The Soft & The Sage
Living Large and Falling Hard in the Second Half
I’ve reached that stage of life where my body makes more noise than my car. There’s a distinct crunch when I stand up, a rhythmic thump when I walk up the stairs, and a general soundtrack of sighs that seems to accompany every transition from “sitting” to “not sitting.”
If you’re reading this, you might be in a similar boat. Or perhaps you’re in a similar ocean liner. I am north of sixty and tipping the scales at well over 200 pounds. According to the glossy magazines at the grocery store checkout, I am a walking “before” picture. According to the medical charts, I am a collection of alarming adjectives.
But according to the Goddess? I am a masterpiece in progress. And so are you.
Living in an aging, plus-sized body is a unique spiritual curriculum. It’s a path that requires equal parts humor, practicality, and a radical kind of self-devotion that young, thin versions of us couldn’t even fathom.
The Blessings of the “Extra”
Let’s talk about the blessings first, because we spend so much time apologize-living that we forget to celebrate.
There is a profound softness that comes with this territory. I’m not just talking about the physical cushion (though, let’s be honest, it makes for a much more comfortable seat at a long ritual or a theater show). I’m talking about the softening of the spirit. When you carry a body that doesn’t fit the “standard,” you eventually lose the energy to care about the “standard.”
There is a liberation in being “too much.” When you stop trying to shrink, you finally have the space to expand—into your wisdom, into your magic, and into your rightful place as an elder. We are the soft landing for our grandchildren; we are the solid, unshakeable presence in a room full of people still trying to figure out who they are.
The Practicality of the “Aches”
Now, the practical side. Because let’s be real: carrying 200+ pounds at 60+ years old isn’t always a walk in the park (especially if that park has hills).
The “Goddess” in me wants to soar, but the “Knees” in me want to stay on the couch. The challenge is finding the middle ground where we honor the vessel without punishing it.
This is a longer post because amidst all of flowery wisdom, I have to tell you a story. In 2004, back when the earth was cooling and dinosaurs roamed and I was in my early 40s, I fell in my living room while carrying a massively cumbersome (around 30” wide) aquarium, which was the habitat for my semi-aquatic turtle. It was time for his water change and anyone who has had turtles knows how horrible, gross, and disgusting their water gets. While carrying the aquarium (which had everything in it except the turtle), I managed to deftly step into a fancy wrought iron candle holder that for reasons unimaginable was on the floor in the middle of my living room. I pitched forward, hard and, determined not to let that aquarium break, I went down hard on my knee.
We won’t talk about the face full of turtle water that came along with that fall. The aquarium came out of it intact, as did the candle holder, but my right knee did not. Then, and intermittently for the next 22 years to present, I had problems with that knee. The problems show up, usually sparked by being on my feet for too long, running on asphalt, or over-exercising, then gradually, it heals and the pain abates.
Fast forward to December 26, 2025. I got up at 7:00 am, ungodly early for me, because Bruce, my little dog, had to pee. We’d had several days of rain and it was dusk, so visibility was low. As I went out to let the dog pee in my Walmart nightgown covered by a long jacket, the propane guy drove up and appropriately ignored me. Bruce has a shy bladder, so he was fiddle-fucking around about peeing, but finally got down to business.
Eric and I park our car directly in front of the front entrance porch to the house (no stairs, just a sort of covered approach), with the car parallel to the house. I was walking around the corner of the car, holding onto the car for support because my #1 fear in the world is falling.
In some kind of bizarre, time-bending experience, my feet went out from under me, almost gracefully, and I was suddenly parallel to the ground and then landed flat on my back.
Like a scene from “Romancing the Stone,” mud flowed around my shoulders and downward. I had mud from my shoulders to my heels. I stared up at the dark sky as I did the necessary injury scan. No pain. Everything seemed to move OK.
Bruce looked at me from in front of the door as if to say, “What we are doing here? I don’t get it.” Then he started to growl and I saw that the propane guy was coming around the corner of the car and looking down at me.
Someone noticed I was in trouble.
But no.
He said, “I’m having a bit of a problem over here” and he proceeded to tell me that he had tried to drive the propane truck to exit the lower gate (which is smaller - the bigger upper gate was open and I’d watched the propane truck enter through the smaller gate as I initially left the house) and the truck was stuck and he had to call another truck to come and pull him back up the driveway so he could leave trough the other gate.
Meanwhile, I’m on the ground looking up at him and he’s going on about his stuck truck.
I managed to push myself to standing - noticed that I still had no pain although the breath was a bit knocked out of me - while he kept talking on and on.
Once I was upright, I asked if there was some way he needed my help. He said he did not, he was just letting me know why he was still there and would be there for a little while yet.
OK, then.
