I slipped my sweater off while facing away from the mirror, and my sunglasses tumbled from my head, landing on the growing pile of items in the corner: jacket, messy handbag, scarf, and phone.
I didn’t need to see my reflection; I already knew what awaited me.
As I leaned against the wall, I absentmindedly scratched a dry patch on my hand. My back was aching, and I shifted on my feet, debating if I needed a bathroom break. I ignored the faint signals from my bladder—wasn’t it just an hour ago since my last visit?
“Alright, darling. Let’s see what we can do!” The sales associate was warm and inviting, her beautiful black hair framing her face. Her smile radiated warmth, lighting up both her face and her eyes.
I returned her smile, albeit a bit weary. I caught a glimpse of my profile in the mirror and couldn’t help but notice how my features seemed to droop, as if they had resigned themselves to this new reality.
Without a hint of judgment, she assessed me. “You’re definitely wearing the wrong size. Let’s get you sorted out!” With that, she dashed off, leaving me with a flicker of hope.
Her enthusiasm lifted my spirits as I finally turned to face the mirror, feeling both skeptical and excited about what was to come.
When did it all change? The aching back, the tired feet, the dry hands that seemed to belong to my grandmother. Was it an overnight transformation, a quiet shift somewhere between my 40th birthday last year and the upcoming 41st? I can’t recall a specific morning when I awoke feeling older, sweatier, or grayer. I constantly see the reflection of a worn-out raccoon staring back at me, and my breasts seem to get heavier and droopier with each passing day.
I wasn’t sure when I started to smell like a teenager in need of a shower or when my bras suddenly felt too tight, but it felt like a second puberty, this time in my forties. I don’t remember the specifics from my first round of puberty, but I do recognize that there’s little I can control and far too much to relinquish—like my sagging breasts.
“Okay, sweetie, what do you think of these?” She presented me with beautiful lace bras in cream, black, pale pink, and purple. The delicate colors took my breath away, but it was the wide satin straps and supportive underwire that truly won me over.
No matter how confidently time marches over my body, my breasts will not be casualties of this hormonal battle.
With the precision of a seasoned expert, she adjusted and secured the bras onto my frame. Her kindness and understanding soon transformed our interaction into a delightful chat, reminiscent of high school best friends.
My hair seems to turn gray when no one is looking, and every sneeze or hearty laugh brings its own surprises. It’s bewildering—this transformation that feels like it’s happening outside of my control. It’s daunting to feel so disconnected from my own body.
But it doesn’t have to remain that way. I could do Kegels (I know I should!), allowing myself to laugh and sneeze without worry. I can purchase a lovely, well-fitting bra from someone who genuinely wants to help me feel my best. And I can look down at my aging hands and smile, recognizing that they carry a legacy from my grandmother.
As I glanced at my reflection in the mirror once more, I smiled genuinely and wrapped my arms around my newfound friend in gratitude. I gathered my purchases and exited the store with my head held high—both literally and figuratively.
This article was originally published on June 1, 2015.
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Summary:
In the transformative age between 40 and 41, many women experience significant bodily changes reminiscent of puberty. From physical discomfort to the need for new bras, this period can feel overwhelming, yet there are ways to embrace these changes positively. With the right support and resources, navigating this new chapter can lead to empowerment and confidence.
Keyphrase: “second puberty in women”
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