As I shrugged off my sweater, I turned my back to the mirror, letting my sunglasses tumble from my head into the ever-growing pile of belongings collected in the corner—jacket, messy handbag, scarf, and cell phone.
I didn’t need to look at my reflection. I already knew what I would see.
Leaning against the wall, I absentmindedly scratched a dry patch on my hand. My back was aching, and I shifted uncomfortably on my feet. Was that a signal from my bladder? I decided to ignore it; it hadn’t been long since my last trip to the restroom anyway.
“Alright, dear! Let’s see what we have here!” The stylist was warm and inviting, her dark hair framing her face beautifully as she smiled with genuine enthusiasm.
I returned her smile, albeit a weary one. Catching a glimpse of my profile in the mirror, I noticed how everything seemed to droop, as if my body was finally ready to relax after years of effort.
Without any judgment, she assessed me and declared, “You’re definitely in the wrong size! Let’s get you fitted properly!” With that, she dashed away, leaving me feeling a surge of hope.
Her words ignited a spark in my heart, and I turned back to the mirror, feeling a mix of skepticism and excitement over the prospect of feeling “up!”
When did I start feeling this way? The aching back, the tired feet, and the dry hands that seemed to mirror my grandmother’s—long, knobby fingers etched with lines.
Was it an overnight transformation? Did it quietly happen in the dark hours between my 40th birthday last year and my upcoming 41st? I can’t recall a specific morning when I woke up feeling different—older, sweatier, grayer. Despite how much I sleep, the reflection that stares back at me resembles a wise raccoon, and my breasts feel heavier and more sagging with each passing day.
I pondered when I began to notice that I could smell like a teenager in need of a shower or when my bras suddenly became uncomfortably small. Puberty for those of us in our forties? I don’t recall the details from my teenage years, but I do know that there’s little I can control and far too much to let go of, including my sagging breasts.
“Okay, sweetie, what do you think of these?” She presented me with stunning lace bras in cream and black, pale pink and purple. The delicate colors took my breath away, but it was the wide satin straps and supportive underwire that truly captivated me.
No matter how boldly time marches over my body, I refuse to let my breasts be victims of this hormonal battle. She expertly hooked, adjusted, and positioned the bras on me with the precision of a drill sergeant, all while remaining gentle, kind, and empathetic. Before long, we were sharing laughs and gossiping like old friends.
My hair seems to turn gray when no one is watching, and every time I sneeze or laugh too hard, I experience a little mishap. It’s bewildering and confusing how these changes occur, as if I’m not fully present in my own body. It can feel scary to be so out of control.
But it doesn’t have to be this way. I could do Kegels (which I don’t, but I probably should) to giggle and sneeze freely without embarrassment. I can purchase a lovely new bra from someone who is excited to help me find the right fit, one that feels comfortable and supportive. And I can look at my dry, wrinkling hands and smile, knowing I carry a piece of my grandmother with me.
I took one last glance in the mirror, smiled genuinely, and wrapped my new friend in a grateful hug. Gathering my purchases, I walked out of the store with my head held high, feeling empowered.
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Summary
Turning 40 can bring unexpected changes, both physically and emotionally, as you navigate the transition into your forties. The author reflects on her experiences with aging, self-image, and the joys of finding support through new friendships. Embracing these changes can lead to empowerment and renewed confidence.