Running on empty
It all begins with an idea.
We all know the feeling: You’ve been charging around at full speed, juggling work, driving kids to jobs and activities, eating in the car, running errands, managing schedules, checking on your parents, trimming sleep to get stuff done. Yet there’s always one more load of laundry to do…one more call to return…one more thing to do.
I am generally a capable person. I try to meet all the various demands on my time, which are largely there by my choice: family, work, school. But last weekend, I hit a wall. I got home, sat down on the couch, and truly wondered how the fuck I was going to get up again. I was mentally exhausted.
In J.R.R. Tolkien’s The Lord of the Rings, Bilbo Baggins describes his aging and the burden on carrying the evil One Ring to the wizard Gandalf like this: “I feel thin, sort of stretched, like butter scraped over too much bread.” That line has always resonated with me–the idea that our energy, our essential capacity to function, is finite. I certainly felt that I had reached my bleary-eyed, baggy-sweatshirted end.
I should specify that my exhaustion was mental…this was not the muscular or bone-weary collapse after a long day doing yard work. It was the motionless, glassy-eyed slump of a woman who could no longer string her thoughts together coherently. This is not the first time I’ve experienced this, nor do I think it will be the last. And…of course…I did get up off the couch. Because life goes on. Reports must be completed, children taxied, dishwashers loaded. Wash, rinse, repeat.
Ignoring the warning signs of fatigue
As women in midlife, with multiple expectations on us at all times, we often ignore or put off the warning signs from our bodies to make sure that “stuff gets done”. I am somewhat concerned by the amount of Advil that I consume in the course of a year to just “keep going”. Bags under the eyes getting too dark? Concealer, stat! 3 p.m. slump? Large double-double! Slow blinks at the wheel? Crank up the tunes!
And when I finally climbed upstairs, washed up and crawled under my blankets, I waited for sleep to steal over me and wash away the fog of exhaustion. But no…not so fast. I lay in bed for nearly an hour, shifting positions, noting the advancing clock, listening to the sounds of the house and running through every single thing I had done that day. Did I handle that conversation well? Should I have phrased that email differently? Was I the worst mother in the Western Hemisphere, or just in North America? When was the last time I changed our towels?
By 11 p.m., I hadn’t solved anything, but I was finally able to fall asleep and ruminate over my choices in the form of stressful dreams–because I know how to use my time efficiently! And when my alarm went off at 6 a.m., I leapt into the day and hit snooze, because why the fuck is the best sleep always when I need to get up?? Still, there was coffee to brew, children to harangue and herd onto buses, and another commute ahead.
Are you pushing through exhaustion?
In university, like many students, I read F. Scott Fitzgerald’s The Great Gatsby for the first time. I found it moderately interesting until the final paragraph, when Fitzgerald slapped me upside the head with one of the most perfectly crafted sentences I’ve ever read: “So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past.”
During days/weeks when mental exhaustion holds me in its grip, this line often comes to me, as I grimly put one foot in front of the other and push against the current of work, home and self-doubt.
On many days, it seems as though I am borne back, that the combination of gritted teeth, anti-depressants and emergency chocolate just won’t be enough to get me closer to Gatsby’s green light.
But there’s another part of Gatsby’s ending, and its message keeps me moving on the days when I feel like screaming, crying or worse, when I feel grey and flat:
“...Tomorrow we will run faster, stretch out our arms farther. . . . And then one fine morning—”
As I drive to work on these mornings, short on sleep, girding myself for the day ahead, something will happen. I’ll round a corner to a vista of horse paddocks, with early morning mist settled in the valleys and laced into the evergreens. Or later that day, as I scroll through texts from my daughter, I’ll discover a years-old message she left in her contact information: “I love you, mummy!!!❤️❤️❤️❤️”
In those moments, I remember that happiness is not a destination. It’s a sporadic state of mind that can only exist with the comparators of sadness, malaise and pain. The best that I can do –thank you, cognitive behavioural therapy–is crank the gain to 11 when I notice things that make me happy, and dial it back when things turn to shit. I may be 47, but people have commented that I have slightly overblown, childlike reactions to things like dogs, an awesome guitar riff or a really good crème brûlée. You know why? Because life is pain, motherfuckers, and if you don’t notice the hell out of the good stuff, the current will take you.
No, this isn’t my nihilist manifesto.
It’s a reminder that as women, we are incredibly resilient. If we can grow and then expel living beings from our own bodies–MULTIPLE TIMES–we have a depth of strength and power that we need to embrace and set free. Women are socialized to accept burdens silently and bear pain without complaining. Well if that’s the deal, then we better be allowed to enjoy the FUCK out of the good things in life.
So notice the good stuff and turn it up to 11. Wear the red lipstick that you’re not sure about. Hug generously. Give someone a genuine compliment. When someone compliments you, don’t downplay it–believe them! Wave in the driver who wants to merge. Put whipped cream on top. And crank the fucking tunes in your car and SING.
