First, before we get into this, I really feel like we need to have a stern talk about what middle-aged means. I use the term to describe myself because I am, despite my creative nature, a freakishly linear person. According to information recently disclosed to me by an Egyptian psychic (don’t judge, this is what you do at street fairs), I have a long lifeline and will live well into my nineties. Hot damn.

So, my linear brain divides this in half because math don’t lie. If I live to be 96, at my current age of 48, I am precisely in the middle of my life. I can’t tell you how much this thrills me for reasons I may need to sit with for a while.

Most definitions note it as roughly 45 to 65. So, I’m solidly a newbie here. Still waiting for the middle-age welcome basket, if a not-so-newbie can let the community organizer know, that would be great.

I do not hold any negative stigma to the term “middle-aged” regardless of the fact that some dictionary note is as the period immediately preceding “old age.” I mean, that make sense and I would probably be bothered if I allowed “old” to carry a negative connotation.

However, I often think I am alone in that. Namely, the pushback on the label comes from men. Dudes, listen, I am sorry you are sent messages your whole life than lead you to believe that aging is a death sentence. While it, for sure, actually moves you toward death, you are not even close. Calm down. Back away from the 31-year-old.

The messages that women receive are just as bad. I speak from authority. The frequency with which I get comments (and even emails) from men who are wringing their hands in worry over what is going to happen to the army of independent, slowly aging women is mind-boggling. Let me put a fine point on it.

The modern, middle-aged woman is a fully capable, self-sufficient, whole woman who is prepared to take care of herself while having the time of her life without any care as to what others think about that life.

Simply, we are wildly aware that we are living our best life, and it freaks people out because it flies in the face of the idea that single, middle-aged women revert to some 19th-century role of needing to be dependent on anything and everything for care.

I hear this from men who tell me I need to lower my standards and sell myself short because if I don’t find a husband soon, I will die penniless and alone on the streets.

I feel like these men are horribly underestimating middle-aged women and I don’t recommend doing that. Here’s what we know that they don’t.

We do not care about your standards

There is a beautiful letting go of societal standards that middle-aged women are embracing, and it feels so damn good. It’s like opening a delicious bottle of wine that we’ve been sitting on for years, waiting for the right moment to crack that baby open and let it breathe.

This has never been more evident to me than in the fact that we are, en masse, letting our hair go naturally gray. I am eight months into this venture and it’s the coolest decision I have made in a long time. I wake up everyday and look in the mirror and love it. Period.

We understand that a flattering, elegant one-piece swimsuit that makes us feel hot as hell is ten times sexier than the bikini we could be wearing while laying on a beach chair wondering about how every small movement makes our body look.

We have more money than you think and than we imagined

And no, we did not acquire it from divorcing our husbands. We reacquired it through a very real understanding that our own security rests sole on our ability to invest in ourselves and our future.

Sure, we have less saved than men our age for reasons that we fully agreed to (having kids and taking time off) and ones we didn’t (hello, wage gap and corporate sexism).

We’re smart. We are armed with spreadsheets. We calculate. We have built our lives so that they are sustainable. We own our own real estate. We will be just fine. We do not require saving.

The men in our lives are a want, not a need

This is a game changer that we desperately needed and that we are laying claim to whole heartedly. I have spent the last few years of my life building a beautiful life that welcome someone into with open arms.

However, my life is no less beautiful if there is not a man by my side taking in its beauty.

I can say that relationships take on a completely different feel when you bring someone in out of a genuine desire to have them there for no other reason than they bring you joy.

We do not see our singlehood as a sentence and we will not be relegating to being seen as a modern-day Miss Haversham. We do not have time for that. We travel the world on our own. We order dessert that we don’t have to share.

We also do not feel guilty about the dessert because we have absolved ourselves of caring what someone else thinks about our 5–10 extra pounds. We earned those pounds. The chocolate cake was worth it and we think occasional indulgence is sexy.

Let me tell you, I have embraced a level of badassery that could terrify the weak. I’m not saying that as a flex. Okay, whatever. I am. Who cares? If you’re going to flex, this is what you flex. I’ve earned it. Literally.

I have said it once and it bears repeating. No tears should be shed for the single, middle-aged woman. She do not need anyone’s pity. We’ve got this.

Vanessa Torre is a writer, editor, plant junkie, music fan, and host of 🎙 I Hadn’t Considered That, a podcast about perspectives. For contact info or to find out more about her visit www.vanessatorre.com, follow her on Instagram, or sign up for her newsletter.