“I think you’ll like thirty,” my friend had said to me, “it’s my favorite age so far.”
She’s 359 days older than me, so she got to try out the big three-oh last year, while I was counting the days left in my twenties. She is also confident, physically fit, comfortable with herself, organized, highly self-motivated…everything I’m trying to become. We celebrate our birthdays together every year with a decadent feast of egg rolls, German chocolate cake with frosting made from an entire pound of butter, and ice cream…all homemade and well worth waiting an entire year for. Despite all that, she knew I wasn’t looking forward to it as much as I usually do. It’s a big step, ya know? A person’s really supposed to have their shit together by the time they are thirty.
Yeah, right.
I grimace in the mirror, trying to count silver threads. My hair is a shade of gold-brown that tends to reflect the lights above the bathroom sink, so its hard to pick them out, but I know they’re there. Yep, dammit, another one. I’ve officially lost count of how many I’ve found since I first noticed them a few months ago. Grey hairs are a visible badge of maturity, a sign of—gulp—aging, and I’m still, mentally at least, in the “growing up” phase of life. Plus, my dad greyed late, and I figured that, after inheriting his short-and-stocky frame and weak tooth enamel, both of which have cost me no end of grief, he owed me. But here I am, scowling at the proof that the world is an unjust place.
I settle back unto my heels, away from the traitorous mirror, and look at my hands. So many strands of hair are tangled around my fingers that you can’t tell it’s only chin length now. Ever since getting COVID after Christmas my hormones have been a wreak. Consequently, for the last month I’ve been shedding like a horse in May. So gross. I have to vacuum more often now to catch the brown tendrils that have caught in the carpet or drifted into little piles in the corners of the house, and the drain trap needs cleaned every single time I shower. Losing hair like this stresses me, I have an irrational fear of going bald ever since puberty cost me half my hair in a matter of weeks. The stress is making my scalp hurt and itch at the same time, which makes my hair overly oily, which means I have to wash it more often, which means I lose more hair…
Deliberately I meet my own eyes in the mirror. This is much harder to do than it should be, but not as hard as it was a year ago. I read the combined disgust and fear of rejection in those eyes of mine, feel the responsive sinking, me trying to escape the straight jacket of loathing I sense closing around me. Oh God, not again!
Then…I feel something different, an answer to the unspoked cry for help. I feel the internal protective instinct, my inner Mama Bear, stir and rise. No.
NO.
I expand my chest, forcing air into my lungs to capacity, release it, breathe again. I have earned those grey hairs, every damn one. My life has not been easy, but it is beautiful, and I have learned a hell of a lot in thirty years. It’s not a bad thing that I still feel like I’m growing and learning, that’s how I got this far. Only recently have I begun coming to my own rescue like this, mothering myself as I do my kids. It is a big step. It’s a sign of maturity. I look into the eyes in the mirror, and I smile.
My friend might be right, this could be a big year for me. It already has been in a lot of small ways. I’ll take that. And I’ll forgive my paternal DNA the chunky figure and bad teeth…if I inherit the longevity with it. The women in his family live a long time, and I’ve got a lot more to learn.
I’m only thirty, after all.
It's funny the differing reactions to grey hairs because I have always seen mine with pride. Possibly because I am usually taken for younger than I am and those grey hairs prove I have lived and experienced more than people give me credit for 😆 you're right, we have all darn well earned them.
I have wrestled so much with the 30s. 30 was a huge obstacle to me and actually 31 almost more so. I agonized so much during that time that my life was different from my expectations and from others' expectations. Now that I have reached 32 I am slowly learning to own my years with new perspectives on my life and beliefs and expectations, that are more updated for my circumstances and age and discernment. My confidence is rising in so many ways because I have FINALLY begun to believe that I am old enough and mature enough to decide for myself and be wholly myself no matter my circumstances. I still have a long way to go and will probably never have my shit together but it is a gradual path. 😆
I also love your perspective on mothering ourselves. So many struggles and painful thoughts are internal and never shared, which means we are the best mothers for ourselves in some ways. I didn't have the tools to do that when I was younger, but we both know more now!