The fact is, you are forty-eight years old and you are unemployed. You have lived long enough that you have begun to see ageism work against you. Who wants to hire someone who is forty-eight when they can hire someone in their twenties or thirties? The kind of person who runs marathons (even half-marathons) and looks like it? The kind of person who knows what is in style, and wears it well. And there’s that, of course…
You are overweight. You have lived long enough to see what people think of those who are not thin. They are lazy. They are slovenly. They don’t care about themselves. The overweight person is not the person you want to hire. Why would you, when you can hire the marathon runner? That person has energy. That person is driven. And then there’s your gender…
No one wants to hire a middle-aged, overweight woman. A man can get away with it. His grey hair is distinguished, his paunch means he is out drinking with friends and work associates. It’s okay, on him. He is living his life. You are unsuccessful.
Being unemployed means you have to cut down on the things other ageing women around you do. You stretch out time between hair appointments. You are miserly with getting your nails done. You have to be, because the family needs stuff and you are not contributing.
And then…
And then you feel awful and guilty because you actually have a good life. You are blessed, and you know it. You are middle-aged and overweight and unemployed, but you know women of color have it harder than you do. You know that it’s difficult to be living in poverty. You know life is harder if you’re homosexual, or trans-gendered, or from a non-English speaking culture, or not able-bodied. So you should just be grateful for what you have. And you are. You are educated, and you are married to your best friend, and have kids who are good people. So what if you’re doing nothing with that Master’s degree?
You never really had a career. People have careers. You could have had one. You could have had several. But you made other choices. And now you are forty-eight, and unemployed.
You could have stayed in Chicago and stayed in the Ph.D. program. You could be teaching now, and doing research, and you’d have a career.
Or, you could have stayed in the workforce five years ago and not given up your job because your kids needed a parent at home. You’d still be there, maybe. You’d have an office and an income and go on business trips. You’d mentor junior staff, you’d have a say. You’d make decisions, and ask questions other than: Do you want me to make you lunch or do you want to buy today? and Do you need help with your homework tonight? and What snacks do you want from the supermarket? Because the fact is, you are lucky…
You are lucky that you can go to a supermarket and buy food. You are lucky that you have kids that can do things and can respond to your questions. What’s that in the face of being forty-eight, overweight, and unemployed?
You’ve lived long enough to know living means acquiring scars. The kinds that hide inside, simmering below the surface. The kinds that make you the kind of person who doesn’t run marathons or simultaneously work full-time while going back to school for an MBA. You’ve had clinical depression, you’ve had post-partum depression. You’ve been unable to work for small chunks of time. You’ve been unable to feel fully alive for chunks of time.
The writing has always been there, of course. Even though you’ve now lived almost half a century, the writing has been there for as long as you can remember. But you’ve never figured out how to be successful, while all of your writing friends manage to Figure It Out and do it and you have no idea what the magic sauce is. You have your suspicions…
Many of them don’t have kids. Most of them don’t. Or they have spouses who do the family stuff. Or they only need four hours’ sleep a night. Or they write. Every day, or most days, and you don’t. So they get it done, and you don’t.
You also see, in many of them, that they ARE NOT AFRAID. They speak their truths. THEY LIVE OUT LOUD. You are not this unafraid. You never have been, and you want to be, because you suspect this is part of the magic. Even now, as you write this, you are thinking: What will my mother say? What will people think? You didn’t type above that you have fibromyalgia, because what if a prospective employer reads this and doesn’t hire you? Afraid, always afraid. You want to be fearless, and a lot of people–most people–think you are fearless. Because you got a nostril piercing when you were in your late thirties. Because that’s when you got a tattoo. Because you dye your hair various shades of red, or purple, or something in between.
People think you are fearless, because of some of the choices you’ve made. You’re not conventional. You never really have been. And people think that’s brave. But it’s just self-preservation. Because if you didn’t live your life being you to at least that extent, you’d shrivel up inside. So you do just enough. You toe the line between conforming and living.
And here you are, forty-eight (although you feel younger), overweight (although you haven’t always been) and unemployed. And the guilt and the shame weigh you down, zap your energy, and make you less likely to do all the things you should be doing to feel better and to really be you. The excuses and the realities get all mixed up, tangled together, obscuring how you view and judge everything with a gauzy web of confusion.
You are forty-eight, and want to be the kind of person who will post this. But you probably won’t.
Read your poem “ She Was Beautiful”. I just wanted to tell you how wonderful and touching that poem was. I am sure many women connect with it. It reminded me of my mother. There so many women who are physically beautiful and yet live their lives giving and nurturing others unaware of their isoteric presence. They live their lives with their soul not their mortal presence. I was very surprised at how young you are. Seems to me you have an old soul. Good luck to you and please keep writing more poetry. Your fan. Ana Romero
Thanks Ana! Unfortunately, that was not me who wrote that excellent poem–it was Suzanne Reynolds (no Alpert.) If you are on Facebook, you might be able to find her there.
