Jessica Fauchier

(Poster/Conference Attendee/Author Note: Our journey toward this conference began with what we initially perceived as a nearly complete book. However, through the assigned readings and the thoughtful prompts introduced during our preparatory work, we realized just how much needed to change. It is with humility and passion-not haste and hubris-that we embarked on this project almost anew. Below is what we currently believe to be the beginning of our book. We now view it as a piece of creative nonfiction rather than a self-help tutorial. We look forward to all the learning that awaits us next week. -Jessica and Joahn ) Intimate Reflections: A Twins’ Journey to Reclaim the Power and Visibility of a Woman as She Ages in a Sexualized Society Summer of Sorrow: We call it the summer of sorrow. My twin and I would lie on either side of our mother on a mattress we’d dragged into the living room. We were home from our freshman year of college, determined to help our shattered mother navigate the darkest chapter of her life. Our father had left her for another woman, leaving her so heartbroken that even getting up, going to work, or caring for our little sister seemed insurmountable. Our parents had tried counselling twice, but during the second session when the counsellor (male) told our mom point blank that “He [our dad] never wants to have sex with you anymore”, she knew it was over. She confessed only recently that she has not felt desirable since. When my mom told us our family as we had known it was broken forever it felt like we all cried together for days. It was jarring and unmooring to be so young and idealistic, on the verge of building our own adult life, and unexpectedly seeing our mom so shattered and lost. Here we were, ready to build our own futures and potential families, now witnessing the woman we loved and looked up to most without power or strength or a framework for what her next decades would look like. One man, our own father, (had held such a now seemingly precarious hold on our little family.) I took a full time job working at a surf shop and a part time job at the jewelry shop to help pay the bills, while my twin assumed the role of caregiver, preparing small, careful meals for our mother and taking our sister to the public pool to swim away the strange new days in the warm sun. Each night, we gathered as a makeshift family isolated in our bubble of sorrow. As the weeks passed and our mother gradually reclaimed her strength, we began taking long beach walks where we discussed the twist of fate that had brought us there and speculated about what life might look like for our mother now—a single woman in her mid-forties, reinventing herself after losing the love of her life. The summer of sorrow was not without humor, however. Early on, my twin sister announced “It is better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all” whereupon we all cracked up, especially because it was way too soon. (Now we use that adage whenever someone says the wrong thing.) We learned that summer through our mom that nothing, not even heartbreak, is one hundred percent dark. Our mom still tried to make us laugh. She would sometimes pretend to answer the phone saying, “Yes, I forgive you, you can come home!” Although punctuated by laughs, we learned a hard and cruel lesson that summer. Our power as women can suddenly be taken away by a man whom we love but who no longer loves us – our feelings of self-worth and desirability cut off at the knees. Pain and grief are part of life, but it’s up to us NOT to remain stuck in a bitter and vengeful whirlwind of our own mind. After clawing her way out of those first intense weeks and months of sorrow, our mom has managed to stay childlike in how she views the world and in how she views herself. As a magical being of light, capable of magical things. You can see this in her eyes when she talks, and you can feel it surround you when you join her in conversation. She is a rare person who does not seem to feel loss or bitter as she aged, (just adventure and marvel.) Our mom grew stronger over the next year, but she would often talk about feeling invisible in society in this new role as a single, middle-aged woman, that her presence and voice no longer held attention and respect wherever she went. The thrum of youth did not vibrate around her and call attention to her; wanted or not. Without the role of wife to identify with, she felt lost. As we listened to our mom talk about her invisibility crisis and drowning sense of self, my twin and I vowed to define ourselves on different terms. We were determined to avoid the vulnerability of being defined by our desirability in our sexualized society. Our young and still- forming minds wanted desperately to guard ourselves against that kind of betrayal and heartbreak. We wanted to be able to face something like that without being cut off at the knees. But as we soon found out in young adulthood, it is one thing to be determined to avoid something and quite another to be successful. The Betrayal “Just eat this,” she said handing me an orange slice from the orange she had just peeled. I was sitting on my secondhand couch in a nice family home in a bad neighborhood in Sacramento. The tears had dried up and I felt hollow inside. “Why?” I asked my twin in a baffled and hoarse voice. We were in our mid-twenties, did not have scurvy and were not even trying to stave off a cold. In fact, my condition was arguably worse than severe malnutrition or the flu; I had just discovered that I could add betrayed wife to my budding resume as an adult. Mixed in with the immediate grief of the betrayal and the details surrounding it was a shocking. How had I let this happen to me? I was sure that I had chosen a spouse who was safe. My then husband had swept into my life right after the summer of sorrow when I was back at college. He witnessed me reeling from my broken childhood family and pledged to be my new home. I couldn't believe this was happening -feeling like my mom must