There is value at every age

There are some conversations that happen quietly behind consulting room doors. They often begin with an apology.

“I’m a bit embarrassed to mention this.”

“I’ve never told anyone this before.”

“I suppose it’s just my age.”

Over the years, I have noticed that many of the symptoms people are most reluctant to discuss are not signs of illness at all. More often, they are signs of a life that has been fully lived. 

The woman embarrassed by her prolapse is often the woman who carried and gave birth to children.

The wrinkles around the eyes often belong to someone who has spent a lifetime laughing, or someone who has stayed awake through the night caring for another person.

The aching joints often belong to someone who has spent decades working, caring, walking, lifting and living.

The body tells a story.

Yet somewhere along the way, we seem to have decided that these stories should be hidden.

One of the greatest mistakes modern society makes, I think, is assuming that value peaks at a particular age.

I was brought up to respect my elders. It was simply how things were done. It is something I have tried to teach my own children too.

That may be one of the reasons I find it so difficult, as a GP, when I meet older patients who seem to be navigating the challenges of ageing largely alone. Over the years I have cared for many elderly patients whose families rarely visited, rarely called and sometimes seemed almost absent from their lives.

I have never stopped finding that sad.

Because there would never have been a time when my own parents would have been expected to navigate their later years alone.

When my father became frail, we adjusted our lives around his needs. When my mother needed support, it was simply what families do. Not because we were unusual. Not because we were saints. But because they had spent a lifetime caring for us.

It felt natural that the direction of care would eventually reverse.

In today’s world, life often feels incredibly busy. Work, school, activities, social media, emails and endless notifications compete for our attention. Sometimes I wonder whether, in all our efforts to stay connected, we have become less connected than ever.

As a GP, I see many young people struggling with anxiety, loneliness and a sense of disconnection. Many have hundreds of online contacts but very few meaningful conversations. Some rarely sit down for a meal with their family. Weekends pass without shared plans or time spent together. Their friends are often connections on social media or people they know through online games rather than people sitting beside them.

I sometimes wonder whether we have also changed the way we measure worth. In a world increasingly dominated by followers, likes and online visibility, it can feel as though a person’s value is linked to how much attention they can generate. Yet it can be a surprisingly lonely place to be.

It is hard getting older. But I suspect it is hard being young in today’s world too. I sometimes wonder whether the way we view ageing says something about the way we view ourselves at every age.

Every generation faces challenges, but young people today are growing up in an environment unlike anything previous generations have experienced. The people they look up to are often influencers living seemingly perfect lives, displayed through carefully selected photographs, edited videos and filtered images on a screen. Success can appear to be measured in followers, likes and online visibility. It is difficult to compete with an edited version of somebody else’s life and not occasionally feel insufficient.

My own role models felt more tangible. My parents. My wider family. Teachers. Doctors I admired. Occasionally a pop star or actress.

But my sense of self came primarily from the people around me and the values they taught me. The messages were not always delivered perfectly, but they were real. I knew who I was long before anybody could click a button to approve or disapprove of me.

That is why tolerance between generations matters so much. Respect for our elders, certainly. But also a willingness from older generations to learn from younger people.

I am still learning every day. Some of the most insightful conversations I have had have been with people much younger than me. They see the world differently. They challenge assumptions. They teach me things I would never have considered.

Getting older is also becoming a little more personal.

At 55, I am becoming increasingly aware that I am no longer the youngest person in the room. My children, lovely as they are, can sometimes become impatient when I don’t pick something up quite quickly enough. Usually it involves technology. The buttons on my phone seem to move around with alarming frequency. Apparently there is always a quicker way to do something that I haven’t discovered yet. I still don’t close all the tabs on my iPad I have opened which seems to irritate them.  I occasionally need help finding a setting that seems obvious to everyone else. I colour my greys. I sometimes need somebody else to read the writing on a packet because my near vision is not what it once was.

I notice these changes professionally too.

Medicine has changed enormously during my career. When I first started in medicine, much of healthcare depended on relationships and conversations. You picked up the phone, spoke to another doctor and explained why you were concerned. Not everything fitted neatly into a referral form. Sometimes it was a feeling that something wasn’t quite right. Sometimes it was knowledge of a patient built over years. Sometimes it was the nuance that sits between the lines of a history and examination.

Technology has undoubtedly improved many aspects of healthcare, and artificial intelligence will almost certainly transform it further.

But I suspect there will always be value in speaking to another human being. The ability to listen, interpret, question and understand context is not easily reduced to a series of boxes to tick. Some of the most important decisions in medicine still rely on judgement, experience and human connection.

Perhaps the same is true in life.

Some of that change has undoubtedly brought benefits. But something has been lost too. That is part of what ageing teaches us. Not everything that is old is outdated. Not everything that is new is better. Experience has value. Perspective has value. The ability to recognise patterns, understand people and navigate uncertainty has value. And those things tend to grow with age, not diminish.

I have increasingly come to believe that there is value at every age.

Because despite the reading glasses, the greying hair and the occasional battle with my phone, in my head I am still twenty-something. I can still dance. I can still laugh until I cry. I can still enjoy a night out. And I would like to think I can still teach the younger generation a thing or two as well.

And if I occasionally need to cross my legs before I sneeze because I have carried three children into this world, then perhaps that too should be worn as a badge of honour.

That is the thing about ageing.

The outside changes far more quickly than the inside. The person looking back from the mirror is often much older than the person we feel ourselves to be. The physical signs of ageing are not signs of failure. They are evidence. Evidence of lives that have been lived.

Bodies are not ornaments. They are records of journeys. Every wrinkle. Every grey hair. Every laugh line. Every stretch mark. Every prolapse. Every pair of reading glasses.

They are not signs that we are failing. They are signs that we have lived.

And perhaps instead of being embarrassed by the marks life leaves behind, we should learn to be proud of them.

That may be the lesson for all of us.

The old have experience, perspective and a deeper understanding of what truly matters. 

The young have energy, fresh ideas and a willingness to challenge the way things have always been done. 

Neither is complete without the other.

The answer is not to value one generation more highly than another, but to recognise that each has something important to contribute.

There is wisdom in age. There is promise in youth. And there is value in both.

Thank you for reading.

You can find more reflections on medicine, health and life in the Posts section.