Today I am 62. And delighted to be so. I’d had two cancer diagnoses by the time I was 50 and in the past two years, since my 60th birthday, I’ve had a hip replacement, a knee replacement, a ruptured brain aneurysm and two brain surgeries.

I am a) bloody thrilled to be alive, however much I’m also falling apart and b) equally thrilled to be getting old. And I said so in a couple of social media posts like this.

The astonishing thing were the people who responded, no doubt well-meaningly, with “you don’t look 62” or “60s isn’t old” or “I’m 60-something and I’m not old” etc.

But isn’t this part of the problem, part of the ageism we’re all living with and trying to combat?
I am 62, so this is what 62 looks like.
I’m definitely not going to live to 124, so there’s no way I’m ‘midlife’ any more.
And what on earth is wrong with being ‘old’?


Until we who are old (even if we’re just at the start of old, as I hope I am) become happy to use ‘old’ about ourselves, it’s going to keep being used against us.
If we want our society to stop being ageist to us, we’re going to have to sort our own internalised ageism first.
I’m 62 and thrilled to still be here. Happy birthday to me.