"maybe it's just an extension of my desire/hope/wish to never be noticed"
@Arglefraster maybe this desire to never be noticed stems from wanting to avoid the impending doom predictions and alleged blame game (or lack thereof) that accompanies them? If you are invisible then you will not be afflicted, and you certainly won't be responsible for these afflictions.
This sense of shame on our bodies - the shame of merely inhabiting a womans body and the blame that accompanies it - afflicts so many of us. Its deep rooted and has been used for millenia to keep women & our troublesome bodies in place, in line, in order. For example, in some places women are still cast out into "menstrual huts" when their bodies are simply womaning. Oh the shame of it all - won't we just birth the boy children and their future wives/incubators and be quiet & invisible the rest of the time? Why must we insist on being so problematic?
We see you @Arglefraster and you are wonderful, you matter and you are glorious to see.
I came across this on X yesterday & found it very inspiring - accredited to Patricia Routledge she is talking about aging, but also about taking up space, and continuing to do so as she ages. I found it beautiful & inspiring.
One month before her 95th birthday, Patricia Routledge wrote something that still gently echoes:
**“I’ll be turning 95 this coming Monday. In my younger years, I was often filled with worry — worry that I wasn’t quite good enough, that no one would cast me again, that I wouldn’t live up to my mother’s hopes. But these days begin in peace, and end in gratitude.”
** My life didn’t quite take shape until my forties. I had worked steadily — on provincial stages, in radio plays, in West End productions — but I often felt adrift, as though I was searching for a home within myself that I hadn’t quite found. At 50, I accepted a television role that many would later associate me with — Hyacinth Bucket, of Keeping Up Appearances. I thought it would be a small part in a little series. I never imagined that it would take me into people’s living rooms and hearts around the world. And truthfully, that role taught me to accept my own quirks. It healed something in me.
At 60, I began learning Italian — not for work, but so I could sing opera in its native language. I also learned how to live alone without feeling lonely. I read poetry aloud each evening, not to perfect my diction, but to quiet my soul.
At 70, I returned to the Shakespearean stage — something I once believed I had aged out of. But this time, I had nothing to prove. I stood on those boards with stillness, and audiences felt that. I was no longer performing. I was simply being.
At 80, I took up watercolor painting. I painted flowers from my garden, old hats from my youth, and faces I remembered from the London Underground. Each painting was a quiet memory made visible.
Now, at 95, I write letters by hand. I’m learning to bake rye bread. I still breathe deeply every morning. I still adore laughter — though I no longer try to make anyone laugh. I love the quiet more than ever. I’m writing this to tell you something simple:
Growing older is not the closing act. It can be the most exquisite chapter — if you let yourself bloom again. Let these years ahead be your treasure years. You don’t need to be famous. You don’t need to be flawless. You only need to show up — fully — for the life that is still yours. With love and gentleness, — Patricia Routledge