THE JOURNAL
The Rise, the Fall… and the Rise Again of Turning 50
By Tracey Bowen
I have officially been tasked with writing a blog about turning 50.
Fifty.
Where does one even begin?
Shall we call this The Rise, the Fall… and the Rise Again of Turning 50?
The strange thing is - I know it’s a milestone. A big one. One worth celebrating. And yet I swing wildly between wanting to throw the most outrageously fab, dress-up (obviously) invite-everyone-I’ve-ever-met party - caterers, band, DJ, the works - and then my newer, recently evolved personality quietly whispers, “Don’t do it. You’ll regret it.”
It’s like I have two different women sitting on each of my shoulders.
One loves throwing parties, celebrating loudly, having a few drinks, being a bit silly and doing backwards rolls on the dance floor. The other just wants to sit on the back deck into the early evening with her nearest and dearest, sipping an Alba or 3, laughing deeply and maybe having the odd meaningful chat about life.
And right about now it feels appropriate to introduce my constant companion… Menopause.
Honestly, thank goodness it’s a widely discussed topic now, because otherwise I would have diagnosed myself as clinically unhinged (my husband would). There have been moments over the last couple of years where I genuinely haven’t recognised myself. Where did the empathetic, steady, optimistic, capable, confident woman I thought I was go? And who invited this insecure, overthinking, occasionally feral creature to take her place?
And don’t even get me started on the random ailments. I naïvely thought menopause was hot flushes and mood swings. Oh no. It’s more like a game of tag - one symptom leaves, another arrives. Just when you think you’ve figured it out, something new pops up like, “Surprise!” As if we haven’t navigated enough as women already.
But here’s the thing.
Turning 50 has also made me look back on a life I feel deeply grateful for - and quietly proud of. There have been far more ups than downs, and I don’t take that for granted for a second.
I had a magical childhood growing up in Mount Maunganui with two amazing parents, my annoying (but dearly loved) brother Matt - just in case he’s reading this - and my beautiful sister ‘Nicky’ with special needs.
She really deserves her own paragraph because while our childhood looked carefree from the outside, having her as my sister quietly shaped me in ways I didn’t fully understand at the time. She taught me very early on to be protective. To advocate. To stand up for those who can’t stand up for themselves. That instinct has stayed with me my whole life.
And alongside that deeper shaping were all the ordinary, golden moments that make up childhood. Days spent roaming the streets with neighbourhood kids, biking around imaginary petrol stations, jumping on trampolines, making whirlpools in the Para Pool, setting up “shops” in my bedroom complete with elaborate window displays. Church on Sundays. Picnics to Matakana Island. Camping with the Eversham Road gang in Whanarua Bay. My Intermediate and College years were filled with friends, dance classes, performances, fashion and design - and a deep love of textiles. (Let’s just say academia and I never had the most passionate relationship.)
At sixteen - which now feels wildly young - I met my ridiculously good-looking husband (still ridiculously good-looking AND amazing, I might add). Married by twenty. Years of dreaming and scheming, starting little side hustles, holidaying, building, property developing, and raising four of the most beautiful humans I know.
In 2008 we moved to Cooks Beach to give our family a quieter life. And it has been so, so good.
The last seven years have been full and layered in all the ways life tends to be. I realised a long-held dream of opening a store - Gathered Collab, with two women I barely knew, who are now more like wild, crazy but amazing (and slightly unhinged) sisters. My two eldest moved out and are building incredible careers, our only son married the girl of his dreams. I am constantly in awe of the adults they have become and the lives they lead.
And then there has been loss. The kind that shifts you. I lost one of my very best friends to cancer. And another very dear friend lost her husband to the same awful disease. The past two years have been some of the hardest yet in our close-knit circle.
Perhaps that’s part of what turning 50 really is - understanding that you can carry joy and grief in the same hands, understanding that they can co-exist.
This week our third child, our second daughter, leaves home to begin her studies. Another brave step into her own life. And suddenly our life feels quieter with just the 3 of us.
“Treasure it - it goes so fast,” they say. I can now confirm: it really really does. The days feel long, but the years truly disappear in a blink.
This year I celebrate not only 50 years around the sun, but 30 years of marriage. Thirty. In this day and age, that feels like an achievement worth a standing ovation. And yes - we are still wildly in love. (Turns out he does love me more than he loves his new boat. Thanks, Peri, for making me question that.)
So what does turning 50 look like? I’m not entirely sure.
But I do know this: I am going to celebrate. Maybe not with one enormous night - but with many smaller moments. People joke about birthday week. I’m claiming a birthday year! More dinners. More deep chats. More dancing (backwards rolls and fully clothed pool jumps). More gratitude. More saying yes to joy. Because if we are living and breathing, that alone is worth celebrating. Fifty feels less like an ending and more like a widening. A deepening. A rising again.
And honestly? I think that’s something worth throwing many celebrations for.
