5 tips for navigating Elderescence: From here to there

When doing the right thing is exactly the wrong thing to do….

My body betrayed me. Or maybe I betrayed her - by not educating myself and by not offering kindness and grace and compassion. But, how would I have known to do that? When should I have done that?

Am I old? If I am, when did that happen? When is “old”?

I’ve been challenged a lot recently by aging…and so I have been reflecting and analyzing and researching. I thought I might write a full article for submission to magazines, but ended up overwhelmed by the conflicting information – and by the lack of information. So, I decided, the heck with that. I get to choose what to do with my time and these ideas, and I’ll just write a newsletter instead – because here I don’t have to “target” my words. I can – and will – use this (hopefully) encouraging post to process some of my recent experiences to (again hopefully) empower you to educate yourself (to the degree information is available) about aging (which we’re all doing, no matter our current age) and to care for yourself on your journey. (And, all of those qualifying parenthetical comments in that syntactically disastrous sentence illustrate the reason I gave up on the intention to write a “publishable” article – too many yes-but’s and too little clarity about what I actually want to explore or say.)

First, let’s set the stage.

Changes throughout the human lifespan are studied by scientists across disciplines – psychologists, sociologists, biologists, gerontologists, and more. Each of them divides the lifespan into distinct categories – though they recognize that individuals vary in their experiences within those age-ranges.

One model (Diehl, et al, 2020) makes predictions within 4 wide bands:

First age: childhood – school age

Second age: young adults

Third age: Young-old adults who are between ages 60-75.

Fourth Age = 80 and older (not sure where the 75- 80 year olds fit!)

At all “Ages” there are significant differences between people of similar chronological ages, in terms of cognitive functioning, age-related chronic diseases, well-being, etc.., but there are some changes that most people – if not all – can expect at each Age, and I think we’re seldom aware of them until we face them.

Some research uses these categories for adults:

Young adult: 20s to mid-40s

Middle adult: 45-64

Young-old: 69-71 (or some say 65-74 or 65-85)

Old-old: 79-81 (or some assume this stage begins over 75 or perhaps 85-99).

Then come the centenarians.

If even the “experts” can’t agree on “when” is old, I suppose I should cut myself some slack for not knowing the answer to my own “Am I old” question.

Transitions

For now, let’s go with the human development models that characterize “young-old” adults as those between ages 60 and 75. One key realization is that, despite what some currently popular and questionable research suggests (see Paul’s newsletter), a flip doesn’t switch between ages 59 and 60 (or between any of the start-end ages of the wide variety of age-grouping categories that are out there!)

And, even if there was some drastic drop off between one stage and the next, how many 59 year olds fully know what’s coming? How many accept the likelihood of changes that will impact their own lives? “Old” is those decrepit “others”, not me. Old age is somewhere in my future. It’s “there”. I’m “here.”

How have we prepared – or been prepared – for “Emerging Elderhood”- a period in which we travel a path of acknowledgement and acceptance of the realities of aging and the necessary accommodations to physical, cognitive, and social changes (Skerrett, Spira, & Chandy, 2021)?

For many of us, we work through those accommodations and acceptance only when we’re forced to – when our bodies (including our brains) inevitably impose limitations on us.

Can we prepare for some of the changes in advance, and would doing so increase our ability to acknowledge, accept, and adapt?

This is the central question that I’ve been asking myself lately.

Adolescence is a well discussed transition between childhood and adulthood. Beginning with puberty and extending through the teen years, this is a narrow stage of transition with normal, expected, understood changes. The individual teen likely will be surprised by the personal impacts, but there’s lots of information out there and often there are many people – parents, teachers, peers – who can guide and support (and commiserate) through the necessary adjustments.

Photo by Melissa Askew on Unsplash

Then we settle into a comparatively long stage of adulthood, progressing within that from young (20 – 40) to middle (40s – 60s) to late adulthood (which, as I outlined above, is often divided into young-old and old-old).
But, these are hugely broad categories.

What’s the comparable-to-adolescence transition period from middle adulthood to old age?

For women, there’s some clarity around that with menopause as a recognizable milestone, and perimenopause known as the transition to that change. Thanks to the media and likely some conversations with midlife friends, many women are somewhat prepared for common symptoms, such as hot flashes, night sweats, insomnia and mood swings, but others, such as the loss of concentration or heart palpitations, often come as a surprise. And, the severity of the “anticipated” symptoms are often a bit of a shock for individuals, as well.

