enough.
Now I have trouble falling asleep. Then I finally fall asleep, wake up because I have to pee, and spend the next however-long trying to convince my brain that 2:47 a.m. is NOT the appropriate time to review every decision I’ve made since 1989.
Some nights I swear I’m awake more than I’m asleep.
And while my body is apparently going through some sort of hostile takeover, something else happened.
My kids grew up.
Like…all the way up.
They’re out there doing adult things. Building their own lives. Making their own decisions.
They don’t need me the way they used to.
And the strangest part?
I’m not the #1 woman in their lives anymore.
And that’s exactly how it should be.
I wouldn’t want it any other way.
I have beautiful, smart daughters-in-love whom my sons adore. I raised my boys to grow up, build lives of their own and hopefully find women they love. I prayed for these young women and God faithfully answered.
And now they’re doing exactly that.
But nobody really prepares you for how beautiful and weird that transition is.
You spend decades being needed.
Mom, where are my shoes?
Mom, what’s for dinner?
Mom, can you take me…
Mom, can you help me…
Mom.
Mom.
MOM.
And then one day…
They’re fine.
And now I’ve entered another strange stage of 53.
Waiting for grandbabies.
Some days I cannot freaking wait.
Give me the babies.
I want the snuggles. The smell. The tiny clothes. The little person calling me whatever grandmother name they eventually decide and hope it doesn’t make me sound 87. Im thinking Nonna.
And then there are days when I look around at this absolutely crazy world and think…
You know what?
I’m good waiting.
Because having grandchildren means putting another piece of your heart out into a world you can’t control.
I’ve already got four giant pieces of mine walking around out there.
I’m not sure my nervous system needs another one just yet.
So here I am.
53!
Hot.
Cold.
Tired.
Foggy.
Occasionally wondering why I walked into a room.
Watching my kids build lives that don’t revolve around me anymore.
Waiting for babies I’m desperate for and perfectly happy to wait for.
And trying to figure out exactly what the rules are for this part of life.
But here’s the thing.
I actually really like 53.
Sure, I’d like my hormones to calm the hell down and I’d appreciate eight uninterrupted hours of sleep again.
But 53 has given me something I didn’t have when I was younger.
I’ve lost a lot of my give-a-$#*^ about nonsense.
And let me tell you, that is incredibly freeing.
I don’t have the energy for drama anymore.
I don’t want to spend hours analyzing why someone said what they said, what they meant by it, whether they’re mad at me or what I should have said differently.
At some point, you just get tired.
Not physically tired.
Although…yes.
Obviously that too. 😂
You get tired of carrying everyone else”s stuff that doesn’t belong to you.
Other people’s moods.
Other people’s opinions.
Other people’s negativity.
Other people’s expectations of who you’re supposed to be.
And eventually you arrive at this beautiful place called:
I JUST DON’T CARE.
Not in a mean way.
Not in an I don’t care about anybody way.
More like…
I’m finally learning what deserves my energy and what doesn’t.
And this is a whole new world for me because I am a people pleaser.
I’ve spent a good portion of my life making sure everybody else is okay.
Are you happy?
Are you comfortable?
Are you upset with me?
What can I do?
What do you need?
How can I fix it?
Apparently at 53 you start realizing:
Other people’s happiness is not my full-time job.
Who knew? 😂
I’m learning to let things go.
I’m learning that someone can be disappointed with me and I don’t have to immediately fix it.
Someone can misunderstand me and I don’t have to write a 14-page dissertation explaining myself.
Someone can have an opinion about me…
and I can go water my flowers.
Honestly, I think this might be my favorite part of getting older.
I like the simplicity I’m learning to choose for my life.
I like staying home.
I like gardening.
I like quiet.
And apparently, I like chickens now.
I have three hens.
Darla. Dot. And Pepper.
I had absolutely NO idea how much work three chickens could possibly be.
They’re chickens.
How hard could it be?
Apparently very.
I have a love/hate relationship with these ridiculous birds.
I love them.
I enjoy watching them.
They make me laugh.
And they can piss me off faster than you would think three animals with brains the size of peas should be able to.
But there’s something about going outside, watering my plants, checking on Darla, Dot and Pepper, puttering around my yard and just being home that makes me happy.
And maybe younger me wouldn’t have understood that.
Younger me was busy.
Raising four boys. Working. Church. Bible studies. Serving. Trying to keep everybody happy. Trying to be everything everybody needed me to be.
53-year-old me?
She’s starting to understand the beauty of a quieter life.
Not a boring life.
A life I actually get to choose.
Maybe that’s the trade-off.
My body is getting weirder.
My kids need me less.
Sleep has apparently left the building.
My metabolism and I are no longer on speaking terms.
But for the first time in my life…
I need less too.
Less noise.
Less approval.
Less drama.
Less explaining.
Less trying to make everybody happy.
I want more time at home.
More flowers.
More laughter.
More time with the people I love.
More date nights with my husband.
More mornings outside with my coffee.
And yes, apparently more chickens.
Although three is enough.
Seriously. Three is enough. 😂
I don’t have this stage of life figured out.
Some days I’m embracing it.
Some days I’m googling, “Is this normal at 53?”
And some days I’d just really like to sleep through the damn night.
But I’m beginning to realize that getting older isn’t only about what I’m losing.
There’s a lot I’m gaining too.
Confidence.
Perspective.
Simplicity.
The ability to let shit go.
And maybe most importantly, the freedom to finally build a life around some of the things I actually want.
So yes…
Apparently 53 has its own set of rules.
Some of them are ridiculous.
Some of them I’d like to return.
But some of them?
I think I’m going to like very much. 🌼
