Boudica's Roar

How did I get here this near half of 90? This middle age, mid-life, midway. How do I feel when I look in the mirror; lines feather eyes, the upturn of mouth.

Society idolises the beauty of youth. Airbrushed Venus’ pout from our screens. We fight the years – buy pills and potions for fear of the ‘after.’

Middle age taunts us like a laughing clown. We run from its mirth to plough pool and pound pavement. We fight the loosening of skin that we poured into lycra.

As milestone birthdays pass it’s easy to fall into the slough. From experience, dodge the photo album’s lure – this only leads to weeping over wine.

At this middle age we can either hark back or look forward. It’s a moment to choose a cup half full versus empty. But its tempting to dwell in self pity, on the beach, in my mumsuit as bronzed nymphs breeze by – oh!

Yet we can’t turn back time. There’s still life to live. Those younger years weren’t all halcyon. My skin was smoother but insecurities hung like the beads around my neck.

I’m beginning to see that in ageing we lose and we gain. In accepting ourselves right here, right now we can start to reframe. We can map a new path.

For there’s strength in my life experience. There’s beauty in the evidence I have laughed. There’s a power in my self-knowledge – in the history that I own.

Middle age, indeed any age is bitter sweet. But life is there for living every day. It’s what we choose to do with it that counts. So I’m hanging up my hang ups. I’m saying bye bye to yesterday. I’m running towards the future with hope in my heart.