The Moment You Realize Your Muffin Top is Now a Poundcake
Opening the door to the "Revival Room" may no longer be optional.
There comes a point in midlife when you realize that your body has joined a different union. If you’re nodding in solidarity, welcome. This is not a solo experience, even if it sometimes feels personal.
For me, it all came crashing down somewhere between perimenopause, a blown-out knee, and the sudden realization that jeans have quietly exited stage left. A rare denim artifact may still live in the back of my closet, not because I think I’ll wear them again, but as a memento of a completely different era when my body and I were on speaking terms.
If you, too, have a section of your closet that now functions more like a museum exhibit, I see you.
Let’s start with the obvious: yes, I have gotten fatter, and no, it’s not because I suddenly discovered cake. It’s because my hormones are hosting a rave I was not invited to, and apparently, no one thought to hire security for this event.
Like many midlifers, I eventually had what felt like a perfectly reasonable thought: ‘I should probably step it up in the exercise department.’
I began a fantastic fitness regimen in January of 2020. Bought a membership at the local YMCA and was working out four(ish) times a week. And then…we all know what happened 2.5 months later. A friggin’ pandemic. And I never returned to the gym.
If your carefully crafted routines also evaporated circa 2020 and never fully reassembled, you’re in extremely good company.
In the years that followed, reality showed up with a clipboard in hand, ready to take names.
First, there was the knee that decided it should place itself directly in the path of several large dogs moving at the speed of sound. Suddenly, a body part that had served me faithfully for decades abruptly checked out without notice for nearly a year. It no longer wished to participate in activities involving bending, pivoting, or, frankly, existing.
Then we have the rest of the cast and crew: chronic migraines, hypothyroidism, a couple of bouts with skin cancer (because why not), and an ever-growing arsenal of medications, supplements, and tiny bottles that strongly suggest I should be Oprah Winfrey-rich just to remain upright.
It is time to begin “health & wellness” again with optimism and hope.
The UNglossy version that has to coexist with appointments and fatigue.
Regardless, I have started imagining myself as one of those women who casually “fits fitness into her day” in between effortlessly floating around the kitchen creating delicious meals.
Undeterred and possibly delusional, I have decided to try everything. I’m doing YouTube yoga. I’m doing HIIT and cardio. I’m doing gentle and not-so-gentle strength training.
I work out at home because I refuse to get gym-ready only to resent working out in the presence of sweaty, grunty beefcakes. I’d prefer to be near my own emotional support snacks, possibly wearing pajamas.
Working out at home also means I can pause whenever I need to stare into the middle distance and ask myself what I’m even doing. No one at a gym is prepared for that level of indifference.
Then there’s my hot flash interference problem, which I would very much like science to help me solve. Am I sweating because I’m working hard, or is it because my internal furnace warranty has lapsed?
There is no real way to know.
I do have some proud moments, though. Despite my appearance of being out of shape, at 53, I am more flexible in yoga than almost anyone I know. Now that my knee has fully recovered, I can bend myself into shapes that suggest competence.
What I’m learning against my will, is that health and wellness in midlife have no intention of giving me my old body back. That body has moved on…possibly to another dimension in a parallel universe.
Instead, I’m learning to work with what still functions, laughing at what doesn’t, and choosing movement that doesn’t require punishment as motivation. Some days I move because it helps…especially with desk-work stiffness that makes becoming a pill-popping addict look attractive.
Some days, I rest because…migraines. 🙄 And some days I do fifteen minutes and call it a win. All of those days count.
This is a season of my life where I’m far less interested in “fixing” my body and far more interested in coexisting nicely with it. I want strength and a gratifying scale reading, yes, but I also just want peace.
I want good health, but not at the cost of hating the process.
This was a looong and roundabout way of introducing The Revival Room.
It’s a whole section here at Homebody(ish) where we explore everyday health and wellness without demanding a personality transplant.
We'll also be experimenting with natural products (this has been a carnival ride of ups and downs), simple homemade hacks, and practical ways to feel and live better without making it a whole identity.
I may not live in Jamaica anymore, but believe me, I have not forgotten how easy it was to live a MUCH healthier existence there, and I’m determined to bring some of that vibe back into my life.
In the Revival Room, I guarantee we will NOT be touching on things that assume you’re injury-free, hormone-balanced, and prescription-light. Because that’s certainly not who I am lately. But I am looking at real-life health in a real body, dressed in comfy clothes, with very little shame.
If you’re currently navigating the general WTF-ness of midlife health surprises…congratulations! You’ve just arrived at camp. Don’t bother pitching a tent here because we’re way more into glamping at this stage in life.
Spot on! My body has moved to another dimension. I don't even grow hair on my legs anymore! I guess that's a good thing.
Love your new feature.
You diagnosed my same problems!