have felt; that my sense of self and confidence was so tethered to the whims of another’s desire. I had been a part of this play before but had played a supporting character in the betrayal drama. I was the daughter who had helped her mom through infidelity and the rebuilding herself. This was a whole new ballgame; it was now my turn to be the aggrieved spouse and to see if the lessons from my youth held strong. “Just eat it please,” she said shoving the half-moon shaped soggy slice of orange in front of me again. Of course, eating the orange did not rewind time to six months before and keep my gross husband’s pants zipped and my little world tilted right on its axis. It did not stop the tears, nor did it stop the next six months of fear and despondency as I navigated a divorce and life after scandal. I ate an orange slice that first night after finding out about the betrayal. My twin raced to my house (with apparently an orange in her purse) from miles away as soon as I called to deliver the news that rocked my world. I ate another orange slice the next weekend when we looked for apartments. I ate still more orange slices when we packed my few belongings I wanted to take with me. I ate oranges when we met at the gym to workout. I ate oranges on my lunch break when I tried to ignore the sympathetic looks from coworkers who knew that I had been so betrayed. I ate oranges as I thought about my shortcomings and why I had not been enough. Oranges became a constant in that first year. It symbolized still doing something good for myself even when I did not feel worthy. It symbolized my twin’s determination to do anything she could in a spot where she was mostly helpless. She could not fix the fact that I married an amoral and cruel man but she sure as hell could peel me some citrus and help me help myself. She knew what I needed in that moment was to not just be a broken woman but instead be a woman eating an orange slice. I was doing what I had pledged years before in our summer of sorrow; I was not going to let this betrayal be what defined me. I also knew at a deep part of me that this betrayal hit different than one at 40 or 45. I still had a life to build and a family to create. I could dust myself off and find a new path in what still felt like a long runway of my life. I thought back on what my mom had said about feeling invisible and could only imagine how much harder her heartbreak had felt when she truly believed her years of desirability were behind her. This made me, and my twin, want to redouble our efforts not to be defined by desire and sexualized visibility. The Invisibility Crisis; the Invisibility Myth The next fifteen years were spent in a blur of career and family building; creating a life and continuing to feel like thriving and youthful participants of our sexualized society. It wasn’t until we approached the same age our mom had been that summer of sorrow that we truly grasped what she had been trying to share with us. It was not until our early forties that we started to experience what we thought was the invisibility she spoke about that we had pledged to guard against all those years prior. Her words started to make sense in our changing world as we left the full color glaze of youth. We realized this idea of slowly becoming invisible is not just something our mom experienced that we could just guard our heart against; it seemed inevitable in the sexualized world we live in. But just as we did during the summer of sorrow, my twin and I were determined to navigate this new phase together. This was not really how life had to be; we were determined not to allow our sense of self wither along with our metabolism. As identical twins and now coauthors, we actually have a combined wisdom of over 88 years. Because that is of course how it works when you are a twin. Everything one of us does is like both of us doing it. A point of pain for one, hits even harder for the other. A moment of joy and triumph for one, felt even more acutely for the other. A sonogram in utero declared us one giant baby. Two heartbeats beating as one from the beginning. Two beings, split in utero, continuing to grow together almost as a unit. Getting ready for school side by side in the mirror in high school, sometimes getting distracted wondering who was doing what and laughing at the silliness of it. When my boyfriend decided he was actually into her, I sighed in total understanding and we both wrote him off with a laugh and a big glass of wine. When I first found out I had infertility, she barely needed to get tested to know she did too. When I had my first miracle IVF baby, hers of course came months later as well. Hitting middle age together and grappling with the feeling of shrinking in the world overtook us like a rogue wave used to in the ocean we grew up in. Engulfing us was a feeling of being isolated and yet too exhausted to know how to be less lonely. It took us a while to recognize the source of this new phase of loneliness and despair, but it helped to give voice to it and realize, like always, we were in lock step with our experiences. As we did during the summer of sorrow and with every challenge before and since, we approached the trauma as a challenge to be worked out. Side by side we knew we could always find the joy, the good and the optimism that was waiting to be discovered. The more we explored the idea of an invisibility crisis, the more we realized that this crisis is a construct of our society that values youth and sexuality above all else. If we refuse to buy into this idea and realize that we were never, and never will be how others define us, spouses and lovers included, then we are free to unveil who we really are. We want to share what we have discovered with you, in hopes that you will find the same optimism that we have. You, an aging woman past the point of being sexualized, are not destined for invisibility. You now have the freedom out of the harsh glare of society’s expectations to unveil who you really are. The best is yet to come.

