* * *
—
SOMETIMES I THINK about how I used to keep everything so private; like Harriet the Spy, my former idol, I was comfortable lobbing insults and criticisms at people in my own notebook, whether literal or figurative. But there came a point where I couldn’t hide behind my notebook anymore. That’s been a part of my growing-up process, I think. Being able to do what you love and get paid for it is a privilege, one that I like to think I’ve earned, and one that came about only through a lot of trial and error and getting to know myself.
So much of the day-to-day experience of being a woman is internalizing the idea that we need to camouflage ourselves, to adapt to the male-dominated culture around us; for women who aren’t white, this is often literally impossible. I thought about all my male bosses, the meetings I went to where I was the only woman, all the times I felt like I needed to make myself smaller or less visible to gain the approval of men. I thought about all the mornings I got ready by blow-drying my hair and putting on a full face of makeup, and how I felt naked without it. I thought about all the carbs I didn’t eat and all the hours wishing my stomach were flatter. I thought about all the conversations I replayed in my head, worried that I’d said the wrong thing. And I thought about how I wasn’t that person anymore—she was still a part of me, but she was no longer my authentic self.
I have an appreciation for the person that I used to be, but an even deeper appreciation for the person I am now. I’ve learned that people will criticize you no matter what you do or what you say, and that sometimes their criticism is warranted, but a lot of times it isn’t. As I’ve done this for longer—recording hours of podcasts where I’m basically just talking about myself each week, posting on social media, writing about myself—I’m getting better at determining when I need to course-correct or apologize, but also when I can tell myself that this person is projecting their own issues onto me, or that they’re just flat-out wrong, or they’re fundamentally uncomfortable with a woman talking frankly about uncomfortable subjects (and yes, often these people are women, too). It’s also been a good lesson for me to learn that someone can criticize something I’ve done or said and the world doesn’t end. And it’s important for me, as I age, to stay visible and vocal, and to make other women’s voices heard along the way, too—because not everyone is always able to speak freely (especially on social media) without criticism turning into threats of violence. Being able to show myself—my true self—to the world is a privilege, and one that I don’t take for granted, and I believe that those of us who enjoy that privilege owe it to our fellow women to help them find their way there too.
Sometimes I can’t totally believe it: I, who always felt slightly out of step with what I “should” be doing as a woman, helped create a community of people who not only accept me for who I am, but look up to me for who I am. Maybe all the stumbling through and making mistakes and feeling bad about myself for so long had been for a reason. Maybe being a late bloomer wasn’t an accident. Maybe it was the point. I was a late bloomer because I had struggled to make sense of who I was and how I was meant to move through the world, but now that I’m here, and living out my late bloomerdom in all its glory, I can finally have empathy for the person I’d fought so hard not to be—and appreciate her, deeply. I used to worry so much about how I had “missed the memo” or wasn’t doing things at the same time as everyone else, but now I see that it was only because I had had those experiences that I’m able to be happy and fulfilled.
It hasn’t been lost on me that Forever35 started as a podcast about caring for our skin—the most visible part of our bodies, and the body part that is judged and evaluated more than any other. I’ve come to see aging as a privilege, not something to run from or feel shame about, and coming to terms with this idea has given me a sense of self I never had. I now know that we don’t disappear when we turn thirty-five or forty or fifty or sixty. We keep evolving and learning and growing, always right on time for whoever we are.
To Matt and Henry, who were both worth waiting for
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
It’s probably fitting that this book took a long time to figure out what it was, and even longer for me to actually finish it. I need to give a huge thanks to two people who helped me get it there: my agent, Alia Hanna Habib, who believed in it from the start, and my editor, Sara Weiss, whose incredibly thoughtful and perceptive edits made it a book. I’m so grateful to both of them for their support and, perhaps more important, patience. And a special thanks to Carrie Frye, who astutely pointed out that I was not, in fact, writing a book of essays—I was writing a memoir!—and guided me through some crucial rewrites.
I’m also very fortunate that the team at Ballantine is second to none: I get to have people like Carrie Neill, Debbie Aroff, Colleen Nuccio, Courtney Mocklow, and Jennifer Garza in my corner! I’m also grateful for the wonderful people at Gernert—Anna Worrall and Sophie Pugh-Sellers especially.
My life changed when we launched Forever35. Thank you, Kate Spencer, for being a better cohost and business partner than I ever could have dreamed of, and who put up with my endless schedule limitations and stress around finishing the book (during a pandemic!), and also for reading an early draft and giving me great notes. And thanks to all of the Forever35 listeners who tune in week after week and trust us with their big life questions and their serum recommendations. We could not do the show without you.
Thanks also to Rachel Axler for giving me such astute notes on the manuscript, and to the members of W!W!W!, who had invaluable feedback on early essay drafts.
I’m so lucky to have such great, longstanding friends on both coasts. Thank you for your friendship and your love. (I hope you like the names I picked out for you here.) And thanks, also, to my new crew of mom friends, who have been such a crucial support system for me since Henry was born.
Our nanny, Holly, was a lifesaver while I was working on the book. Thank you for being there for him, and for me.
To my family: I miss you all so much, and I can’t wait for us all to be together again soon. Thank you for providing me with material, and with love.
I’m so happy that Henry exists. I started this book when I was still pregnant with him, and I never could have guessed how much my life would change for the better once he was in it. Now I can’t imagine my life without him. And, finally, my husband’s faith that I would finish this book never wavered. He gave me pep talks when I needed them and reminded me that my life was, in fact, at least mildly interesting. Matt, you are an amazing partner and dad, and Henry and I are so, so lucky to have you.
Also by Doree Shafrir
Startup: A Novel
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Doree Shafrir is the author of the novel Startup and the co-host of the podcasts Forever35 and Matt & Doree’s Eggcellent Adventure. She lives in Los Angeles with family.
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