Severe exhaustion is real, and prolonged stress can cause real mental and physical damage. If you are experiencing feelings of anxiety or depression, seek help from a physician, mental health professional or social worker. If you are experiencing suicide-related thoughts, help is available 24/7 at Talk Suicide Canada (1-833-456-4566). Indigenous people can also access services at 1-855-242-3310 (toll-free) in English, French, Cree, Ojibway and Inuktitut. You are not alone.
Lisa LaFlamme, the Queen, and embracing our age
Was Lisa LaFlamme fired for going grey?
Like many Canadian women, I recently changed my Twitter avatar to greyscale in support of former CTV journalist Lisa Laflamme. The reason? In August, LaFlamme revealed that she had been dumped as the network’s lead anchor because, at the age of 58, she had dared to allow her hair to go grey. While other male anchors in Canadian history had held their positions into their 60s and 70s, the telltale sign of age on a woman had cost LaFlamme her post.
This desperation to maintain our youthful image inherently suggests that our older bodies have less value.
The response from journalists and women was swift and angry. Correspondents across multiple platforms praised LaFlamme’s talent and accused Bell Media (the parent company for CTVNews) of misogyny, sexism, and ageism. In particular, Bell Media executive Michael Melling, who had allegedly asked in a meeting, “who had approved the decision to 'let Lisa’s hair go grey?’”, went on leave. Major brands like Dove and Wendy’s launched campaigns in support of going silver.
On September 9, Rogers Media hired LaFlamme as a special correspondent to cover the death of Queen Elizabeth II. Ironically, the Queen was one of the few Western women allowed to age with dignity—no small feat for someone who literally spent her entire life in the public eye. We knew the queen as a straight-backed brunette, a steel-haired matron, and finally as an increasingly frail, white-haired widow.
I am constantly struck by how women—at least in Western society—are somehow perceived as failures when their bodies inevitably begin to display the impact of their time on this Earth. Our ideal woman has a low BMI, shiny hair, taut skin, and plump lips. As these fade with time, we are encouraged to fight tooth and nail to maintain these characteristics. It starts with retinol creams and hair dyes and escalates to chemical peels, fillers, and Botox, coupled with endless caloric restriction and Spanx.
This desperation to maintain our youthful image inherently suggests that our older bodies have less value. In the entertainment industry, women are roundly praised for continuing to look “sexy” in their fifties—think Jennifer Lopez and the adulation she receives for maintaining her physique at age 53. But sexy is defined by youthful standards—an hourglass figure, perky breasts, smooth skin, and a wardrobe filled with tight clothes and stilettos. Allow your waist to thicken or permit gravity to have its inevitable impact on your cleavage, and you risk losing your membership in the sexy club. This moment is captured perfectly in the Comedy Central sketch “Last Fuckable Day”, featuring Julia Louis-Dreyfus, Tiny Fey, Amy Schumer, and Patricia Arquette.
As the sketch points out, there is no such day for men.
When the television show Sex and the City rebooted in 2021, 23 years after the show premiered, its stars returned to television screens and the scrutiny of an audience that remembered the characters as young, carefree paragons of fashion and sexuality. Immediately, critics and viewers leapt to point out the obvious: the female leads had aged. Cynthia Nixon’s hair was now grey, and were those signs of fillers or plastic surgery on Kristin Davis’s face? How could midlife women who had allowed themselves to age remain sexy? The idea, it seems, was laughable.
Does female sexuality have an expiry date? The media certainly thinks so, and the beauty industry peddles that message to women as a way to sell products and services aimed at extending that date. If popular culture tells us that female sexuality has an expiry date, what happens when you wake up and realize that you’ve hit it? The initial reaction is often panic—now what? The Canadian sketch comedy troupe Baroness von Sketch captured that moment in “Peak Cute”, their take on realizing that you’ve aged out of youthful fashion.
When you hit that moment, it would appear that women have limited choices: fight back against time and physiology; give up and become matrons (itself a loaded word); or create an “eccentric” persona—think Patricia Field, Tilda Swinton, or Iris Apfel. Yet for the average woman, none of these options are particularly attractive. They either require intensive cost or effort or carry a risk to one’s self-esteem and social standing. Midlife female bodies, it seems, simply aren’t beautiful anymore. Worse, we internalize that expiry date and extend it to include not just sexual attractiveness, but our careers and broader social value.
But why? Our older bodies carry the evidence of experience and endurance: having children; surviving injury or disease; the weight of years and wisdom leaving their mark. We jiggle, we slump, we wrinkle. My arms took on a new roundness, my freckles formed islands, and my feet widened. Initially, I felt frustrated—even horrified by these changes. My body felt alien and ugly, and I couldn’t reconcile my identity with my image.
Much like grief, I passed through stages:
1. Denial—“My ankles are not that thick!”
2. Anger—Frustration at my body for betraying me
3. Bargaining—Diets/dyes/Googling surgery
4. Depression—(Self-explanatory)
5. Acceptance—Letting my freckles show; investing in a new wardrobe in my actual size; trading heels for quirky yet comfortable shoes; recognizing that my curves make me the perfect vessel for maternal hugs.
Now, when I see my reflection, I see my size, sags, and crow’s feet and think, “Damn right. That’s me.” And then I turn away and stop thinking about how old I look. Instead, I want to spend my time thinking about family, friends, books, projects, work, or the world around me. Instead of turning in, I am looking out. The gift of midlife is perspective.