Keep reading poetry! 🙂
Suzanne, you had me with the title. I was unemployed again at 50. For 18 months. During that time, I stretched out of my comfort zone and tried to cobble together contract jobs to get by. And I learned a lot. I learned that I’m too social to spend my days behind a computer at home, without interacting with people in the real world. I needed to be truly social, not just cyber social. I know now which talents bring me joy, and which just got me jobs. I’ve also learned that I’m done being support staff.
I don’t have a degree. None. Again. I made different choices. I do, however, have amazing children and stepson who are all thriving. Not having that piece a paper in a job market where the employers are getting slammed with hundreds of applications for a single job, is a problem. I can’t get past the gatekeeper, because they dismiss all applicants without degrees as a way to reduce the responses to a manageable number. And because they can. It doesn’t matter that I can run circles around many people who have that magic piece of paper. I tried going back to school at 49. It wasn’t for me. Especially, not and hold down a job.
My fiction kept getting shorter and shorter. I had always been resistant to novel writing and gravitated to flash. Now I write songs. Me. Who is teaching herself to learn to play the piano by ear (no thanks to the classical piano lessons I took as a kid, who implied that was forbidden) and improving her singing to actually perform her songs – at least for artists who might cover them. And I followed my passion for dance and now teach.
It was brutal getting stories rejected while getting turned down for jobs. But it forced me to look at who I really am and what I really want to be doing. Just because we’re good at something, doesn’t mean it’s the thing that brings us joy. But I found those things and am now venturing into uncharted territory and inspiring all of my friends with what I do. It’s because I have lost everything and it gave me a clean slate. A do over. And I now will not be “should” upon and will be true to myself. When we embrace who we are, it brings relief to ourselves and everyone around us.
You are brave. Find out what and who else you are, and see where it takes you. You go girl!
Suzanne, thankk you for posting this. It was incredibly brave, but also authentic. You may believe that you are overweight…and then there are the 600-pound people on TV. You are beautiful both outside and inside, and many people notice this about you. You are not just unemployed, because you are a writer. Writers write and publish books, go on speaking tours for pay, and live their lives, while writing…always writing. Yes, there are the demands of being a parent. Those of us who have been where you are know the difficulties that you face day-ti-day. Add fibromyalgia to this mix, and it is miraculous that you can find the energy to get through any day…and that is really brave! You are not alone. It is true that being authentic is difficult, but you’ve taken the first step!
Thank you so much for writing this, and even more for actually posting this. It felt, in so many ways, that you were writing the words that swirl in my brain each day. I am 52. Overweight (haven’t always been). Unemployed (because I chose what my children needed and because I needed them). Writing but never knowing what to do with it. Afraid to post most of it, especially the most honest stuff because of who might read, judge my life, my children, my family by it. Thank you. Thank you.
Thanks Marie! I’m learning just how many women do relate with at least part of what I wrote.
I think there’s still a stigma attached to admitting you don’t have it all together, or at least feel like you do. But faking it doesn’t help anyone.
Thanks Suzanne for posting this…I related 100% and so happy to hear your voice….use your voice when writing and your experiences because I love your voice!
I applaud your courage. Yes, laying all this out there is scary, admitting your frustrations and insecurities is risky. You worry about what others will think. But if we all keep pretending like mad, never honestly sharing our inner thoughts, fears, and how we reassure ourselves, what we worry about, what our actual reality is and not just the image put up for public consumption, then none of us realizes the truth, the suffering we have in common, the insecurities, the troubles, and the courage. By bravely sharing, you are inviting others to share, too. To identify with what you are going through (and I do!!). And we all feel a little less isolated, a little less scared. Brava. Keep it up.
Justine, you are among the people that have been an inspiration to me. Not only because of the grace with which you are handling your difficult transition period, but because of the beauty of your own writing, and the way you share on your blog (for my readers, her blog is https://justinegraykin.wordpress.com).
Thank you!
But you DID post it! And it’s an incredibly brave and wonderful missive about how difficult it is for women to “have it all.” And how you’ve navigated those choices and how blessed you are. You can feel blessed and longing at the same time. Gratefulness and fear simultaneously too. I am very impressed with your article and can’t wait to read more from you! Kudos to you!
Thanks Jenny! Kudos for articulating perfectly part of what I feeling when I wrote the post–“You can feel blessed and longing at the same time. Gratefulness and fear simultaneously too.”
I appreciate your words and your support!