Though perimenopause and menopause are recognized inevitable experiences and have recently been popular media topics, AARP reported that “nearly 1/3 of American women ages 40 to 89 don’t receive any information about menopause.” (Anderson & Gelfeld, July 31, 2018).

And, the average age of menopause is 52, so most women experience the transition to menopause solidly in the “middle adulthood” stage, which still leaves them unprepared for transitions to young-old age changes.

Elderescence

I think I’m coining this term: Elderescence. I’m claiming it as the later-in-life period of significant transition – to correspond with the earlier recognized period of transition during adolescence.

What I’ve come to realize is that no matter where we place the ages of demarcation between stages of adult development, or if we accept the existence of significant times of change, or whether or not we recognize menopause as a milestone on the path from middle to late adulthood, we have no clear understanding of how – or when – we go from “here” to “there”. We aren’t informed about the transition.

We are woefully ill-prepared for elderescence.

We do know some of the markers on the path: greying hair, losing hair, wrinkles, first-time appointments for colonoscopies or bone density scans.

We joke about some of the signs – using humor to deny the age-related implications of losing our keys, forgetting what we walked into this room for, qualifying for “senior” discounts, nodding off during an evening show, not enjoying loud concerts or noisy restaurants.

But, you know, some of those begin in our 40s and 50s – certainly smack dab in the middle of middle-adulthood, so it’s really not our fault we don’t always recognize them as markers of “aging.” We don’t see that we’re in a period of transition and could maybe begin honoring ourselves in different ways.

We’re surprised by some “common” (often inevitable) markers that nobody told us to expect.

For example, did you know it is natural (happens to nearly ALL of us) that the vitreous gel in your eyes detaches from your retina in your early 60s and that causes some floaters that you will have for the rest of your life?

And that it can happen so gradually you never notice, or so suddenly that you end up in urgent care to determine if you have a detached retina (fortunately, mine was not.) And, that the floaters can be so large and active that they dominate your vision – at least until your brain adapts and stops noticing them (which mine has somewhat, but damn it, there it is as I’m typing this!)

Or – this one seems obvious in retrospect, but it’s not something most people realize, I don’t think – that the greying and thinning hair happens everywhere on your body. In my younger years, I was sometimes embarrassed by my thick hairy eyebrows, legs, and arms. I was often complimented – even through my 50s – on my wonderfully full head of hair. Now, I direct my hairdresser to change my style to accommodate my thinning bangs, and I realized I rarely pluck my eyebrows, and the hair on my arms is so pale and thin it almost seems to be gone entirely. I guess those are signs of transition to old age.

But, there’s really not much you can do to prepare for those types of changes.

What difference does it make?

If it’s inevitable…if it’s just a matter of getting used to changes…what difference does it make if we know to expect them? What difference does it make if we know when we’re “old”? What difference does it make if we see the signs that we’re in a period of transition? We can’t prevent aging and its consequences – even if we take excellent care of ourselves and are gifted with a life of privilege, so what’s all this fuss?

Well, here comes the personal experience with one part of the answer.

A few years ago, I took seriously all of the advice to add strength training to my life. There’s lots of evidence that it can be one of the most important things you do for your health – especially as you age.

Photo by Nathan Dumlao on Unsplash

I did my research, even used a coach when I started out, and followed recommendations, including this one: “As long as you take the muscle you are working to fatigue — meaning you can't lift another repetition — you are doing the work necessary to make the muscle stronger.”

So, I started light and added more and more weights as I got stronger. I continued to work “to fatigue.” Eventually, I could do 220 pounds on the leg press and 100 pounds on the pull down machine at the gym. I felt like a bad ass! I did wonder: If I keep getting stronger and adding weight year after year, does that mean I should be able to bench press 200 pounds when I’m 80 years old? That didn’t make much sense. But, I prided myself on being wise and responsible in not adding weights as quickly as I had at the beginning, sticking with my “best” for months and months.

I also regularly did unweighted full squats, which some say is the most important exercise to do as you get older.

I also was walking about 3 miles a day and hiking 7 miles a few times a month.

