Elderly? Call me wise, thanks

Yesterday my friend shared that a 20-something year old man described her as ‘elderly.’  It wasn’t meant to be unkind.  He’d said in response to a referral she and her husband had made, “I’m going to let them know that a lovely elderly couple sent me.”  She is 66 and this didn’t land well and left the conversation wondering if it’s time to bring the hair colour back.  When she told me about this, I understood because I’ve felt this kind of sting too.  

Here’s the thing about the word ‘elderly’. We can’t control how other people see us. To a twenty-something, anyone with grey hair and a sensible pair of walking shoes lands in the same mental category as rotary phones and VHS tapes (had them both). I also remember the moon landing so there’s that. They haven’t lived in an ageing body yet and have no idea what it’s like to wake up and negotiate with your own knees. But give them time! They’ll find out, but it’s not their time yet.

As a Conscious Aging workshop leader and coach, what I can offer is that we can control how we meet the word ‘elderly’ and others that don’t land well. You might consider asking yourself that if one label can knock us sideways, is some of that offence coming from our own quiet ageism? Have we been carrying an old narrative over the decades, that older means less or that we are less relevant & less capable? This is one of the first concepts that we discuss in the Conscious Aging workshops that I deliver. 

I’m not suggesting that we pretend ageing is all sunshine because it is not.  I am still recovering from a summer trip to Europe where I quite likely sustained a stress fracture in my shin from descending 425 concrete steps at the Sagrada Familia in Barcelona on the second day of our trip. A drag? Yes!  Am I elderly, NO! Bodies change, energy shifts & sometimes the mirror delivers news we didn’t order. But there’s a difference between acknowledging that and treating it as an insult. So, I approached my situation with a great deal of self compassion and disallowed any ageist messages to percolate internally. Oh, and I’m investing in physiotherapy in a big way.

This is where I find the idea of becoming an elder so helpful. ‘Elderly’ sounds like something happening to us. ‘Elder’ is something we grow into. In many cultures, and particularly indigenous ones, elders are the keepers of stories, the people others come to when life gets complicated. Now in our mid 60’s, we’ve earned that. We’ve survived heartbreaks, teenagers, dying parents and seen at least six decades of global change. That’s wisdom, even when we can’t remember where we put our glasses sometimes. And by the way, 35 year olds lose their glasses too.

So how do we become attuned to our own ageism? Start by listening to your inner voice. What do you say to yourself when you catch an unflattering reflection, or when you can’t get off the floor as quickly as you used to or if you injure yourself doing every day things. Notice the messages you’ve inherited about ageing and ask whether they’re actually true.  And maybe when you do speak to yourself, be as kind as you would when speaking to a grandchild. Or in my case, the grand dogs. 

I can also suggest practicing big self-compassion. If the word ‘elderly’ stings, let it. Don’t berate yourself for being sensitive to it but just notice it. Maybe treat your reaction with a little humour and without judgment. Grief about ageing is real, and so is the joy of it. Both can sit at the same table.

 And if you feel like it, you could try this if it happens to you.  With a smile, say, “I’d prefer not to be called elderly, but you’re welcome to call me wise.” It’s honest, it’s light, and it might plant a seed. As for the hair, colour it if it makes you happy, or leave it silver if that does. Just make sure the choice is yours and not a response to someone else’s words.

We’re not fading. We’re becoming elders out loud, and the world could use a few more of us.