Another birthday - still not sharing my age (or weight)! Are you?

Is it a vanity thing? Maybe. Maybe not.

The other day, my husband remarked that I was looking (and acting) more and more like my mother. Hmm. I wasn’t sure how to take that, or what exactly he meant, although come to think of it, he did mention looks and mannerisms. (Humor me, I’ve decided to go with, it was a compliment.)

The thing is, I’m now 10 years out from being the age my mother was when she died from metastatic breast cancer. In other words, I’m catching up with her!

When you start shifting your mindset like that, it’s humbling and a bit scary as well.

Of course, no one knows how many years she has left. This is true, even if you’re young, and especially if you throw cancer into the mix. There are no guarantees, well, other than the “life is short” one. Yep, that one’s true alright.

And, there’s that ridiculous statement that too often gets tossed around suggesting any of us could get hit by a bus tomorrow, which more or less means, cancer or no cancer, stop worrying about all that dying stuff.

I know for a fact, this sort of statement should NOT be said to anyone with late stage, or any stage cancer, for that matter. Buses are not as deadly as late-stage cancer. They just aren’t. I think I can guarantee that the number of folks who die after getting run over by a bus each year is way lower than the number of people who die from cancer. (Though, of course, those bus-related deaths are terrible and tragic, too.)

You might be wondering about now, just how old is this woman whose words I’m reading. (Or maybe you’re not.)

I decided 13+ years ago when I started blogging I wasn’t going to divulge every detail of my life (it’s the internet, after all) and one of those “secrets” was my age.

Is this a vanity thing?

Maybe. Maybe not. I don’t care.

For the most part, I’m a very private person. I prefer to keep some things to myself. Besides, if anyone really wants to know, which I doubt is the case, your age and mine are probably researchable online, and mine is definitely revealed in my memoir.

Why do I bring this up?

Because in Cancer Land, I’ve heard it said many times that growing old is a privilege.

Stating your age is like wearing a badge of honor. In fact, the louder you say it, the harder and longer you get to pat yourself on the back. Every birthday is like another precious gem to add to your life necklace.

I get that. I do, and I agree!

I am ever so grateful for every birthday I have had since my breast cancer diagnosis in 2010. My family and I have done a lot of living in the years since. I am grateful to still be here to see my three adults kids married, doing what they want, and most importantly, happy. I’m ecstatic to have been able to hold two grandbabies in my arms and watch them turn into toddlers. (Soon, I’ll get to hold another.)

Believe me, I fully understand many Cancer Haver Moms do not get this privilege. I know I am lucky.

At the same time, I also believe I don’t have to reveal my age if I don’t want to. (If you do, that is equally fine, by the way. Shout it from the rooftops if you want.)

AND, this is kind of a biggie, I also believe I can whine a little (or a lot if I want) about the aches and pains of growing older, okay old.

Why?

Because gratitude can co-exist with honesty and reality.

We don’t have to choose either/or. We don’t have to be all gratitude and no truth-telling. Grin and bear it doesn’t have to be our mantra as we age — at least not all the time.

In other words, we get to be real. We get to be honest. We get to be human.

I’m not gonna lie, it is hard sometimes to look in the mirror and not recognize the woman looking back — and in this instance, I don’t mean because of my mastectomy and breast reconstruction scars from DIEP flap surgery. (And no nipples, I might add.)

No, I’m talking about the older woman with gray roots, varicose veins, wrinkles, age spots, sagging jowls, flabby arms, and a crinkly neck who’s looking back.

I can and do look at that reflection filled with gratitude (on a good day even with a little pride) that she’s still more or less in one piece, AND I can and do sometimes say to myself, yikes, what happened to you, Nancy. You’re getting old.

BOTH reactions and feelings are true and genuine.

So, yes, I am grateful for yet another birthday. I’m grateful to still be around for whatever else life dishes up for me. You bet I am.

I also have no intention of keeping quiet about the challenges of aging (and cancer survivorship). And I don’t mean just the physical ones. Cancer or no cancer, aging gracefully does not mean aging silently. At least not in my book.

One more thing, I absolutely can still call myself a Pro-age Woman, too. I might not publicly share my age, but I’m proud of it nonetheless. That, to me anyway, is one thing that constitutes a Pro-age Woman.

I still have no intention of sharing my age — or my weight.

Maybe next year.

P.S. If you’re confused by the “pledge your support” options, I have no plans to turn on any paid subscription options at this time. Regardless, you can choose the “no pledge” circle. I’m just grateful you’re here to read my ramblings!

Do you share your age and/or weight publicly?

Why or why not?

If you’re a Cancer Haver, do you ever feel like you’re not supposed to “complain” about getting older but instead, just be thankful you’re alive?

Click on the above photo to visit my new author website! Love to know what else you think it needs. And yes, the featured image at the start of this post is of my eye — wrinkles, thin brow and all!

Read more about aging in my book Emerging: Stories from the Other Side of a Cancer Diagnosis, Loss, and a Pandemic. Available on Amazon and your other favorite online booksellers.