The Tweezer Chronicles: Navigating the Unexpected Shift into Midlife

It all started with my first chin hair. 

I can still vividly remember the day I discovered it—a long, black, coarse, needle-sharp hair sticking straight out from the bottom of my chin. I was in shock. Mortified. There was simply no way I could let my husband know I was growing a beard. For a minute, I played with it, tapping it with the tip of my finger; it felt just like a stiff brush bristle. My mind flashed back to an episode of The Rosie O’Donnell Show in the mid-1990s when Rosie got her first chin hair. Right there on live television, she tugged on it to prove to her viewers it was actually attached, her chin moving up and down with every pull. Back then, in my mid-20s, I remember thinking, That will never happen to me. Fast forward to today: I am almost 52, knee-deep in perimenopause, and my tweezers have officially become my best friend.

There are so many levels to this next season of life, and so many terms to keep straight: menopause, perimenopause, pre-menopause, post-menopause. I am thoroughly confused. Does all this mean I am old now? Am I officially a senior citizen? When I was growing up, Archie and Edith Bunker were considered "old," and The Golden Girls were the definition of senior citizens. But in reality, the Bunkers were written in their late 40s, and the Golden Girls were only in their early 50s. Talk about a massive reality check. I am old.

So, what does this actually mean for my daily life? Do I start eating wheat germ and learn to crochet? Do I wake up at two in the morning to scrub out my refrigerator and rearrange the pantry? Should I take naps at noon, cut back on salt, or start buying Preparation H? That single hair growing where hair had no business growing was a life-changing milestone—almost as significant as getting my first period. I genuinely don't know how I'm supposed to transition into being "old." Do I cut my hair short and set it in rollers? Do I start browsing the mature women’s section at department stores? It is a lot to process, and I wasn't sure where to turn—except, of course, to my older sister. I may be old, but she is older.

Born in the 1970s, my sister and I are three years apart. Growing up, she was always the "older, more responsible" sister, while I was the baby of the family. I used to hate being the younger one, especially as a pre-teen. I always wanted to go where she went, do what she did, and be who she was. But now that we’ve both entered our 50s, I am thoroughly enjoying my status as the baby sister. Living in Florida while she resides in North Carolina, we stay connected through weekly phone calls and messenger chats.

I remember calling her recently, hoping for a bit of sage advice on menopause and hair removal techniques. But as soon as she answered, she burst into tears, detailing all the reasons her life currently felt overwhelming. It turned out she was going through "the change," too—only her symptoms were intensely emotional. She was crying about everything and nothing all at once. I had called to vent about my chin hair and declare that I had entered the beginning of the end of my life, armed with a list of urgent questions: What are your thoughts on being old? Should I be taking extra care of my bones? Have you signed up for AARP yet? Do I qualify for the IHOP discount? Should we join a bowling league? Should I expect my husband to need the blue pill—and does yours take it? But during that call, I realized my sister was fighting her own fierce battles on this menopause journey. Instead of depending on her to guide me through it, we were going to have to guide each other.

That first chin hair was simply the symbol of a much larger picture. The stray hairs, night sweats, cold flashes, mood swings, brain fog, loss of drive, weight gain, irritability, muscle loss, sagging skin, exhaustion, and insomnia... the list goes on. The mental and physical shift during this stage of life can feel relentless, leaving many of us feeling completely out of control. Some days I feel like I've lost control of my mind and emotions; other days, I am given not-so-subtle reminders that my body is doing its own thing. Hair grows where it shouldn't, skin sags where it used to stay firm, and I often feel overwhelmed and unmotivated at the exact same time.

Yet, there are days—like today—when I feel good. I feel comfortable in my body and clear in my mind. On days like this, I call my sister to see how she’s doing. Sometimes it's a good day for her, too; other times, she needs me to pull her out of a rabbit hole. Most of the time, though, we just talk and laugh. We laugh about our lives, our kids, our jobs, and definitely our husbands. I’ve come to realize that laughter is the true secret to navigating this season. They say we’ll laugh about it someday—well, every single day is that "someday."

-Desiree