As mentioned in our final assignment, our book has come a long way since originally posting original responses to the prompts still preserved below. The following top section is now our updated assignment prompt responses to a project that has changed in a wonderful way:: 1. Story Statement: We are identical twins who, like many women, have navigated a world that sexualizes us. Over the years, this experience has sparked deep reflections as we have tried to maintain our power and sense of authentic self in a society that seeks to define us. When we reached middle age and moved past the point of typical sexualization, we found ourselves faced with the invisibility crisis so many aging women have discussed. It was only upon deeper exploration that we realized this invisibility it in fact a myth. Past the point of sexualization, a woman is now free to define herself on her own terms and in the most authentic way. In this way she can be truly seen in a way not yet felt as an adult. 2. Antagonists: Sexualized society at large. Specifically in the narrative elements there are a cast of men who define us in sexualized terms and with their own desires. 3. Break Out Title: Desired or Dead: Twin Reflections on Aging in a Sexualized Society Twin Reflections: An Intimate Journey on Aging and Thriving in a Sexualized Society Invisibility Myth: Challenging Your Role in a Sexualized Society 4. Comparables: Remain the same as below 5. High Concept Hook Line: Join identical twin sisters as they reveal personal stories and insights on their journey through coming of age, navigating societal expectations, and ultimately confronting the challenges of aging in a sexualized society. 6. Conflicts: Core Conflict: Societal expectations that tie a woman’s worth to her sexual desire. How do you navigate this reality as you come of age, harness the power in your “prime”, and then evolve as a woman post sexualization. Core Wound: Pressure, Loss and Change. Pressure to be sexually desirable as a woman and the power that harnesses, the loss of this type of visibility when you age beyond societal’s standards of desirability, and ultimately change as each individual can find their authentic self and finally define themselves on their own terms. Internal Conflict: 1. Coming to terms with our role in a sexualized society 2. Balancing the power and autonomy we want as sexual beings with desire to not be seen as objects of desire 3. Ultimately rediscovering who we are in a post sexualized environment as we age 7. Settings: We have significantly revised the book to follow the middle, beginning, end arc of a story. The majority of narrative stories take place in either the small farming town in Kansas or small coastal town we were raised in and where we still consider home. Some excerpts are as follows: Nestled between rolling hills and the sparkling Pacific Ocean, the small coastal town of Cayucos, California, had a population of just 2,500 during the 1980s and 1990s when we were growing up. Known for its mild weather that felt like one long summer, the town’s beaches became the primary playground for locals. The ocean waves and stretches of soft sand provided endless opportunities for adventure.As young children, we built sandcastles, our buckets and shovels in hand, using sand mixed with remnants of ashes from the bonfires we would later gather around as teenagers. The smell of salt in the air, the sound of crashing waves, and the warmth of the sun on our skin became the backdrop of our carefree days, leaving us with cherished memories of childhood spent in this close-knit seaside community. "Our paternal Grandma had lived in Kansas her entire life, keeping a home. She’d wake up before the sun, crack eggs into a skillet with the kind of efficiency that suggested she’d done it ten thousand times before, and hum old hymns while she fried up chicken in the kitchen, flour on her forearms and head. Her husband, our Grandad, would be working the alfalfa fields just beyond the kitchen window. The rich green crops forming orderly rows that seemed to go on forever. The earthy scent of freshly cut alfalfa hanging in the air and competing with the smells of fried chicken grease and spices. The sun rising in the kitchen window set a warm golden light into the kitchen bathing my Grandma and her workstation with softness. Everything about her was soft—her voice, her hands, the way she could press a kiss to your forehead and squeeze you tight like she always wanted to hold on to you." "Growing up in our small beach town was like living in a perpetual postcard. Every morning, my twin and I would watch our neighbors—the legendary Pink Twins—embark on their daily ritual. At 80 years old, they were the town’s living legend: always dressed in every shade of pink imaginable, always side by side. They strolled down the street in unison, walked the same route to the Sea Shanty, where every Friday night, without fail, they dined together, ordering the exact same meal. Their