Midlife

The Things That Grow

I never thought my breasts would grow to the size of Nana’s.

And yet, as I stand in the bathroom getting ready for a shower, I can see they’re well on their way.

I’m a writer, which means most days are spent in pajamas with bedhead and glasses, staring at a screen. Mirrors are optional. Real bras are negotiable. But occasionally reality presents itself under bright bathroom lighting, and there it is: evidence of growth.

There are many things on my body I never anticipated would “grow” the way they have. Middle age is full of surprises, and I’ll spare you a complete inventory of mine, though a few are too relevant to leave out. In my humble opinion, midlife is one long, slow growth spurt.

Perhaps it’s preparation—not for another literal childbirth, but for the birthing of something else. Purpose. Calling. Destiny. The things planted in us long ago that only ripen with time. Maybe we bulk up because we’re meant to carry more.

Still, humility arrives quickly.

Some things grow in places we didn’t expect. Some things shrink.

My breasts seem determined to continue expanding—likely because they are composed largely of fat, and my body does not lack for that resource. My bunions have also grown, protesting each new pair of stylish shoes. I wobble slightly when I step out of bed in the morning.

Meanwhile, my memory appears to be shrinking at an alarming rate.

My patience, on the other hand, has grown—though I sometimes wonder if that’s patience or surrender. My palate has expanded, which may explain some of the “other” expansion. Homemade pasta sauce and a glass of wine hold far more appeal than they did at twenty-five. My desire to deep-clean the shower, however, has completely vanished. I avoid it like a five-year-old avoiding bedtime.

My needs have grown smaller—or perhaps my ability to meet them has grown larger. My sense of belonging has increased. My pride… fluctuates, especially when I catch a glimpse of Nana in the mirror.

And then there are the obvious yeses: the belly, the rear, the double chin. All present. All accounted for.

But so is my capacity to love. My ability to serve. My depth of compassion. Those, too, have grown.

I could continue, but you have your own list.

All in all, the things that increase over time—physical and otherwise—perhaps make us more fully ourselves. I am convinced the first half of life is preparation. It is the groundwork the spirit lays to shape us into who we were always meant to be.

Like a baby born with blue eyes that slowly turn brown. Like hair that begins bleach blonde and deepens one winter into something darker and truer. It was always there; it just needed time to reveal itself.

We increase in size because we are needed for different things. When we are small, we have little to offer. When we are fuller—physically, emotionally, spiritually—we have more of ourselves to give.

I once thought I was finished becoming when I wore a size six. In reality, that was elementary school. Middle-aged me, a practical size ten, is the graduate course.

Though I do sometimes wonder—at this rate—will there be a casket large enough when I die?

Growth is a complicated companion. Should we welcome it? Resist it? Fight it? Smash the clocks and pretend we don’t see it coming?

Women, especially, wrestle here. We live in a culture polished by airbrushing and youth worship. We’re told to remain petite, taut, and effortless forever. And yet we long to grow—to be wise, capable, respected. We want maturity without its marks. We want the body of eighteen with the authority of fifty.

But life doesn’t work that way.

We cannot reclaim the summers of youth, but we can anticipate the summers of abundance that follow winters of obscurity. Youth was a stepping stone, not a destination.

Growth is evidence of life—no matter the size.

Middle age isn’t something to outrun; it’s something to notice. Sometimes we catch our reflection and see the face of a woman who once stood ahead of us—someone we admired, someone who shaped us. And suddenly we realize:

We have become her.

If midlife is a study in increase and decrease, how do we manage the balance?

The Christian faith mirrors this tension. We are told to grow—in faith, in knowledge, in grace. And yet we are also told to decrease, that Christ must increase. Somehow, we are expanding and diminishing at the same time.

Our ego shrinks as our soul enlarges. Our independence softens as our surrender deepens. We become more ourselves by letting go of ourselves.

It feels paradoxical, but perhaps that is the narrow road. Not young and untested. Not old and finished. But suspended in the middle—growing in substance while shedding illusion.

Years ago, these were just ideas—stories older women told. Now they are mine.

The things I once thought would never happen are standing at my front door. The body changes. The perspective shifts. The calling clarifies. And before we know it, we are the women passing these truths to daughters and granddaughters.

We never thought it would happen.

And now here we are.

Growing.ng up on life. My needs seem to have shrunk, but I’m not sure if it’s because my ability to meet my own needs has expanded. My acceptance of the world…well sometimes I accept it somedays I refuse. My skills in arguing have grown, but not my necessarily my ability to win an argument.    My friendship base has held steady for some time thank God. My career accomplishment I can’t discuss it or I’ll fall apart. My sense of belonging has grown. My belly… yes, my rear…yes, my double chin…yes yes yes, all exceptionally obvious and present. My pride probably, until I look in the mirror and see nana’s boobs. The way I love others and serve yes, and I think my capacity to care for others grows in proportion to my personal growth.

I could go on but you have your own list to make. All in all, the things that have increased and grown over time, perhaps make us women , more us. I am convinced the first half of life is preparation, it’s the preliminary work the spirit does in us to get us to who we were created to be. It’s like a baby whose eye color is blue for the first year, then changes, Or their hair color which is bleach blonde until 5 years of age and then one winter is suddenly brown. It is the way we always were supposed to be, it just takes time to actually get there. We increase in size because we are needed for other things. when we are small we have little to offer, when we are engorged we have more of us to go around. I hoped I was done when sporting a size 6 but in reality that was like elementary me, and the middle age me is a more practical size 10. I just wonder at this rate of growth, will there be a casket big enough when I die?

I know you all struggle with growth as well, is it positive or negative, ought I to welcome and accept it or reject it fight against it smash the clocks? I know women in particular wrestle in these ways, some of this has to do with the super model, hyper air brushed, sex filled culture that society has made so appealing and I don’t really know the other part. But the truth is middle age is like a twilight world for us. We truly want growth in some areas of life to prove our maturity and manage our life better and maybe have bigger breasts, yet in other areas we simply want to remain petite and unscathed by experience and maturity, keep the body of our 18 year old self, the spontaneous nature, the girlish charm, but don the wisdom and respect of a seasoned woman.  We can’t have back the summers of our youth but we can look forward to the summers of our plenty, after the winters of obscurity pass. Youth was a stepping stone. I’m here to tell you what you already know. Growth is the evidence of life no matter what “size” you are. The middle-age experience is not something to be afraid of or avoid, but something to notice. Sometimes we catch a glimpse in the mirror or notice the likeness of someone who we truly love, someone who we admired someone who went before us and helped shape us and then we realize we have become her.

If midlife is a study of increase and decrease how do we manage that balance? It’s seems both confusing and impossible? Sort of Like what the Christian faith at times. We are told to grow in Christ, and grow up faith, grow in knowledge, salvation and grace, but we are also told that we must decrease and Christ must increase. Our own decrease is often veiled by the increase of Christ in us. This can only have one logical conclusion , simultaneously we are doing both growing and diminishing.  We are told we are to do greater things than Christ, yet no student is greater than his master. We walk this narrow road between increase and decrease, what could be narrower, as Dietrich Bonhoeffer says, than the life of a disciple of Christ, who is neither young and free, nor old and gone. but somewhere suspended in the middle. One who must be humble yet without the knowledge of his own humility, one who must decrease because of the increase.

All of these things seem so tangible and tellable in middle age. Years ago they were just ideas and notions, stories other people told us. Once we reach middle age they become our stories, the very ones we pass to our daughters and granddaughters sometimes the very things we never thought possible are suddenly right at our front door. We never thought it would happen and now it is here we are on our way?