I hobbled inside. My clothes are in Eric’s room and so I eased in there as quietly as I could because he was still dead asleep. I stripped out of my muddy clothes and grabbed a clean nightgown, which was the easiest clothing for me to access. I used a shower in a different part of the house to clean up and while I was showering off the mud, I noticed that my right knee - the bad knee - was skinned up and slightly bloodied. I couldn’t imagine why my knee was skinned when I’d so smoothly gone down onto my back.
When I came out of the shower, clean and in a fresh nightgown, the propane guy was gone, so I maintain that he had a much better day than I did.
The next day, I was surprised that nothing was sore, nothing hurt… I just had a scraped knee.
Two days later, I woke up to intense pain in my right knee that worsened significantly with standing or walking - anything load-bearing. If I turned my leg a certain way, the pain was nearly blinding.
This was all very similar to the past pain I’d felt in this leg and like so many others in my situation, I have shitty medical coverage, so going to the ER is a last resort.
Today is January 7 and the pain has been better, worse, and better. I bought a cane. I use the shop’s utility cart as a walker. I sit a good bit. It is getting better, but wow. I am now well re-acquainted with intense pain. I hobble and it is nearly impossible for me to walk without the cane or the cart. I can now sit or lie down and find a position where there is no pain, which is huge progress for me over last week.
I have been blessed with wonderfully few injuries or issues and I am grateful beyond expression for that. This is pretty terrible, but it is getting better. It reminded me of how vulnerable we are and how our mobility status can change on a dime.
Since then, the rain continued and on Saturday, January 3rd, and Delena fell in the exact same place and in the exact same way that I did. She pointed out that what happened to my knee was that as I went down, my leg went under the car bumper and scraped against it, which tracks.
Anyway, I told you that long-ass story to share with you some of the things this pain taught me.
We must not negotiate with pain: In our 20s, we “pushed through.” In our 60s, pushing through is just a great way to end up in physical therapy or worse. If your body says “No,” listen to it. Respecting your body’s boundaries is a form of worship. I kept trying to prove that I was still valuable, that I could still Do The Things and man, did I ever pay for it. My body made it clear that I needed to sit the hell down and keep weight, any weight, off of it. My body is wonderfully forgiving, but my knee refuses to put up with my ego and martyr issues.
We must invest in appropriate infrastructure: This is the time for good shoes, a high-quality mattress, and let’s throw in some luxurious body oils. If we are going to live in a “Large and In Charge” temple, the maintenance needs to be unapologetically top-tier. I told myself that getting a cane was a slippery slope into accepting immobility. I put it off for days longer than I should have. I need the support and I should have gotten it for myself sooner. I’m moving very little these days and when I do, I always make sure I have some kind of support.
We must rethink movement: Movement shouldn’t be about “burning off” that delicious dinner. It should be about lubrication. We move so we don’t rust. Whether it’s a slow stroll through the garden or a seated stretch, do it because it feels like a gift, not a chore. I took movement for granted and once this heals up, I will value it much more. I can feel how “rusted,” I am.
The Sacred Shift
…which is only a couple of letters off from “The Scared Shit.”
The biggest challenge isn’t the weight or the age; it’s the dangerous internal monologue. For decades, many of us viewed our bodies as projects to be managed. We were always five pounds away from being happy, one weight loss supplement from success, or one wrinkle-cream away from being “ready.” At this age, we need to fire the project manager and instead must work to be happy and present where we are now, whether that involves pain or not.
When I look in the mirror now, I don’t see a “weight problem.” I see a woman who has survived six decades of life, who has birthed, mourned, celebrated, failed, succeeded, and most of all, persisted. My body has expanded to hold all the stories I’ve gathered. It is wide because my life is wide. It is soft because I have learned to be gentle.
I also see the effects of a sugar binge I went on over the holidays and I know my body will feel better if I detox from the sugar. I know that in my body, sugar creates inflammation and I know that is not helping my knee to heal. My energy was a weird convergence of situations. The extra weight did not cause it and I would be in pain regardless, but the weight causes more pain when I try to stand or walk because the injured joint endures greater strain supporting a bigger body.
It is tempting to fall into the trap of self-derision and playing the “what if” and “if only” games. My body is still sacred (not scared) and I am confident my knee will heal. Meanwhile, I will work to reduce the inflammation and stay off of it, giving it a chance each day to heal a bit more
When we navigate the world in a body that takes up space and tells the story of many years, we should hold our heads high. We aren’t “declining.” We are experiencing. We are ripening. We are learning. We are integrating information.
You are a Goddess in her fullness, as am I, and that is a beautiful thing to behold and experience.
Oh how you always hit the nail on the head, I feel your pain and am going thru the same at this time! Just the opposite end of my body it is my shoulders and neck. Please know you are always in my prayers and I love you and eric so very much!
The propane guy! My GOD!
Falling is also a huge anxiety for me. My feet are simultaneously completely stiff, and also very wobbly.