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Reflections on Identity
How Writing About Sex in Midlife Saved Me
Finding my way back to myself
When I wrote a book about sex and dating after my marriage ended, I bared myself to a degree that surprised even those who knew me best. I held nothing back, sharing intimate details for my family, friends and strangers to read. And I’ve kept going, openly discussing and writing about sex as I navigate this new chapter of my life: midlife.
To be fair, at 54, I’m hardly a midlife newbie. When my sexual renaissance began seven years ago following the implosion of my marriage, I was a mere 47, an age that now strikes me as sweetly youthful. Midlife had already settled in by then though I was too preoccupied to notice, first wrestling with the fallout of my husband’s affair and then the pandemic.
I often hear fellow midlifers boast that the greatest perk of this stage is the utter lack of fucks they give — they do and say exactly as they please, unshackled by judgment or consequence. They wear their defiance like a badge of honor: I own my truth, and fuck anyone who dares to question it.
I long to join this no-fucks-given club, but the truth is, I still care — not as much as I once did, but enough. A lifetime of people-pleasing has left its mark. As a child, I slipped in and out of rooms…
