Embracing the Crone ~ Accepting the face in the mirror

I’ve been thinking a lot about growing older lately. I suppose my mind has been dwelling on the ageing process because my mum is now in her eighties and it’s finally dawned on me that she’s an old lady. Her increasing frailty is heartrending, and she seems to have shrunk in height which, given she was only just over five feet tall at her peak, is a bit worrying. She’s still as stubborn as ever, though. Despite having had a couple of falls in the house she refuses to use a walking frame, insisting they’re for old people. How old do you have to be?

And, because my mum and her remaining cousins are all of that age, I’m realising that I’m no spring chicken any longer either. Not that it’s been in any doubt for some time, given the amount of aches and pains I have these days. I suppose I’ve just not given it any headspace, because who wants to dwell on that?

But having my photo taken recently and, even worse, appearing on YouTube videos, has shown me that I can no longer deny that I’m getting older. I’ve lost quite a bit of weight over the last year, and sad to say it’s shown on my face. My wrinkles have wrinkles! When I look in the mirror I take a step back in shock. Whose old face is that, for goodness’ sake? It’s not helped by the fact that I have to use the magnifying side either, as my poor old eyes can no longer see well enough to put mascara on. So I get to see the wrinkles enlarged! Marvellous.

How did getting older happen to me? I have absolutely no idea. It seems like only yesterday I was in my bedroom back at my parents' home, recording Paul Gambaccini's countdown of the American Top Forty and trying desperately to hit the stop button on my cassette recorder before he started talking over the songs again.

I don't know where all that time went. I was just fifteen last week! I don't get Smash Hits or Jackie or My Guy through the letterbox any more. I get funeral plans and offers of cheaper life insurance!  It's baffling to me that I can possibly be this age. I’m older than my dad was when he passed away and how can that be right?

He always used to say to me that you never really feel any older in your mind and he was right, though I doubt I believed him at the time. I was too busy having fun, believing the world belonged to my generation. It was all possible then. Fifteen years old, discovering my own powers, keen and eager to explore life…

Ah, happy days! Until the tape snapped that is.

The last time I went clubbing - I kid you not - I don't think I was even old enough to be in the nightclub legally. It's funny how most of my social life occurred before I was even of an age to drink. But, oh, the fun we had back then! Dressing up, slapping on the make up, trying to look sophisticated so that no one would ask me if I was eighteen. Wearing Miners denim blue eyeshadow and blue kohl eyeliner, and cherry-flavoured lip gloss! Wishing I dared dye my hair blonde so I could be like my heroines, Debbie Harry and Agnetha from Abba.

In those days, no one had photo ID. No one really seemed that bothered about proof of age. I remember going to see Saturday Night Fever at the local cinema without a scrap of make up on because I was running late and would have missed the bus if I’d stopped to put some on. It was an X certificate (eighteen and over) and I was fourteen years old at the time. No questions asked.

In you go, enjoy the film.

Ooh I did...I really did! Though hearing the F-word spoken with an American accent for the first time in our lives amused my friend and I so much that we had to imitate it all the way home. Yes, that's how mature and sophisticated we were. No wonder we got in so easily.

I was a young mum - nineteen years old when I had my first child. So really, after that, clubbing was the last thing on my mind. I stayed at home, looking after my young family and bit by bit my confidence ebbed away, and the thought of going out at all socially became a terror to be avoided at all costs. I suppose the good thing about getting older is that you become more confident. I'm not sure why. When I look back at photos of my young self I can see that I was quite a decent looking person. I certainly had no reason to hide away from the world the way I did. Yet, I rarely went out and the thought of going to a club or a party was enough to bring on a panic attack. I was constantly apologising for myself. Strange.

Me with some of my family. I was just thirteen. Would you believe I wouldn’t go out without a coat because I thought I was too fat?

Now I don't look anywhere near as good as I did then.  But somehow, I am more at ease with myself, and feel more able to face up to strangers than I did before. Maybe it's because, having lived through so much I can see that it's the person that matters, not the outer shell. I’m more interested in other people and their lives now rather than being totally absorbed in what they must be thinking of me.

