I’ve been a low-grade hypochondriac for most of my life. (My husband might say high-grade.)

I’m not proud of it — just aware. Some of it, I know, came from long hours, stress, and a brain that doesn't like to let go of a worry once it grabs hold. And yes, being obsessive about things doesn’t help.

These days, I like to think I’ve chilled out a bit. But every now and then, a strange twinge or unfamiliar ache sends me spiraling into worst-case scenarios. Then I pause. Breathe. And remind myself: I'm aging. These feelings? They come with the territory.

I’d love to say I don’t care about my hair — but I panicked when I noticed it thinning. Still, the beauty standards of aging don’t keep me up at night. I accept what’s changing. That doesn’t mean I won’t try to soften the fall, but I’m not going to lose sleep over it.

I don’t wake up every day full of body love. That’s not the goal. The goal is relationship. Respect. A ceasefire with the mirror. A deeper awareness of what feels good, what feels strong, what feels like home.

There are days I look in the mirror and don’t quite recognize myself. My face has softened. My body moves differently. The changes are subtle, but they’ve arrived — and they’ve brought with them a reckoning.

I’ve spent years negotiating with my body. Apologizing for it. Trying to shrink it, push it harder, fix what others told me was wrong. And somewhere along the way, I started believing that aging meant losing control. Losing beauty. Losing relevance.

But this body? It’s still mine.

It has carried me through births and heartbreaks, career changes and caregiving, long nights and longer years. It has held joy and tension, desire and doubt. It has been the backdrop to my life — and it deserves better than constant critique.

I’ve read studies that suggest our 50s are pivotal. This decade is the bridge between who we were and who we’ll be in our 60s, 70s, and beyond. That doesn’t mean if you’re already in your 60s or 70s it’s too late — far from it. But if you’re in your 50s, it’s time to make some choices.

Getting exercise anyway we can, including festivals in the city.

The advice is consistent: Eat well. Maintain a healthy weight. Prioritize regular screenings. Stretch your body — and your brain.

One 2023 study published in Nature’s Journals of Gerontology found that older adults who took three to five classes in different subjects — like music or language — boosted their cognitive abilities to the levels of people 20 to 30 years younger.

As for the body? I’m currently hunting for a Pilates class that doesn’t punish my bad knee. (Found one!) Any form of exercise that keeps your muscles strong and joints moving matters more than ever now.

At the very top of the list? Rest. I look at my husband, napping on the couch, and feel both admiration and envy. Rest doesn’t come easily to me. Maybe it’s the residual wiring of decades spent working late into the night. I’m trying to hit that sweet spot of seven hours a night. Right now, I manage it two or three times a week. I can do better.

The truth is, most of us already know what we need to do. We just have to start doing it. Harvard Health Publishing emphasizes the importance of visualizing the life we want in our 60s, 70s, and 80s — then aligning our choices now with that vision.

You’d think it would be easy. Sometimes it is. Sometimes it’s not. Aging brings change — in our bodies, our minds, our relationships. Some of it is gentle. Some of it is sharp.

I used to see every change as a loss. Now, I try to see each one as a map. These lines? I’ve earned them. These curves? I’ve lived in them. The softness I once fought is now a softness I protect — not just on my body, but in my spirit.

I don’t wake up every day full of body love. That’s not the goal. The goal is relationship. Respect. A ceasefire with the mirror. A deeper awareness of what feels good, what feels strong, what feels like home.

For me, the landing page is good health. Not perfection — just vitality. I picture an active life in these next decades. Traveling with my husband. Playing with my grandchildren. Laughing with friends. Kiki-ing with my sisters and my mom.

So if you’re looking at your reflection and struggling to make peace, you’re not alone. If you’ve been taught to criticize before you’ve been taught to care, you’re not broken. You’re in process. You’re still becoming.

And this body, with all its shifts and scars? It’s still yours. Still sacred. Still worthy of love — from the inside out. And your life? It’s all yours. Make it what you want it to be.

So here’s your thought workout  for the week:

I’d love to hear how your relationship with your body has changed — and what you’re learning to hold with care.

— Rindraty Limtiaco is Not Done Yet.

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