Welcome to Age Like Yourself: Why I want you to see my back fat.

Being seen in our imperfections while aging: It’s not about weight, it’s about heft.

I’m here to tell you, wellness ain’t always a bikini bod on the beach. I’m sure you *knew* that, but how often have you seen it online?

This is me two days before my 54^th birthday in Tepoztlan, Mexico after getting cupping and a massage to work out the intense kinks along my spine, lower back, and neck. My spouse took a picture of my back to show me what the cupping looked like, but my eyes immediately went to those lower, love handle lumps. 

Holy shit, I’ve grown a second pair of boobs, I thought, what an ugly skin tag, too. What I said was, “Ok, I guess I can crop that part out.” 

Lookism is a part of life, but lately it’s been avalanching into my self-image. I used to be blindly unsympathetic to my aging mother for refusing to be in photos and to friends who felt that they were too fat or too unattractive to have their image captured. I had a “be-who-you-are” zero-sum attitude.

But that was when I had the privilege of obliviousness. Now I know better. I’ve never struggled this much with my weight before and while I’ve had chronic pain for nearly 40 years, it was only since the pandemic that my health took me down so hard that I was bedridden. 

It all hinges on aging, though, and the fear that I’ll be this way forever. The fear that this back fat is who I am now. So, sharing this with you is fear-busting and breaking the barrier of what we’re supposed to show, who we’re supposed to be, and how to love ourselves through where we are, even when we want to be somewhere else.

So, sharing this with you is fear-busting and breaking the barrier of what we’re supposed to show, who we’re supposed to be, and how to love ourselves through where we are, even when we want to be somewhere else. 

We’re everywhere but we feel seen most by each other.

While strolling through town the same day as my massage, I sporadically passed four other grey-haired women in the mercado (marketplace), one by one. Each time we saw each other, Mexican or foreigner alike, they smiled at me as I did them. I told my spouse, we’re a secret invisible club, us middle-aged, undyed ladies, ha.

We’re everywhere but we feel seen most by each other. That’s why we nod in recognition, like people from the same hometown who spot each other from afar. We could have easily struck up a chat and grabbed a coffee had there been time. We would have immediately had what to talk about. 

It's not that we want to be invisible or that we avoid taking up space. Most of us are not diminutive in demeanor. Rather, it’s just what happens if we let it. Sometimes it’s easier than pushing for more, even though it’s not great in the long run. 

Why don’t we feel seen?

For starters, it’s weird for me to spread around my back fat – saying, hey look at me, what the hell happened? But if I don’t, then what? Should I feel bad every time I put my bathing suit on? Should I ignore it? 

I’m tired of youth and skinniness serving as the barometers for beauty. Most people are. But the only way we’re going to surpass that is by creating and promoting a new narrative. The only way we’re going to normalize our experience is by sharing it. And for that to happen, we need to be seen.

I see wonderful examples of redefining the narrative in my 11-year-old’s imagination, which isn’t yet corrupted by what’s supposed to be or what’s possible. She doesn’t like negative stereotypes of her favorite animals, like dragons, spiders, wolves, or pit bulls. Why do they always have to be the bad guy, she asks. Maybe there’s a hidden intention or good side of what they’re doing that the story doesn’t tell. She’s great at redefining these stock characters and rewriting endings to suit her aesthetics. And I couldn’t agree more.

I once told her how when I was young, the kids in my Hebrew school teased me for my curly hair, unstraightened and unWaspified, they called me Medusa. Already a snake and Medusa fan, she immediately took umbrage. Weeks later, she brought it up again, telling me I should thank anyone who calls me Medusa, saying that snakes are very intelligent and in fact, Medusa was known for her beauty. 

I was struck by the similarity between Medusa and Lilith, and how both were uglified for being strong women. How much of our external beauty-seeking is a distraction meant to take us away from ourselves and who we are? It’s a bottomless question; creating norms from within is hard work. 

From Medusa to Sybil, My Vision for Age Like Yourself

Drawing on those connections, I was also struck by how I have more connection to Greek names than I realized, given my English birth name of Sybil, which is Greek. Even though they were going by American Jewish naming conventions in the late 60’s by giving me both Hebrew and English names, I ended up with foreign names on both sides. Sarah Batyah is my Hebrew name; Sybil Bess is my American English one.

I used to ask why they chose the name Sybil, especially given the popular but disturbing Sally Field movie about the woman with dissociative identity disorder, but all my mother ever said was that she liked it. Plus, I was born seven years before the movie came out, so the association between the two wasn’t in mind.

The movie isn’t the first reference for my name, anyway. It’s classical. There are a long line of prophetesses and oracles after whom I was named, and lately, I’ve decided to claim that heritage. According to Wikipedia, “The first known Greek writer to mention a sibyl wrote: The Sibyl, with frenzied mouth uttering things not to be laughed at, unadorned and unperfumed, yet reaches to a thousand years with her voice by aid of the god.” 

And indeed, I do seem to have occasional visionary qualities. It’s not about knowing the future, rather, I have a way of putting my finger on the pulse of where we are now and parsing out the pain so it can be seen, shared, and addressed. As a canary in the coal-mine type of person, I’m often suffering silently until I shine a light and see that many others feel the same but aren’t speaking up. Through my years, I’ve stumbled into important truths and shared them without realizing the implication or the ripple effect that they would have. I’ve taken to believing that this is now part of my calling to be who I am. 

Here are a few examples:

• When I was in middle school, a close friend told me their father was sexually abusing them. I woke my mom up in the middle of the night, she then called my friend’s mother, and something was immediately done to stop it.

• When I was in my late 20’s, my colleagues from a partner organization were bemoaning work-place harassment. I told them they should tell their boss and open a case about it if necessary. They were strong women in their own rite, but they weren’t getting out from under the situation until someone from outside of it encouraged them to speak out.

• When I worked in Bosnia, I discovered that one of our local staff members was double-dipping. They had a local elected position and a position with our international organizational, which was illegal. All I did was ask about the details of a municipal map on the wall in our office, but it shook things up and protected our project from fraud.

• Around that same time, I was served by a woman at a local Bosnian village bar who looked scared and like she was working under the duress. The experience still haunts me, as I’m now sure she was trafficked. I didn’t know how to trust my instincts at the time, and I didn’t know what to do, so I did nothing. 

• I was among the first in my community to blog about pregnancy loss and fertility struggles, before an onslaught of articles and organizational work appeared. At the time, I dreamed about becoming a fertility and a miscarriage doula before either existed. I have so many ideas for projects that others have realized independently that I’ve started keeping a list.

• Today, I’m a voice on invisible disability, mental health, “advanced motherhood”, neurodivergence and parenting, aging, and much more.

That’s it. I’m here to share my backfat so we can all stop hiding and being ashamed of it. There’s nothing wrong with seeking to change an aspect of yourself while cultivating self-acceptance and compassion at the same time.

There’s nothing wrong with being seen in our imperfection. In fact, it’s necessary for our wellness.

I’ve got a lot of next steps in that regard because I’ve got a lot of pots on the fire for my family and myself. Stay tuned, as I share more, authentically and unfiltered, from a GenX, middle-aged, feminist, authentic, functional wellness point of view. 

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