Don't get me wrong, I still get nervous and I still have to psyche myself up to get out there, but I am going out there! I may be scared and still feel nervy but I can make myself do it and nine times out of ten I really enjoy myself having made the leap.

And the main thing is, I like me now. I spent a lot of years beating myself up for not being perfect, not being "as good" as everyone else. Who these mythical people with their perfect lives were I have no idea. Age brings the wisdom to recognise that no one has a perfect life and everyone makes mistakes, has worries and doubts, fears, insecurities. I'm not that special after all!

And I have survived! I have battle scars to prove it - physical and mental. I’m proud of the way I coped with the difficulties and obstacles in my life. I’m stronger than I ever thought I could be, and it's only now looking back at it all that I can see that.

With age comes an almost inevitable process of looking back, and for a time I started questioning my life, growing restless, scared. All this life...all these years, and what had I achieved? I felt useless and was becoming increasingly aware of my own mortality. It's hard when people you were at school with start shuffling off the mortal coil, and I've heard about a few in the last year or two. It's scary stuff.

They say that there are three stages of a woman's life - aspects of the triple goddess, if you like. (I do.) They are, maiden, mother and crone. I think the problem with me is that I didn't make full use of the time when I  was in the maiden phase. My shyness and insecurities kept me prisoner and I wasted all that precious youth hiding away from the world.

Ohhh… My kids are going to kill me for this!

Then, when I was a mother, I was so harrassed and stressed, and struggling so much with financial and personal problems that I wished those days away, too. There is nothing  guaranteed to make me cry more than seeing old videos and photos of my five kids when they were little. Remembering a house full of noise and chatter, laughter and tears, kids fighting, endless Disney films playing over and over again, spilled drinks, frantic mornings getting them all up and ready for school, chicken pox, and Christmas mornings and family holidays... Oh how I miss them all, and yet, when they were little I longed for them to be grown up so that my life would be peaceful.

And  now, I have to say, I feel my days as a crone are approaching. Let’s be honest, they may already be here. At what age do you accept cronedom? Is it a fixed point in time, or a feeling? I’ve still got a few years before I’m officially a pensioner, so maybe I’m not a crone yet either?

Is cronedom linked to pensions?

Who knows?

I do know that my grandchildren definitely see me as a crone. Some of them have made it very clear that they view me as positively ancient!

How do I feel about that? Well, a bit scared, obviously. It's weird to think that you've had most of your life and what's ahead of you is less than you've already had.

On the other hand, having wished my time as maiden and mother away, I think it's only right that I make the most of my time as the crone. After all, if I wish that time away, too, there's not an awful lot left, is there?

I think being a crone suits me, don’t you?

Anyway, being a crone can be a very positive thing. Crones have more patience, more wisdom. They know what they want and what they don't want. There’s time to look closely and honestly at their lives and think about themselves rather than others; to surround themselves with people they love, do the things they want to do, and stop worrying so much about what other people think about them.  

Crones don’t have to worry about bringing up children. They may have the pleasure of grandchildren (I'm lucky. I have nine beautiful grandchildren and I love them all to pieces.) But when the day is done, they also have the relief of handing them back to their parents and claiming back their space and time.

And by this point in their lives, crones have hopefully discovered who they really are and can surround themselves with like-minded people. Friends who bring them joy, and a space where they can be their true selves. No more trying to impress. No more trying to keep up with other people, or be cool, or fit in with the crowd. There’s an acceptance that they are who they are. At this age they’re unlikely to change, and it’s okay. Personally, I’m fine with that now. I don’t have to be anyone else. What a relief that realisation brings!

I honestly feel happier and more contented now than I ever have. I can look back without too many regrets, realising that whatever happened brought me to the place I am now and made me the person I am. I’m happy where I am. I like who I am. Why should I have regrets? And, anyway, I still have loads to look forward to. Places to go. People to meet. Books to write. Books to read!

So, all in all, I think I will embrace the crone and do my utmost to enjoy my life now. I believe I’ve earned that right, and maybe cronedom is actually a gift. A reward for all that we’ve survived and learned. Old age isn’t granted to everyone after all. We should remember that and make the most of every day.

Have a great week!