In just three weeks, I’ll turn 50. That milestone has made this module on ageism hit differently. Reading Cruikshank, Aronson, and Dovey while reflecting on my own life has forced me to confront how much of society’s attitude toward aging I’ve quietly absorbed over time. I’ve caught myself worrying about looking “too old” or being “past my prime” in a world that glorifies youth. It’s uncomfortable to admit, but also freeing because awareness is the first step to undoing internalized ageism.

I don’t feel old, but I notice how often people label 50 as “getting up there.” I now realize that’s exactly what Cruikshank (p. 138) describes when she says we’ve made “old” into a negative category, something to avoid rather than embrace. Reading her made me reflect on how I want to model aging for the women I serve in social work and for my own daughter: with confidence, dignity, and self-compassion.

The quote that stayed with me came from Aronson: “Geriatrics is to medicine as old age is to society.” (p. 147). It’s a devastating truth. The very field devoted to older adults is undervalued in the same way older adults are. Her story about her father, and the effort it took to ensure he received proper medical attention, reminded me of experiences I’ve witnessed personally and professionally.

Working in social services and housing, I’ve met older adults who were overlooked for resources because they were assumed to be “set in their ways” or “too old to change.” Aronson’s narrative reminded me that advocacy in aging practice means challenging those invisible hierarchies that decide whose life is worth fighting for.

Cruikshank (pp. 138–142) details how stereotypes about aging, frailty, forgetfulness, and obsession with appearance are deeply rooted in culture. She also points out that when aging is defined by decline, it limits how society views older adults’ possibilities.

Dovey’s New Yorker article, “What Old Age Is Really Like” (2015), expands this idea beautifully. She discusses how literature often traps older characters in one-dimensional roles, the cranky elder or the “forever young” rebel. Dovey admits she herself once imagined old age through those limited lenses until she read works by authors like Penelope Lively and Lynne Segal, who challenge these flat portrayals. Her insight that “stereotypes of old age, whether positive or negative, do real harm” reminded me how language, even when meant kindly, can erase complexity.

Both women push us to recognize that aging isn’t a category; it’s a continuum, and that everyone is already part of it.

Internalized ageism shows up subtly in Aronson’s patients who downplay pain or refuse assistive devices because they “don’t want to seem old.” I’ve seen the same attitude in clients who hesitate to ask for help because they see aging as weakness. Dovey captures another layer of this writers and readers who accept ageist stories as truth until they start listening to older voices directly.

As someone approaching 50, I recognize a piece of myself in that. I’ve caught my own resistance to certain labels or styles that might “age me,” even though they don’t define who I am. Cruikshank helped me see that as internalized social conditioning, and that confronting it is part of my own growth as a practitioner and woman.

Each author highlights how language either reinforces or resists ageism:

• Cruikshank (p. 142) critiques “elderspeak” –  that sing-song tone and collective “we” that strips older adults of individuality. 
• Aronson (p. 141) calls out medical euphemisms like “failure to thrive,” which subtly equate aging with dying. 
• Dovey (para. 127) shows how even literature participates in shaping these linguistic frames. 

I’ve witnessed this firsthand. I’ve heard people describe active, capable elders as “still going strong,” as if vitality past 60 is surprising. Even in professional spaces, I’ve seen older colleagues overlooked for projects that automatically go to “the younger team.” I try to correct this in my language by removing “still,” “just,” and “even at your age,” and by modeling respectful speech when addressing older clients.

I enrolled in this course not just as a requirement, but as preparation for real-world aging practice. My career has focused on housing, advocacy, and case management, and I know that ageism quietly shapes many of the systems clients must navigate. The hardest issue for me is learning how to interrupt systemic and internalized ageism simultaneously helping clients believe in their own capacity for change while also pushing institutions to treat them equitably.

I plan to:

1. Use language as intervention – correct ageist phrasing and promote empowerment-based communication. 
2. Integrate evidence and empathy – pair data with personal stories to humanize advocacy. 
3. Encourage storytelling – inspired by Dovey, I’ll help clients narrate their life stories, preserving dignity and agency. 
4. Model healthy aging – by embracing my own aging process openly, I hope to normalize it for others. 

Cruikshank gave me the map of how ageism is formed and internalized. Aronson showed me the ground and how it operates in systems and families. Dovey gave me the mirror, a reflection of how culture and imagination shape my own perceptions of growing older.

As I near 50, I realize that aging isn’t about losing relevance; it’s about redefining it. My goal, both personally and professionally, is to approach aging not with fear, but with curiosity, gratitude, and intention.

References
Cruikshank, M. (Year). Chapter 8: Ageism. In The New Longevity.
Aronson, L. (Year). Chapter 8: Adult. In Elderhood.
Dovey, C. (2015, October 1). What Old Age Is Really Like. The New Yorker. https://www.newyorker.com/culture/cultural-comment/what-old-age-is-really-like