It begins quietly.

 A kind of silence that doesn’t just settle around you but takes root within. As a woman in my 50s, I first noticed it in the absence of gazes. Or rather, in their disappearance. The world that once saw me now looks through me. A silent farewell from a society that worships youth, beauty, and productivity as an endless refrain.

Invisibility. It is not merely a condition .Women entering midlife feel this power like a veil being draped over them. A message, subtle yet unmistakable: Your time of being visible has passed. But what does it mean to become invisible as a woman? And more importantly, what does it mean to resist? The body—my body—is not a relic of the past. It is a living archive, a vessel of stories, memories, struggles, and joys. Every wrinkle, every scar is a mark, a testament to a life lived. Yet we are told to hide these marks, to smooth them out, erase them. The body is meant to be neutral, flawless, “timeless.” But in truth, these lines on our skin speak of resilience, of survival. They are not the problem—our cultural denial of aging is. The invisibility that women my age experience is not a random phenomenon. It is a structural act of omission, of erasure. Society privileges what is young, what is efficient, what is easily controlled. And this is precisely why it is so important that we, as women, refuse to step aside, that we remain visible, that we tell our stories. Visibility is an act of resistance.

I often think about what it means to transform as a woman in a world that sees transformation as a threat. The body that changes defies the illusion of permanence, of perfection. And yet, within this transformation lies a profound truth: We are not less as we age. We are more. More depth. More history. More connection. Remaining visible takes courage, especially in a society that urges us to disappear. It is a daily act of choosing to speak for ourselves, to stand for ourselves, to see our bodies with love and respect. It is the choice to reject the narratives imposed upon us and to write new ones—narratives that honor dignity and transformation rather than deny them.Because the truth is, invisibility is not a destiny. It is a construction, and like any construction, it can be dismantled. By telling our stories, by recognizing ourselves in the mirror, and by creating spaces where lived experience is valued, we strip invisibility of its power.In a world that fears aging, the body of a woman who loves herself and remains visible is a radical statement. A reminder that life is found in change, not in stasis. That dignity does not dwell in the surface, but in the depths. Perhaps what we truly fear is not invisibility, but our own strength—the strength to remain visible, despite it all. And in that strength lies the possibility to change the world—one woman at a time.