How old is old?

I am coming up to another birthday and I have been contemplating ageing, and how my definition of “old” has changed as I have added to my years.

When I was a child, I remember thinking that anyone who was counted as an adult was old. My twenties were supposed to be the pinnacle of my life. I had planned to be married (managed to scrape that one in after two aborted efforts), with children (again, a very close call, but I delivered one) and a house. Ticked that one at the latter end too.

On my 30th birthday, I cried. I thought my life was over. My thirties saw me spiralling downwards with a failed marriage, undiagnosed depression, and what I still consider to be harsh treatment from my church, effectively cutting me out of activities which I had buried myself in. I was lost at sea in a storm without an anchor or any sight of land. It was a dark time.

But as I neared the end of my thirties, something happened. I did some deep thinking about my doomed relationships and recognised that the seeds of failure were present right from their inception. I realised I shouldn’t be relying on other people or my good deeds to frame who I am. I started to nurture my female friends, discovering a wonderful bond which I had never realised could exist. I separated God from the church and was able to find forgiveness in my heart.

By the time I hit my forties, I was a different woman. I had a new church, a new relationship, and had plucked up the courage to admit to my Dr that I was struggling with my mental health. I blossomed. I was learning to love myself (an ongoing task) and found a new purpose. Even when my husband had a stroke, and a few years later was made redundant, I could see past it and focus on the things which were good in my life.

My fifties heralded another new era for me. After suddenly finding myself unemployed, I finally put pen to paper and began my writing journey, something I had dreamt of since a child. I self-published my first book at the age of sixty.

There are things about being in my sixties that are less than ideal. I ache more. My joints take time to get going. I can’t dance all night or walk six miles any more. I have a hearing aid. My body is slowly breaking down.

But my mind is growing daily! All those terrible experiences have honed me, and I believe moulded me into a better writer than I ever was in my twenties. I am wiser and am more accepting of people and situations. I hold possessions lightly and count my blessings often. My fears of rejection have largely disappeared. I don’t actually care what others think of me. I am happy being me. I have learnt new skills and stretched my little grey cells.

As for my definition of old, that has also changed. In fact, it usually hovers around twenty years in front of whatever age I am. I remember chatting to my husband’s Nan when she turned eighty and asking her how old she felt. “Seventeen,” she replied. I get that. I, too, feel much younger than I am.

However, unlike many, I don’t ever wish to be twenty or even eighteen again. Don’t get me wrong, I’d love to have the youth and vigour of those days, but not the constant self-hate and black moods that haunted me. I enjoy being me right now.

So, what advice would I give my younger self if I could travel back in time?

1. Don’t try to please people. You’ll end up losing yourself.

2. The best is yet to come.

3. You are beautiful and lovable. Don’t ever let anyone tell you differently.

4. Stop trying to live life in fast forward. It will all come to you in the end. Cherish the moments you are given.

5. Make the most of those female friendships. Nurture and encourage each other.

6. Work on improving yourself on the inside. The outside doesn’t matter nearly as much as you think it does!

7. Chill! Plans have a way of unravelling, so don’t make your timetable so strict.

8. Stop looking for love in the wrong places. It will only end up making you hate yourself more.

9. Stop being so proud and go see the Dr. Depression is nothing to be ashamed of. They will understand.

10. This, too, will pass. Whatever you’re going through won’t last forever. There is a light at the end of the tunnel, and you will get there.

Honestly, I don’t know whether I would have the wisdom to listen to my excellent advice or not. I guess we’ll never know. Nevertheless, perhaps my words will have an impact somewhere.

What would you tell your younger self if you had the chance?