Learn to look for the joy
Eva Chapman thought she had nothing to look forward to as she got older – but then she discovered dancing, and herself…
When our eyes met across the crowded canteen, we both smiled. Living in London with my two young children, I was 32, going through my second divorce and studying for a PhD in medical sociology at the Open University.
It was 1979 and Jake, then 34, was a long-haired, bearded professor. We married in 1983 and moved to Somerset, where we kept ourselves busy and happy raising our blended family, Jake had two kids from a previous relationship too. We spent decades running meditation retreats known as Enlightenment Intensives from our home, helping people find answers to life’s hardest questions.
Life was good. And then, in 1997 I turned 50, the menopause hit, and everything crumbled. I thought it was the end of the road. My days as an attractive, interesting and sexy woman were over. I believed Cher when she said: ‘Fifty sucks. Men don’t look at you anymore.’
I bought into all the societal messages that I was a has-been. I felt invisible and the future felt bleak. I started to eat and drink too much. I developed more chins. I became an apple shape as my middle expanded so I opted for loose, baggy tops.
While I was hiding away, annoyingly Jake seemed to get better looking with age. Turning grey suited him. I became obsessed with having a facelift. ‘I’ll leave if you do,’ said Jake. ‘Why would you want to cut up your beautiful face?’ I was so down on myself, I couldn’t hear his compliments.
My interest in sex dwindled. Desperate for a solution, I gobbled yam pills and a herb, ‘horny goat,’ to no avail. Germaine Greer said that in middle age, she was happy men didn’t look at her as a sexual object anymore, but instead appreciated her brain. I would have happily traded in my PhD for a wolf whistle.
Feeling sorry for myself, I barely noticed the 31-year-old woman sidle up to Jake at his 60th birthday party – until I returned from a trip to Australia to discover she and Jake had been speaking to each other regularly on the phone.
I pressed Jake, and he admitted he had a crush on her and was flattered by the attention. He was a man of honour, I knew I could trust him and that he’d never cheat on me, but it was still a devastating shock.
What could I do? Wake up, that’s what! I kicked myself up my backside.
I’d wallowed for too long, and it was no wonder Jake’s head was turned. It wasn’t because she was younger than me, it was because she was more joyful and had more energy. I was missing in action, but it was time to find the woman I’d lost. Compelled to reawaken, I made drastic changes. I dyed my hair black and cut it short. I bought a black leather jacket and leather trousers. Slowly, I got my confidence back. I became a morning person too (the joys of sex before breakfast!). My sexuality came back like a tsunami. To my surprise, I felt sexy in my 60s. Sexier than ever, in fact. Every marriage has ups and downs, but ours was definitely on the up! A young man who admired
Jake’s book became a friend and introduced us to a buzzing party scene. With a newfound openness to new experiences, Jake and I spent weekends at glorious themed parties all over the UK with people half our age. There was cabaret, aerial displays and fireworks.
We met interesting people and had great conversations. We enjoyed harmless flirting with other people – finding a reciprocated spark with a stranger and enjoying it, then telling each other all about it later. It never led to anything else.
I put my sewing skills to good use, making outfits for all these parties. I made outfits that showed o a body I’d hidden away for so long. When people told me I was the sexiest woman at the party, I discovered attractiveness was little to do with wrinkles and sagging skin, but all to do with inner confidence and selfbelief. It was transformational.
The ultimate display of confidence came when I started dancing, initially for myself, then for Jake. ‘Aren’t I too old for this?’ I asked him. ‘No,’ he answered. ‘I’ve been waiting patiently for years.’ At first, I was embarrassed and shy, but Jake was so encouraging, I blossomed into someone who loves to dance. I’d spent our entire marriage declining any of Jake’s invitations to dance, whether we were at a wedding, on holiday or at a party. Now, I was unstoppable!
In our 70s, Jake and I have fallen more deeply in love. We are opposites. He’s tidy, I’m chaotic. He’s organised, I’m not. You have to keep getting to know each other as the decades roll on...
Now 77, I could dwell on the fact that I have diabetes,
I FELT SEXIER THAN EVER IN MY SIXTIES
bone marrow cancer and a pinched nerve in my hand. Jake was recently diagnosed with terminal lung cancer and we know we only have a year or two left together.
But where did dwelling ever get anybody? I will miss Jake so much when he dies, but I treasure the 45 years we’ve had together. I firmly believe that true beauty – and true happiness – lies in accepting and surrendering to the facts of ageing.
I refuse to behave like a typical septuagenarian. I’m a voluptuous, seductive woman. When people ask me what the secret is to a happy marriage, it boils down to two things: communication and sexy dancing!
Now, I dance for my followers too – a few thousand people on Instagram. I dance in a tutu while I do the Hoovering, I dance in my fishnets and I dance to inspire my granddaughter, Alma, three, who loves to dance with me. It makes me feel free. At least once a week I put on a sexy outfit, some music, and dance. It is fun. It is liberating. You don’t have to dance for your husband or your social media followers or anyone. Dance alone, dance for yourself. It might just
change your life!
● Sex, Death and Other Inspiring Stories – the Advantages of Age Handbook to Growing Older Funkily Funkily, by Dr Eva Chapman and other contributors, is out now. Follow Eva on Instagram @sizzling70s