My Daughters Say I’m Young… My Knee Says Otherwise

It’s been over a week since I’ve felt the urge to write. Not because I didn’t have anything to say—but because something in me has been… quieter. Reflective, maybe. A little more aware.

I’m realizing that I’m getting older.

Now, my daughters won’t let me sit in that thought too long. They’re quick to chime in with, “Aww Mom, you’re still young,” and my personal favorite, “You don’t even look your age.” And I laugh, because I know they mean it—and I love that they see me that way.

But then there’s my left knee.

And my left knee is not in agreement.

It’s been speaking up a lot lately, reminding me in ways that are hard to ignore. A little stiffness here, a sharp reminder there. Enough to make me pause and acknowledge that time doesn’t just pass—it settles into the body. It leaves little notes in places you used to take for granted.

So here I am, waiting. Waiting for the pharmacy to send over my Euflexxa shots so my knee specialist can, hopefully, bring me some relief from this arthritic knee. It’s a strange place to be—this mix of gratitude and discomfort. Grateful that there are options, that I can address it. But also aware that this is part of a new chapter I didn’t exactly RSVP to.

And isn’t that just like life… some things are glaringly obvious, and yet we quietly agree to pretend they’re not happening?

I know my daughters see it.

They see the gray hairs—subtle, but persistent—threading their way in between my braids like they belong there now. They see the fine lines too, even when I’ve done my best to soften them, to tuck them away under a careful layer of concealer. I’m not fooling anybody… not really.

But they don’t say it.

Not because they’re blind to it—but because they’re holding onto something.

An image.

A memory.

A version of me that lives safely in their minds—this youthful woman, steady and strong, untouched by time in the ways that matter to them. And maybe, in their eyes, I still am her.

There’s something tender about that… the way love can preserve a person. The way it refuses to update the picture, even when the details begin to shift.

And if I’m honest, I think I do it too.

We all do.

We look at ourselves—at our lives, at the quiet changes happening right in front of us—and we soften them. We blur the edges. We hold onto what was, even as what is begins to speak a little louder.

Not out of denial… but maybe out of grace.

Because some transitions aren’t meant to be rushed or harshly acknowledged. Some are meant to be eased into gently, with a quiet understanding that says: I see it… I just don’t have to name it all at once.

And then there are days like today.

Me and my three girls decided to spend a little mama–daughter time together… and it was just what I didn’t know I needed.

We ate too much, laughed too hard, and for a few hours, time felt like it stood still. The kind of laughter that makes your stomach hurt and your eyes water—the kind that reminds you that joy doesn’t age, it just deepens.

And yet…

As much as my heart feels full in those moments, my body has a way of bringing me back to reality. Because although I know being in my late 60s is a blessing, it’s still hard for me to fully believe sometimes.

Alas, my joints don’t share that disbelief.

They have a bad habit of reminding me each and every morning.

It’s funny how life works that way—how you can feel so young in spirit, so connected to the same laughter, the same love, the same version of yourself… and then your body gently (or not so gently) taps you on the shoulder and says, “We’re not quite there anymore.”

But maybe that’s the balance of it all.

The laughter and the stiffness.
The joy and the reminders.
The memories we’re still making, even as time quietly moves us forward.

So maybe my daughters aren’t pretending.

Maybe they’re honoring.

Honoring the woman they’ve always known… while still loving the one I’m becoming.

And maybe that’s what I’m learning to do too.

Still me.

Just… with a knee that has opinions now.