I was stronger. I liked my muscles. Sure, I had some back pain – but I’d had that for nearly my entire adult life. Sure, my hips sometimes bothered me, but I’d just recommit to my stretching and light yoga and discovered the benefits of rolling out. And, things generally got better.

But, a few months ago, the pain began interfering with my ability to train. And then with my life. I couldn’t step up a curb without assistance. Compensating for my back and hip began to lead to new pain in my groin and down the front of my thighs. I went to a physical therapist. She helped a bit, but the massage and manipulation and rest weren’t cutting it, and at one point she mentioned the possibility of assessment for bursitis.

Bursitis!? What the heck? That’s an old-person issue, isn’t it? (Actually, common in women over 50 – elderescence, right? Not “in” the young old category, but changes on the path. But, who knew? Not me! And, yes, the inflammation of severe hip bursitis can lead to groin pain. Again, who knew?!)

Well, I did some research and discovered that much of what I was doing to HELP myself feel better was actually making things WORSE if it was bursitis…and, of course, the moral of this story is that it was. (And, there’s the answer to the “what difference does it make to be prepared” question.)

· Rolling out – exactly wrong! Massage – nope. You should never put direct pressure on the inflamed bursa. I figured sitting for hours per day followed by sleeping in a fetal position was probably tightening things up, so I started sleeping on my stomach or on my sides with my legs extended instead of curled – and since it sometimes seemed to help I figured I was on the right track (just muscle tightness, right?). But, because it was actually bursitis, even laying on that side was exacerbating things.

· The types of stretches I was doing – exactly what they say NOT to do if you have bursitis.

· Pushing through the pain by decreasing weights or length of my walks – NO. While it is in acute stage, complete rest is recommended.

· Heating pad – again, no – not while it was acute. ICE was needed then.

· Deep squats? Absolutely no. One of the top exercises to avoid with bursitis. And, I’d been smugly cranking out those squats for months (longer, really). “There is no way to do a deep squat without putting substantial pressure on the hips.”

Anyway, bursitis was the diagnosis when I finally saw a doctor (months and months after trying to rehab on my own based on my midlife adult assumptions…and, making things worse in my ignorance). A steroid injection plus some prescription strength NSAIDs took the edge off. I finally and gratefully took a couple of short and slow walks this weekend. I’m planning on a couple of days at the gym this week – with ½ or less of my usual weights, slower pace, and fewer reps.

Photo by Tao Yuan on Unsplash

A cautionary tale and some tips and encouragement

If there is a point, it’s not that aging is something to be feared or avoided. It’s not that you shouldn’t exercise. It’s not that you should mentally beat yourself up for doing exactly the wrong things to take care of yourself (still working on that one, personally.)

It’s that we change with time. We age. And, what we demanded or took for granted from our bodies (and minds) in the past will – at some point – not be possible for us – or at least will change in some way. And, unless we’re faced with a major illness, injury, or trauma, that “point” will likely not be A point…it will occur gradually during the period of transition I’m calling elderescence.

This is my take-away from this experience: An acceptance that I am in a period of transition, and that this is new to me, and that what I assumed and “knew” before might not apply now – or eventually. So, aside from doing the physical work to fully recover and to continue my health and wellness journey, I’m committing to some cognitive and emotional goals that I’m recommending to you – especially (but not only) if you’re in the period of elderescence or beyond.

1. Respect yourself. Respect your body. Listen to its messages. Don’t ignore or dismiss them. Don’t assume that strategies that worked for your younger body will be the right ones for you at your current age – or in later stages. If you “hear” an internal warning, trust the voice. This applies to physical yellow flags and to other areas of your life.

Feeling like someone is disregarding your needs and concerns, don’t tell yourself you’re asking for too much. Communicate your expectations.

Unsure if your forgetfulness is about more than multitasking or exhaustion, begin by delegating or removing some things from your plate and prioritizing some rest – and determine the point at which you’ll check in with a doctor.

2. Seek reputable and appropriate information and help. That checking in point is one I wish I’d taken sooner. Start by looking online (thinking critically about the quality of your sources.) If challenges don’t seem to be accelerating or getting worse, try some recommendations. Perhaps seek alternate strategies. And (here’s what I missed - and what I’ve found there’s still little good information around), make sure the information you’re seeking is specifically targeted at people near your age.