synchronized lives painted a picture of unwavering tradition." Nestled between rolling hills and the sparkling Pacific Ocean, the small coastal town of Cayucos, California, had a population of just 2,500 during the 1980s and 1990s when we were growing up. Known for its mild weather that felt like one long summer, the town’s beaches became the primary playground for locals. The ocean waves and stretches of soft sand provided endless opportunities for adventure. As young children, we built sandcastles, our buckets and shovels in hand, using sand mixed with remnants of ashes from the bonfires we would later gather around as teenagers. The smell of salt in the air, the sound of crashing waves, and the warmth of the sun on our skin became the backdrop of our carefree days, leaving us with cherished memories of childhood spent in this close-knit seaside community. Writer’s Conference Prompt STORY STATEMENT Life truly begins when women discover that aging is a gift to be unwrapped and not a battle to be fought. Women are especially susceptible to myths that make aging something to be feared. In order to live a triumphant life we need to reframe how we approach aging and open our eyes up to the fact our best days can always be ahead of us. As these triumphant stories of women illustrate, with each passing decade women can redefine their identities and blossom into their most authentic self. ANTAGONIST Our antagonist is crippling self doubt. The antagonist is inside all of us. Relying on old definitions of who we should be and how we should feel. We all face our own unique battle against the antagonist we have breathed life into with the oxygen of complacency. We alone can give this self doubt lines and colors and shape and bring it to the forefront of our mind in order to be overcome. One woman’s antagonist may be the doubt she feels about being seen in a world she believes only values youth. Another woman may have to battle her crippling self doubt about ever finding joy and energy after decades of fitting her free spirit into a picket fence lined construct. A construct she built only to find it strangling her individuality. BREAK OUT TITLE Time of Rebirth: The Joy of Aging The Lies They All Told You: An Aging Story The Invisibility Myth COMPARABLES “Radiant Rebellion” by Karen Walrond: Walrond uses deep dives into conversations with social workers, neurologists, activists and clergy to uncover why the dominant culture treats aging like a time of diminished capacity. We also confront the myths about aging perpetrated by our current culture. Our book, however, aims to be more anecdotal and approachable with other aging women’s experiences and stories leading into discussions about the aspects of growing older that bring more joy and freedom. Where Walrond takes the readers on her journey of rebelling against these societal constructs (she lets her hair go grey; goes on a silent retreat; changes her health practices) we discuss what the women Nextdoor are experiencing. Our readers will find themselves in our interviews and anecdotes spread throughout the book. They will feel seen and empowered. Like Walrond, our basic premise is that we can write a different story of aging than the one that is often handed to us. It is not a story of decline but rather a story of reinvention and rebirth. “Successful Aging for Women over 50” by Janine Hunka is similar to our book in the concept of aging as a transformation into who you were always meant to be. Hunka reveals the fears many women have about aging along with the misguided idea that aging is a time of decline. After identifying this common emotion among aging women, Hunka offers the idea that aging is not a battle against time but rather a battle against oneself. This is also our premise; that to live your best life as you age it is important to first understand who you are and how you want the world to see you. Like our book, Hunka’s book focuses on a necessary perspective shift in order to live free and boldly. Our book takes this a step further by diving into practical solutions to help you with this perspective shift along with providing entertaining anecdotes about women who have faced what they saw as challenges of aging. Our central premise for aging well is a pursuit of joy in all things; this book also looks at the emotional work that allows a woman to thrive and age well. HIGH CONCEPT HOOK LINE In a world that worships youth, women can and must embark on a transformative journey of self-discovery. This journey is illustrated through the retelling of many women’s stories of triumph and challenge. Readers will discover the real power of femininity as we age is not in reclaiming the past, but in embracing the freedom and confidence that comes from finally being unapologetically themselves. CONFLICTS Inner Conflict for Protagonist: Although varied from woman to woman, a central inner conflict connecting many women’s stories is a feeling of being invisible. One example is a