A lot of things factored into the brief, but intense, moment of freak out I experienced when I turned fifty a little over two years ago. The first half of my forties were largely spent trying to navigate my life after my mom died. It was probably five years later that I finally started seeing the fog lift, just in time to start noticing my roots were sparkling with silver a little more than they had before. As my fiftieth approached I wasn’t sure if I should throw myself a party, or hang black scarves over the mirrors and start giving away my possessions.

But, as I said, it was a brief freak out. The mounting junk mail from AARP was annoying, but tolerable. The need to schedule a colonoscopy was something else. In addition to the “old woman” procedure I needed to have done, and the hair that I decided to let go gray, I was also seeing my great-grandma’s chin and neck developing below my face. It sounds silly, but it was (and still is, on occasion) distressing.

Through it all, I was frustrated and, at times, angry, that my mother wasn’t here for me to talk to about these things. I have friends of all ages, and I love how much younger I feel than my birth certificate says I am. My friends in their late forties and fifties are all experiencing similar things, surely – but we weren’t talking about them much. It was as if there was some kind of personal martyrdom that we had to endure. Personally, I’m not into being a martyr.

Then, along came perimenopause. It hit me like a ton of bricks, and I simply could not stay quiet and hide my experience with it. I began posting honest words on social media about what I was dealing with, mostly in search of answers and advice. Friends of all ages and stages shared that these issues they were dealing with were a surprise to them too. We all wondered together, why we had not been warned about this part of our womanhood??

Yesterday, I found an article from late March in the NYT that chronicles the story of another woman in midlife who decided to create a community of women who were dealing with the same issues my friends and I are dealing with, and I was excited to read that her efforts were welcomed by women who had, like too many women, been “suffering” in silence. Since I’ve been wondering how I can take what I’m learning and share it with a bigger audience, I was excited to read that I am right to think there are women out there looking for a tribe of their own.

Then the story turned sour. The stereotypical “mean girl” inserted herself, and the founder recounted that she was forced to block some women who were posting mean-spirited, hurtful words in response to other women’s stories. Her group, titled What Would Virginia Wolff Do? grew big, fast, and with that growth came the cliques and playground bullies who operate with the notion that tearing other women down is the way for them to climb up.

It’s disheartening. The fact is, mean girl culture is preventable. It is a protective layer that we take on, and it’s one we can take off again. (And put it in a trunk and forget about it and let it rot.) There is a difference between creating boundaries for ourselves and staying true to what we believe, and intentionally causing someone else pain and suffering. What does it benefit us, in either our individual daily lives or in our souls, to belittle and argue and call names of women who – just like us – are making their way in the world? Their path is their path, ours is ours.

We can disagree with respect, present an opinion, offer insight and information, but we can do it without being bitches. We really can.

I think there should be more groups like WWVWD in the world. Groups where women of all backgrounds and demographics come together to learn from one another and support each other. I think they can be managed without animosity and ugliness creeping in. But I am also an optimist, and am keenly aware of the fact that some people would tell me it’s impossible.

But that won’t keep me from trying. Because, as Former First Lady, Michelle Obama, said, I believe  “Together, we are stronger.” She wasn’t talking to a small group of us – she was talking to ALL of us. When we lift each other up, we can all see the way to get up the mountain.

XO