When the Unwanted Attention Stops:
The Strange Grief of Feeling Invisible After 50
For probably four-fifths of my life, I could assume that when someone approached me, there was some sort of intrigue involved….. now I walk around assuming that if someone approaches me, it's because they see me as a wacky middle-aged lady with disposable income.
And honestly? They wouldn't be entirely wrong.
Except a few weeks ago, my 11-year-old daughter pointed out that the sales guy talking to me was flirting with me and I'd better tell him quickly that I wasn't available.
I had completely missed it.
I would NEVER have missed that 15 years ago.
And that got me thinking about something I don't think we talk about enough…..
What happens when the attention stops?
Not necessarily the attention we wanted. I'm talking about the catcalls. The guy trying to talk to you in a bar when you're clearly trying to talk to your friend. The stranger who decides the grocery store checkout line is the perfect place to shoot his shot. The men who seem to believe your mere existence as a woman in a public place is an invitation for commentary.
The attention we spent years learning to deflect, ignore, manage, and sometimes protect ourselves from.
What happens when that attention starts disappearing?
And why, when so much of it was unwanted in the first place, can losing it feel like a loss?
I Hated the Attention. And I Miss Being Noticed.
There. I said it.
And my inner feminist Queen would like to have a word with me.
Because shouldn't I be thrilled?
There is an enormous amount of freedom in walking into a restaurant and not feeling like I have to be "on." There's freedom in not constantly thinking about how I enter a room, take up space, speak, breathe, or dress. There's freedom in not having to swim through advances I didn't ask for.
Some of that attention was annoying.
Some of it was invasive.
Some of it was scary.
And some of it was dangerous.
So why would I miss ANY of it?
Because two things can be true at the same time.
We don't give enough attention to that.
You can be relieved that the unwanted attention has gotten quieter AND grieve the feeling of being noticed.
You can hate being catcalled AND miss walking into a room and feeling like people saw you.
You can be happy to no longer deal with the creeps AND wonder, quietly and somewhat guiltily, if this means you're no longer desirable.
Those things are not mutually exclusive.
I always want the whole box of 64 crayons. Life rarely happens in black and white.
And this particular experience comes in a LOT of colors.
Wanting Someone Isn't the Same as Wanting to Be Wanted
There's a distinction here that I think matters.
Wanting someone is specific.
There is an actual human you desire. You want to touch them, kiss them, sleep with them, fantasize about them, be near them, or whatever version of wanting applies.
Wanting to be wanted is different.
You don't necessarily want the person looking at you.
You may have absolutely ZERO interest in them.
But being wanted can still tell you something about yourself.
I am desirable.
I am attractive.
I am still here.
I am still on the radar.
That may not be how we WANT to build our sense of self, but let's not pretend external validation doesn't affect us.
Much of how we conceptualize ourselves comes from the reflections we receive from other people. When those reflections have been coming back to us for decades and suddenly get quieter, it can be disorienting.
Being noticed becomes part of the fabric of your life without you necessarily realizing it.
If you're a blip on other people's radar, you know you're still on the radar.
And when you suddenly aren't?
Well.
If a tree falls in the forest and no one is there, does it make a sound?
If I'm sexy and nobody notices, am I still sexy?
OF COURSE I AM.
But also...
Am I?
This is the kind of shit our brains get to spiral about when things get quiet.
When "Nobody's Bothering Me" Starts Feeling Like "Nobody Sees Me"
For me, I didn't immediately notice the attention disappearing.
I had a baby. I was in a messed-up relationship. My partner at the time would rage if he thought I was wearing something provocative or sexy. I toned down how I dressed. I stopped wearing dark lipstick. I was trying to keep him from accusing me of cheating.
By the time I got my head above water around 47, I felt like I had nothing anyone wanted.
When I got him out of my house, I started feeling sexier and more attractive again.
But it wasn't until I hit menopause at 51 that I really started to realize people were seeing me differently.
Or maybe I was seeing myself differently.
Probably both.
Perimenopause and menopause can really complicate this experience because while the outside world may be responding to you differently, your INSIDE world may also feel completely unfamiliar.
Your body may feel different.
Your brain may not be functioning the way you expect it to.
Your emotions can change.
Your sexuality can change.
Your desire can change.
