Updated: Oct. 7, 2023
Originally Published: Aug. 2, 2008
Aging. It’s a reality that caught me off guard. Sure, some signs of aging are expected—the fine lines around my eyes and the pronounced furrows on my forehead. I’ve documented these changes with countless selfies over the years, leaning closer to the mirror each time. It’s hardly a shock, considering every skincare ad since the dawn of time has warned me that aging is inevitable and that a simple bottle of cream might hold the key to combatting it.
But the C-section scar that deepens every year? The flap of skin that seems to droop more with time? That was never on my radar. I didn’t know I was supposed to appreciate the original wound or even my knees. Who takes snapshots of their knees when they’re vibrant and youthful? Just yesterday, I stumbled upon an old photo of myself crossing a finish line fifteen years ago—no wrinkles in sight. It suddenly hit me: my knees haven’t always looked like crumpled fabric left behind in a forgotten corner.
I’ve been reflecting on so many aspects of my body. What did my midsection look like during yoga poses? I have a hard time believing it had jowls when I was 20. Back then, I was too busy despising my stomach, which resembled a ripe peach. Who knew a peach-shaped belly could be viewed negatively?
In my younger years, I probably thought collagen was a fancy soap meant for the elderly. Little did I know, it was the lifeblood of youth that vanished from my body the day I turned 42. I vividly picture those pearl-like collagen beads bouncing across the floor, slipping under the bed, lost forever.
I do my best to resist the relentless passage of time. I practice Pilates, and I still run, albeit shorter distances now due to tendonitis and plantar fasciitis. Ironically, if you consult WebMD, you’ll find that plantar fasciitis is often linked to older, heavier individuals. Don’t get me wrong—I have nothing against heavier folks. But why am I suffering from osteopenia when I’ve weighed under 120 pounds for most of my life? A redo would be nice.
But I don’t yearn for that younger version of myself—the one who loathed her peachy belly, the twenty-something lacking confidence, the woman who would’ve given anything to conceive. Those memories feel like slightly awkward relatives I’d prefer to avoid at family gatherings. I recognize the connection but wouldn’t necessarily call them friends.
As for this newer version of me—the wiser, stronger, more empowered individual—I simply wish her parts wouldn’t keep drooping and sagging, like bits of her are being packed away for a future mechanic visit.
Just yesterday, I underwent my annual mammogram. The kind nurse squeezed my slightly sagging breasts between two plates of glass, tightening the vice until I could barely breathe. Perhaps she failed to notice the sweat trickling down my back and the white-knuckled grip I had on the machine. She asked, “Are you okay?”
At that moment, I realized my breasts could be the next casualty in this aging battle, yet I reassured myself—I’d manage. The worn-out feet, brittle bones, inexplicable cholesterol issues (thanks, genetics), and the crepe-like skin are just badges of a body that once was a perfect little baby but has slowly lost its shine. It’s the nature of aging.
Throughout our lives, we transform lives, achieve milestones, raise children, and love our partners. We build careers, create art, and even bake Pinterest-worthy birthday cakes for our kids. As our souls expand and grow more vibrant with each passing year, our bodies inevitably bear the marks of this journey. The old phrase about finding comfort in love resonates deeply (thank you, Crosby, Stills, Nash, and Young).
If you can’t be with the one you love, honey, love the one you’re with.
I’m only halfway through this journey—at least, I hope I am. There will be countless more challenges and changes to navigate as I continue to care for myself and count my blessings. So now feels like the perfect moment to truly appreciate this body I inhabit—sagging breasts and all, the arms that may jiggle a bit, the thighs that still carry me forward, and the knees that may soon resemble entire crepe legs. She might not be a beauty queen, but she is mine.
“Are you okay?” the nurse asked again.
“Sure,” I gasped, through clenched teeth. “Absolutely. I’m okay.”
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Summary:
In this reflective piece, Casey Thompson navigates the complexities of aging with humor and vulnerability. She shares her experiences with body changes, the wisdom gained over the years, and the importance of embracing oneself despite inevitable transformations. As she contemplates her younger self, she ultimately recognizes the strength and resilience of her current self.