Whatever you’re experiencing might be new to you, but chances are that others have been-there-done-that. I didn’t even look online when I began hurting. I just assumed I was dealing with normal aches and pains and that the extra physical demands were good for me and I’d just have to learn to adjust.

In neglecting to learn more about what I was experiencing, I made everything worse.

If things are not improving – or some of the resources you’ve found suggest you might be facing a red flag, not just a yellow one, go to an expert – a medical doctor, a physical therapist, a psychologist, a social-worker…whatever the situation requires.

3. Lean into community. Ask friends: They might have already experienced some of the things you’re dealing with (was true for me with the eye floaters) and hearing about their situations and helpful resources can lead you in a productive direction. You don’t have to reinvent the wheel. You don’t have to figure out on your own who the best people to see in your area are. You don’t have to rely completely on trial and error – or on toughing things out.

Another personal example: I’ve come to hate eating out in restaurants. I’ve always disliked the noisiness, but now it’s difficult to follow a conversation with people at my table if there are people talking at tables behind and around us. I do feel a bit like a burden, but I’ll ask our server for a corner table and I ask my dinner companions to allow me to sit with my back to the wall. And, when I shared this challenge, a family member made a terrific recommendation for earplugs to reduce sensory overload (just an example here).

If you don’t share and you don’t ask, people can’t help.

And, look beyond immediate friends and family. There are support communities (online and IRL for just about everything - or start your own!)

4. Set realistic goals and clear action plans – and be willing to pivot. I’m setting an alarm every hour to remind myself to get up from my computer and practice some movement snacks. As I said, I’m planning to decrease weights, reps, and speed this week – and going forward. And I plan to check in with myself each weekend to determine if I need to adjust some more. “No pain, no gain” was never something I believed, but now my goal is NO pain…or definitely nothing beyond minor and temporary aches.

Those are physical health goals, but what realistic cognitive or emotional goals might make sense for you? Perhaps some daily gratitude? Perhaps reading a chapter a day? Perhaps a daily Sudoko or Duolingo challenge?

Photo by Carli Jeen on Unsplash

5. Embrace self-compassion. This underlies and supports everything else! One thing the doctor said to me (after I’d outlined the litany of recent challenges – the bursitis was only the most painful) was that “After age 50, something will always hurt.” Well, that was rather discouraging! But, I think part of me knew and accepted that already – it was the reason it took me so long to seek help. So, back to the first recommendation: Listen to your body. If it hurts and keeps hurting, dial things back and get some help.

In an earlier newsletter, I introduced allostatic load – or body budget.

Essentially, we have finite resources and everything we do – thinking, moving, coping with stress – draws from our body budget. When we’re over budget, we get tired or cranky or hungry or overwhelmed – or have increased risk of illness and injury. Well, guess what: The aging process, itself, adds to our loads.

If you’re like many older adults today, you’re still working and dealing with family stuff and life demands and stressors throughout elderescence and beyond. Give yourself a break!

If you’re exhausted after lots of activity or at the end of the day, allow yourself to rest – truly relax and care for yourself – with no thoughts about what else you “should” be doing.

If you’re having trouble concentrating or remembering things today, dial things back for a few days. And, even if you can’t do that right now, actively shower yourself with positive affirmations.

If you’re struggling with pain, take the damn pain meds as directed (another thing I’m bad at doing!), use some ice or heat, take a warm shower, allow yourself a little cry, skip a few workouts AND don’t beat yourself up about it, order in your favorite food.

You are worthy!

Final note of encouragement in what turned out to be a much longer newsletter than intended (sorry, not willing to go back and edit/reduce):

Be nice to yourself! We know that transitions are hard. Well, aging transitions may be among the most challenging – especially when we’re unprepared or unforgiving, both of which can lead to making things even more difficult (and dangerous!)

Be kind to yourself.

You are wholly worthy of abundant self-care and kindness!

May your journey through elderescence and throughout the aging process be gentle.

~Eileen

If you like my content and want to support me on this journey, there are a few easy things you can do:

· Heart my posts.

· Leave comments.

· Follow me on Substack.

· Subscribe to the newsletter (always free).

Emotionally: All of those actions provide me with feedback and encouragement to keep writing.

Practically: The more people take those actions, the more Substack algorithms amplify my work, the more readers will find me, and the more potential agents and publishers will see that there’s a potential audience for my book.

I humbly and fully appreciate your support!