I don’t want to have to choose between vibrant but tragically overlooked midlifer and embryonic lady gammon
I am a 52-year-old woman and, therefore, becoming accustomed to being invisible. And yet I feel anything but. In fact, it’s more like being a patch of contested ground.
On one side, a strikingly articulate army of well-organised activists march forward to reassure me that I do not have to fade into obscurity despite society’s best efforts to put a giant paper bag over my head; that I have my best years ahead of me, and that a host of sparkling platforms, websites and communities are there to bolster my identity as I enter middle age and beyond. Should I want to start my own business, wear sequins to the supermarket, learn Finnish or start sheep farming, age should be no barrier. Go me!