I have more to give to the world than my corporeal form. In fact, that is the least of who I am.
XX
Nicolle & Carla
Why VeXXed?
It all begins with an idea.
As women, we all move through phases in our life. Childhood. Teen angst. Early adulthood and the whirlwinds of university, travel, or marriage. Once children arrive, our entire focus changes, and our lives and identities shift to supporting the growth of our daughters and sons. Careers pause; our bodies soften; our identities are subsumed by our roles as caregivers. At the same time, we see our aging parents change from our once impervious role models to become more fragile or forgetful.
Yet for many women, midlife offers a sudden opportunity for personal and professional growth. Aging children, now more independent, require fewer physical supports. Careers that were once sidelined for day care pickups or parent council meetings are free to develop in new ways. Women have more time to explore hobbies or continued education. Identities that for years existed in relation to others become personal and intentional.
The VeXXed podcast began because we reached that phase in our lives. In conversations with other women, we realized that it wasn’t just us—many midlife women were coming to terms with this shift, and they had strong feelings about it.
And today, as midlife women (re)discover their identities, we’re struck by another challenge. What the hell is going on in the world? In the United States, abortion rights have taken a 50-year step into the past. The extreme right—rarely female-friendly—is gaining political ground. Social media is wreaking havoc on both politics and the mental health of our children. Add climate change, a global pandemic, economic downturn and a war in Europe, and our collective confidence in the future feels shaky at best.
Today’s midlife women—raised from birth to believe that we could “have it all”, are still reckoning with pay inequity, racial inequality, the MeToo movement, political opportunities, body image, and gender stereotypes. And those that choose to approach these challenges inclusively—supporting our BIPOC, LGBTQ2S+, non-binary or differently-abled counterparts, are now labelled as “woke” by our detractors (Umm, why is woke “bad”?). And as ever, women who raise their voices risk that age-old label: “shrill.”
Well, so be it. It’s time to embrace our shrill, woke midlife identities. VeXXed is about turning the spotlight on the issues that make politically and socially conscious women in their 40s and 50s frustrated, angry and exhausted. Sometimes charged and occasionally light-hearted, VeXXed will tackle the topics discussed over coffee, on text chains and between friends. Collectively, we want to use our identities to move beyond frustration, anger and exhaustion to awareness, understanding and action.
And since we’re not alone, we’ll be talking to guests to get greater insight into their areas of expertise or on topics that require lived experiences that go beyond our inherent biases.
So, what’s VeXXing us? This podcast will explore themes including:
Careers
Body Image & Autonomy
Health & Mental Health
Aging Parents
Parenting
Politics
For example, we’ll explore what happened to the Pussy Hat—the pink knit caps that exploded into global consciousness after evidence surfaced of then-presidential candidate Donald Trump bragged about sexually assaulting women, yet was still elected to office. The hats were ubiquitous at the 2017 Women’s March on Washington, D.C., but later criticized for not representing transgendered women or women of colour.
VeXXed will discuss midlife career growth, shifts and anxieties. For many women, their 40s and 50s are tainted by a sense that they are fast approaching their expiry date. And no wonder—the ageist and sexist dismissal of Lisa LaFlamme as lead anchor of CTVNews underscores that any woman going grey—regardless of her experience and stature—has a target on her back.
We’ll delve into sleep (or the lack thereof) common to our age group. How is it that once our kids are finally old enough to sleep through the night—we can’t?! What’s behind this frustrating somnolescent shift? How can we cope during our perpetually sandy-eyed days? And we’ll recommend our favourite audio sleep stories, which sometimes do the trick…
And we plan to have some fun, too! We’ll talk fashion, music, movies, food, exercise—just maybe don’t expect your usual recommendations. Society might think that all middle-aged women want to watch Eat Pray Love on repeat, but we’re living proof that saccharine plots and dreamy male love interests are not the extent of what our demographic enjoys. We’re here for the female-led action flicks (especially those directed by women), the dark comedies and the dystopian sci-fi. Handmaid’s Tale, anyone? And while we’re done with stilettos and underwire bras, we are not ready for polyester and support hose—so what do midlife women really think about fashion and its partner-in-crime: body image? We’ll talk honestly about our expectations, frustrations and insights now that we’re WOMEN OF A CERTAIN AGE.
So…that’s what VeXXed is. Here’s what we're not: exclusive, judgmental or unaccountable. We want to include many ideas and voices in our podcasts and blogs, so let us know what’s VeXXing you. We want to hear from women with a wide breadth of lived experiences, and we believe your voices are relevant and deserve to be heard. And we’re also human and bound to either make mistakes or trip over our own limitations. When that happens, we want to hear from you so that we can understand our errors, learn from them and share accurate information in the future. This is especially important in areas of social justice, inequity and reconciliation. We understand that this platform is a privilege and a responsibility, and we take that seriously.
We’re looking forward to taking this journey with you. Feel free to add comments or send us your ideas for future podcasts—we’d love to hear from you!
XX
Carla & Nicolle