A couple of years ago, after finishing a maternity-cover contract managing a small team, my younger colleagues shared their honest feedback with me. One comment stood out: They had expected me – their new manager in her 40s – to be stuffy and stern.
Two were in their 20s, one in her early 30s. I was 43 then, and that number had already shaped their ideas about me before we worked together. But they told me they were relieved to be wrong.
Being on the receiving end of that assumption made two things click at once: why some women would rather not reveal their age – and how quickly I had once judged them for not doing so.
When I was in my 20s, I didn’t understand why some women kept their age private. It seemed unnecessary, maybe even a bit dishonest. To me, age was just a fact, so why hide it?
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