At 59, I Went Viral On TikTok. I Was Afraid Of The Comments — But I Never Expected This.

I squeeze my body in between the dilapidated structure that collects rainwater off the roof and a 50-gallon barrel of yesterday’s laundry water.

“Can you aim the camera to avoid this clutter,” I ask Emily, the young woman I’ve hired to film me, “and just get me and the laundry water in frame?”

I am nervous — the most insecure I’ve felt since I started posting on TikTok three weeks ago. In the first few videos, I wore that little black club dress with the flattering neckline. But today I’m in an old trapeze costume: a one-shoulder get-up, gold and sparkly. Fifteen years ago, I cut 3 inches off the skirt so it wouldn’t wrap around the bar during a show. My thighs were firmer then, not crinkled or splotchy.

“I’m afraid my legs look flabby,” I say as I stare at Emily’s iPhone camera right inside intimacy range. Emily is from the generation of body positivity. I’m from the Twiggy generation.

“You look amazing,” she says, sounding sincere.

I tell myself to trust her, that I’ve been self-critical for too long. I judge my waistline and beat myself up if I gain 2 pounds. It’s exhausting.

I know my peers dismiss social media as a waste of time and a threat to mental health, and that TikTok receives the brunt of the criticism because it’s new and we’re supposed to be afraid of it. But to me, it’s a beacon of freedom — young, fun, a place for dancing.

I’ve been bitter lately, sick of faking Little Miss Agreeable for my parents and former bosses, for randos I don’t even know. Sick of trying and failing to contort myself into a soft-spoken, nice lady that I imagine everyone will love.

I am also terrified of that gold sparkly minidress. It is crazy short, it doesn’t hide my tummy, and my right tit wants to pop out. Let it, I tell