Yes, I have trouble getting older!

It’s not even a round. I’m turning 48. But somehow that just disgusts me. Not the number, but the aging itself. Firstly, physically. I really feel like I’m going through puberty now. Things are happening in and with my body that I cannot control or properly categorize. I have accepted that I will probably never fit into my old clothing size again. The fact that my breasts are increasingly falling victim to gravity and that cellulite is no longer just a hearsay, but very present every time I look in the mirror, no longer causes me to have fits of screaming.

But these damn hormones are playing with me like I’m a doll – menopausal Barbie! – it really bothers me. Imagine you have a day full of meetings, and within an hour you’ll bleed through a tampon and at the same time the sweat will pour out of all your pores and at the end of the day you’ll look like you’ve been in the rain. And at the beginning of menopause I told myself that a little sweat in itself wouldn’t be bad. A little!

In any case, I can definitely attribute these two things to menopause. For many other things I have no idea if it is hormones, age or a serious illness. There’s always something that hurts me, and always something else. Sometimes my feet, then my knees, my back, my shoulders, and then suddenly I have swollen lymph nodes. Plus, I’m suddenly totally susceptible to everything. I have rashes and inflammation all the time. Me, who used to seem immune to such things. The thought that my body is giving up, that it can no longer handle so much, that it can no longer be so controlled, kills me.

In other words: I find it difficult to let go of my ‘old’ body. Perhaps also because at the end of this menopause there is an unchangeable fact: The fruitful years are over. Just as puberty marks the beginning of the end of my childhood, menopause marks the beginning of the end of what is probably the most important phase of my life. The phase in which everything was possible, in which I set a course, gave birth to and raised children, lived dreams and buried dreams.

It’s finally over now. I certainly won’t have a third child. Don’t become a professional athlete. Not a foreign correspondent for an international media. Don’t let my children grow up abroad. And probably not millions either. That’s not tragic. But I would like to say that I have no regrets. But I do. I’ve made so many decisions without thinking about the consequences. And for which I still pay (emotionally) today.

I always thought growing older would be relatively cool. As they say, with age comes peace. But I think I have to get older for that. Right now the opposite is the case. It seems to me that just as I can tolerate less and less physically, I also cannot tolerate much mentally. I feel like I’m constantly worrying about something or someone. That is not normal. There is only one thing I can do much better now than before: say no. No, I don’t need any presents. No, I don’t want a party. But ask again in 32 years. Then I’m probably the coolest 80-year-old you can imagine.

How do you deal with growing older, physically and mentally? Totally cool or rather scary? Share it with us in the comment columns.