Be the Woman Who Cheers Her On
My sister Liza shared a post on social media recently about women in their forties and fifties choosing themselves. Making room for parts of themselves they’d put aside while taking care of everyone else.
The message was simple. When you see a woman doing that, cheer her on.
It stayed with me, so naturally I messaged her with questions. What were her thoughts when she posted it? Was there something behind it? Did she think women needed to support other women more?
Apparently, you can’t even share a post without your sister turning it into a blog interview.
She talked about how much mothers carry. Raising children, being a wife, working, and putting off things they want because someone else needs something. Sometimes putting off things they need, too. She talked about learning to feel comfortable in a body that shows the life it’s lived.
“It’s her time to shine!” she wrote.
Liza recently went through a melanoma diagnosis. They were able to remove it, but getting through that process was difficult. The waiting and waiting was hard on her.
Knowing that, I wondered how much of her own experience was tucked into her answer. She’s so often the one handling things for her family. Her own needs, including her health, can end up last.
I recognize that. I imagine plenty of you do, too.
Somewhere along the way, taking care of everyone else becomes such a habit that doing something for yourself requires an explanation. Even to yourself. There’s always something else you could be doing, someone who needs something, or a reason to put it off a little longer.
By midlife, that can be a hard habit to change. And having someone in your corner matters when you’re trying.
As Liza and I continued talking, the conversation turned to my blog. I told her that readers had been commenting and that one woman had thanked me for blogging reality.
That meant so much to me. I’m writing about my ordinary life, and sometimes I wonder whether what I have to say will mean anything to someone else. Hearing that it does makes a difference.
Liza told me she couldn’t wait for the next post.
“It’s so good. I’m always so proud when I read it.”
Then she mentioned the kitchen table and checkbook from the piece I’d written about our mom and grandma. A detail that had stayed with her.
There I was, asking her about women supporting women, and she was doing exactly that.
That’s my sister. She’s one of my biggest protectors and has always been one of my biggest cheerleaders. When I did a podcast during COVID, she encouraged me. When I started this blog, she encouraged me. Whatever I decide to try, she’s usually there cheering me on.
I’ve been fortunate to have other women do that, too. My mom was such an important source of encouragement when I went back to college and finished my master’s. My daughter and daughters in law are supportive. I have work friends who encourage my projects and my efforts to take better care of myself.
I know what that support feels like. I know how much it can help when you’re uncertain or trying something that matters to you.
Which makes this next part uncomfortable to admit.
I haven’t always offered other women the kindness I’ve received.
I’ve been in conversations where women were talking about another woman, and I joined in. Someone makes a comment. Someone else adds something. Before long, you’re participating without giving much thought to the person being discussed.
I’ve done it. I’m not going to excuse myself.
I’m also someone who replays conversations in my head afterward. Sometimes I think about what I said and wish I’d reacted differently. Why did I add that? What did I actually know about her situation? Couldn’t I have been kinder?
Usually, yes. I could have.
The uncomfortable part is knowing that I believe women should support each other and still remembering times when my own words didn’t reflect that.
I want to pay closer attention in the moment, while I still have the opportunity to respond differently. To leave the comment unsaid. To question whether we know the whole story. To stop helping a conversation become cruel.
Because life isn’t a competition, and my experience isn’t the same as another midlife woman’s.
She might have more freedom than I do. She might want things I don’t want. She might be making a change I wouldn’t make or spending her time in a way I don’t understand.
None of that tells me what it feels like to live her life.
We share so many familiar struggles, but we won’t all find our way through them the same way. Some of us are raising children. Some have grown children and are figuring out what comes next. Some are caring for a spouse or a parent. Some are starting over, going back to school, or trying to remember what they enjoy.
And plenty of us are doing several of those things at once.
I’d like us to give each other a little more room to figure it out.
Choosing something for ourselves in midlife can be surprisingly vulnerable. Starting a blog means letting people read what you think. Going back to school means being willing to struggle with something new. Taking better care of yourself can mean changing routines that everyone around you has grown comfortable with.
It helps to have someone ask how it’s going. Someone who remembers the thing you were nervous about and checks back. Someone who lets you be excited without making you feel silly.
I’ve had women be that person for me. I want to be that person for other women more consistently.
That includes how I speak about a woman when she isn’t there to hear it.
Liza shared a post, and I went looking for the thoughts behind it. By the time we finished talking, she’d also reminded me how much her encouragement means to me.
“I’m always so proud when I read it.”
She may have typed that without realizing how much I needed to hear it.
I’m still thinking about it. And about who I could offer that same encouragement to.
With Love from Mabank,
Brandy
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