Dear Diary: The Top 5 Things No One Told Me About Getting Old (Okay, Maybe They Did, But I Wasn’t Listening)

Dear Diary,

Today I sneezed and peed a little.

Again.

And that’s not even the most shocking thing about getting older. I mean, I knew aging came with “wisdom” and “grace” and a newfound appreciation for fiber, but no one warned me about the fine print. Or maybe they did—while I was busy slathering on tanning oil in the 90s and believing that 50 was basically the same as being dead.

Plot twist: I’m not dead. I’m just…stretchier. In my pants. And in my worldview.

So here they are. My top 5 Things No One Told Me About Getting Old (or maybe they did, and I rolled my eyes and reached for another wine cooler):

#5 – Peeing Every Time You Sneeze
It starts off innocent. A laugh here, a sneeze there. Then suddenly, you’re doing the Kegel Olympics during every commercial break because your bladder has decided it’s running its own show now. No one tells you this happens before you’re eligible for senior discounts. You think, “This must be temporary,” and Google phrases like “pelvic floor rebellion.”

Newsflash: It’s not temporary. But hey—on the bright side, you now have a legitimate excuse to skip trampolines, jump ropes, and spontaneous double sneezes.

#4 – Gravity Is Not Just for Boobs
We all knew about the inevitable southward migration of certain body parts, but gravity’s a petty little force. It’s taking everything. Your cheeks? Drooping like forgotten balloons. Your knees? Collapsing in existential protest. Your eyebrows? Now trying to escape via your chin.

But the real betrayal? Your eyelids. You wake up and your eyes look…tired. Not emotionally. Literally drooping shut.

Who knew fighting gravity would become a full-time hobby?

#3 – The Pressure to Hide Gray Hair
Somewhere between age 40 and the second week of perimenopause, society starts whispering that silver strands = social decline. That one gray hair is not just a follicle, it’s a flag—declaring your descent into irrelevance.

But then you look in the mirror and think, “You know what? This silvery streak is actually kinda badass.” It’s giving wise forest witch, not washed-up PTA mom.

And yet, there you are at Walgreens, holding a box of Dark Chestnut #42 and wondering if anyone will notice if you just touch up the temples.

#2 – What You Think You Look Like vs. What You Actually Look Like
In your mind, you’re pulling off a sexy, boho, half-up messy bun with a side of “I totally meant to wear this wrinkled linen.”
In reality, you look like you lost a fight with a feral squirrel and rolled out of the Goodwill donation bin.

There’s this hilarious lag—like the Wi-Fi between your self-image and your reflection. You feel like your 1997 self. But the selfie says 2025, and she is a little…tired.

Still hot, though. Let’s not get it twisted.

#1 – Why You Still Think You’re 27
This is the real kicker. The cruelest trick.

Inside, you are still 27. You still remember your AIM password, your favorite pair of platform sandals, and the exact dance moves to “No Scrubs.” You dream, flirt, stress-scroll Instagram, and wonder what you want to be when you grow up.

Then you check your calendar and realize your kid is 27.

Getting older is a time warp. You’re the same soul in a slightly creakier container. You’re wiser, maybe weirder, definitely wearier—but you’re still you. Stretch marks, stretchy pants, and all.

Love and laugh lines,
Me (Still 27, Dammit)

P.S.
Here’s the truth, Diary—none of it really matters. Not the sneezes, not the silver strands, not the saggy bits or the shifting self-image. I mean sure, I roll my eyes at my reflection some days, but I also wink at her. Because she’s still here. Still showing up, still learning, still laughing so hard she pees a little.

I love myself—not in that have to use photoshop filters, Pinterest-quote kind of way, but in a fierce, earned-it, lived-through-it kind of way. I’ve survived single parent-hood, cancer, and low-rise jeans. I am wise, wild, and just the right amount of weird. (ok maybe more then the right amoun weird)

I am not less because I’ve aged. I am more. More me. And me? I’m freaking awesome.

So stretch those pants, lift that chin (and those eyelids if you must), and remember: we are not losing it—we’re just finally living it.