You may already be staring at yourself thinking: Who the fuck am I now?
And then the external validation you've been receiving for decades starts changing, too?
It's a mind fuck.
As I've explored in my article "I Don't Feel Like Myself": Navigating the Identity Shift of Perimenopause and Menopause, this is about so much more than libido.
Sexuality can be woven into how we understand ourselves, whether we're consciously aware of it or not.
So when your relationship with your own sexuality changes AND the world seems to be responding to you differently, this can become a much bigger question than:
"Why don't people flirt with me anymore?"
It becomes:
How am I seen now?
And maybe the scarier question:
Who am I now?
Welcome to the Weird Middle
There's a part of aging that reminds me a little bit of the tween years.
Hear me out.
You're not a child anymore. You're not quite a teenager. You're CERTAINLY not an adult.
You're just hanging out in this awkward nothing-nowhere land with insane hormones while reevaluating your friendships, choices, food, clothing, and entire existence.
And then we get to do another version of that in midlife.
FUN!
I'm not one of the fabulous 80-year-old women on Instagram yet.
I'm also obviously not 30.
Am I an eccentric old lady? Not quite yet.
Should I fully embrace Baba Yaga, move into a house in the swamp on chicken feet, and spend my days collecting poisonous herbs for my cauldron?
Again. Not quite yet.
Although running naked through the forest remains an option at any age.
We're in the chrysalis zone.
The holding dock.
The Glitch Space.
We took a lifetime to become the women we were, and now we're somehow expected to unravel and reform without a glitch?
Of course there's going to be glitching.
And for some people, this transition affects much more than how they're perceived socially.
In my work with current and former sex workers, I've seen how changes in desirability and visibility can become intertwined with professional identity, income, and the ability to imagine what's next.
When being noticed has been part of how you make your living, the questions surrounding aging can carry an entirely different weight.
That's a conversation deserving of its own space.
But the thread connecting these experiences is worth recognizing: When the way we're seen changes, it can challenge the way we see ourselves.
Maybe We Don't Actually Want the Attention BacK
This is where I think the usual conversation about "feeling sexy after 50" gets it wrong.
We're told to LOVE OURSELVES!
Embrace our bodies!
Reclaim our sexuality!
Feel sexy again!
Okay.
But who exactly is this person I'm supposed to immediately love?
Because I'm still getting to know her.
Maybe the goal isn't to become the woman you were at 35.
Maybe the goal isn't to prove that you "still got it."
Maybe the goal isn't to get strangers to look at you again.
Maybe the goal isn't even to get your old sexy back.
What if we stopped trying to get back what was familiar and started getting curious about what's true NOW?
What do I like?
What do I love?
What do I care about?
What do I hate?
What annoys the shit out of me?
What do I want?
What do I need?
What turns me on?
What do I truly and honestly enjoy?
What if we stop performing the version of sexuality we learned would make us desirable to everyone else and start exploring what sexuality actually means to US now?
That's a very different project.
And I think it's a much more interesting one.
How Do YOU Want to Be Seen?
If you were sitting across from me crying because you felt invisible, the first thing I'd probably tell you is:
I see you.
Obviously. Hahahah.
But then I'd tell you this:
This is fucking hard.
No one prepared us for this.
You are allowed to be relieved that some of the attention is gone.
You are allowed to miss being noticed.
You are allowed to mourn the younger version of yourself without betraying the woman you are becoming.
You are allowed to be sad that you don't feel as desirable.
You are allowed to enjoy not giving a shit.
You are allowed to feel ALL of those things at once.
And you don't have to immediately turn any of it into an inspirational story about how much you love aging.
Give yourself some time.
Get curious.
And instead of only asking:
How do other people see me now?
Maybe we start with a different question:
How do I want to be seen?
And then an even bigger one:
How do I want to see myself?
Maybe becoming less visible to some people gives us the chance to become more visible to ourselves.
And maybe that's where the really interesting part begins.
Dr. Miro Gudelsky is a sex therapist, educator, and speaker with more than 25 years of experience exploring sexuality, identity, relationships, and the complicated transitions of being human. Her work includes supporting current and former sex workers navigating menopause, aging, and changes in sexuality and professional identity.
If you're navigating changes in sexuality, identity, or relationships and would like support, explore my Sessions page to learn more about working together.