woman who feels aging has made her shrink at work and become overlooked and ignored by her coworkers. Her self-discovery reveals that she felt invisible because she no longer knew herself, not because others wanted her diminished. Secondary Conflict- Social Environment: Every woman as they age eventually confronts the forces that defined them in youth. Were they pegged as a bookworm, the popular golden girl, the people pleaser, the peace-maker, the glib one, the funny one, the girl who never says no? What social forces of their youth in the form of family, school, their community and mass media sought to define them and thus extinguishing parts of them that did not fit? It is up to mature women to confront these old definitions and strip off what no longer fits to reveal their true selves. This will allow them to thrive in the authenticity and freedom of being exactly who they were born to be. SETTING Our book includes a wide variety of settings as we tell different stories of real women on a journey of self discovery as they are confronted an older self they no longer recognize. Some examples of settings as we interview these women to record their journeys: The School Drop Off: Sleepy kids readjust their faces before exiting their parent’s car and run to join friends. Cracked sidewalk almost trips up a woman in Uggs with her long hair pulled back and a defeated expression drooping her spirit like the scarf hanging down her sweater. Another woman in full make-up, bouncing curls and aviator glasses unnecessary in the 8am sun moves from group to group desperate to feel the connection she will miss as soon as she heads home to the empty house. The school my kids attend, and where I am meeting Charlotte to chat, is in the rural part of central California. The kind of school where you can pass a mom discussing techniques for compassionate Rooster beheading, another discussing vaccines, and continue on further to pass the rare Dad chatting about running shoes and church. The school is a charter school and leases space with a church that hold services on Sundays when kids are not roaming. I am meeting Charlotte at a wood picnic table near the worn in playground equipment just beyond the pavement that serves as the recess spot for the small student body. When I reach her, she waves away my offer of coffee claiming she heard it can increase blood pressure. I look for an out of the way spot to set it down so it doesn’t become the centerpiece of my unsuccessful attempt at camaraderie. I feel admiration and a niggle of deflation that she so breezily declined the drink I proffered. I grew up in a home of people who would accept a cup of bear urine if offered and take a few polite sips. University Campus: I meet up with Vanessa where she works. She has an hour for lunch and was intrigued by my description of a book about aging well and the challenges women face. It feels perfect that the backdrop for our conversation is a college campus: teeming with vibrancy and the shimmer of promise. Groups of kids move past me with backpacks and sunglasses and overdone laughter about something secret between them. They wear the uniform of the young: cropped baggy sweatshirts, low slung baggy jeans, converse sneakers, shiny lipgloss and the popular no makeup make up look. It seems as though every single person has long hair parted in the middle that shines so bright it matches the glow of the sun touched metal on the performance art building I am parked in front of. I subconsciously touch my short curled hair parted at the side. It is an automatic reaction even though I don’t pine to look young let alone be young again. Those years were filled with fun but also so much uncertainty and self consciousness. I mentally give my shy young uncertain self of two decades ago a hug and pay the parking meter. The grass is perfectly trimmed and so green and pristine all over. The beautiful trees and well maintained campus a byproduct of astronomical tuition fees. Coastal Retreat: I was so looking forward to talking with Annabelle about aging and vibrancy and the metamorphosis women must make to connect with their authentic self as they age. She wears just a touch of make-up and the bright sun shines off her long hair. Just as long and shimmery as it was when we went to high school together over 25 years ago. The girl I remember from our youth- long legs, killer swing in volleyball, shoulders back confidence and strong beauty- seems to have spent the past decades becoming even more of a presence. She joins me in staring out over the water serving as the backdrop for our chat in the cafe high up on a cliff on the California Coast. The air is a bit cold with moisture from the ocean spray and I wonder how she keeps her hair so glossy and smooth in this setting. My hair responds to the coast by shriveling up in dank clumps against my scalp. That is Annabelle though, vibrant and glossy and shimmering in a way only possible when the spirit has been fed and nurtured.