Learning to Stay Present as Time Speeds Up.

When aging feels personal, time feels fragile — and healing teaches us how to live anyway.

“He has started shaving.” My daughter announced after sending me the link to my grandson’s basketball photoshoot.

“Oh my,” is all I can say to the reality that life is moving far too fast.

My first grandson — the one who made me a Nina — is thirteen. He’s shaving his mustache.

I updated her on her younger brother, who is only three years older than her son. I always knew I would have several children and grandchildren someday, but I never imagined I would be parenting a teenager at the same time my daughter was.

We exchange a few teasing remarks about our boys, and then she turns the reflections back on us. Her gray hair. My wrinkles. Who are we to talk about their shaving habits?

I sit back and try not to grow anxious as I face the reality that I am not getting any younger. And that scares me. I feel like I am running out of time, racing against the clock. Aging frightens me — not because of wrinkles or gray hair, but because of what time has already taken.

For some, accepting aging might be easy. But for those who have survived trauma, loss, and major life upheaval, aging does not feel practical. It feels personal. It feels like time is speeding up — like chapters are closing and fewer days are left.

If you were busy surviving—parenting, enduring, rebuilding, or grieving—you might notice time passing faster. Part of you might think:

I just got here. I just started living. And now I am already old.

There is a kind of loss that permanently alters how time moves. When you have buried a child, time is no longer neutral. Every birthday, every year, every wrinkle begins to whisper:

Life is fragile.
Nothing is guaranteed.
This could vanish in a minute.

Culture teaches us that youth is valuable and aging is decline. The older person is invisible. But that is propaganda, not truth. It exists to sell fear — especially to women. So when we feel anxious about aging, part of that fear is cultural programming.

And yet, when you have done deep healing work, life often gets better. Clearer. Stronger. Because you know who you are. You know what you will not tolerate. You know how to tell the truth. And you know how to love without disappearing.

I recently encountered a Buddhist teaching that challenges me — not because it is bleak, but because it refuses comfort. I read it with resistance.

I am of the nature to grow old;
there is no way to escape growing old.
I am of the nature to have ill health;
there is no way to escape ill health.
I am of the nature to die;
there is no way to escape death.
All that is dear to me and everyone I love are of the nature to change.
I am the owner of my actions, heir to my actions…

— Upajjhatthana Sutta (Anguttara Nikaya, Pali Canon)

I do not find peace in these words yet — but I find truth.

So here are the steps I am taking today.

When fear says, “I am getting older,” I answer with:

I am finally living in my own skin.
I am finally choosing myself.
I am finally free.

And when the fear hits hard, I return to the present with a simple grounding practice.

Putting my hand on my chest.
Breathing in.
I say quietly:

I am here.
I am alive.
I am still becoming.

I’ll do it three times.

As it brings me back from future panic into present life.

I am still becoming—no matter how many razors are in the house. And no matter how hard I try to remain 37.

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Learning to Stay Present as Time Speeds Up. was originally published in Women Write on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.