Too Old to Change? Why We Must Stop Excusing the Elderly from Growth and Accountability

I recently had a conversation that stirred something deep within me. We were talking about my relationship with my mother—how the past five years have been a painstaking journey of unraveling childhood pain, of naming the emotional harm I endured, and of trying to make sense of the silence and dismissal that followed.

Despite my voice shaking, despite the vulnerability it took to speak my truth, my mother still denies it. Still implies I might be imagining things. And in that quiet void of dismissal, someone said to me, “Oh, but she’s too old now… she’s probably set in her ways.”

It wasn’t said with malice. In fact, I am sure it was meant to offer comfort. But it didn’t soothe—it stung. Because it echoed a larger, more insidious societal belief: That aging excuses people from growth. That the elderly are no longer capable—or expected—to evolve.

When Did Growing Older Become a Hall Pass?

There was a time when growing older meant growing wiser. Elders were seen as the wisdom-keepers, the story-bearers, the ones who could help younger generations make sense of life’s chaos. But somewhere along the way, we began to shift our gaze. We stopped expecting elders to teach through reflection—and started accepting that they would simply repeat the past. We let the phrase “set in their ways” become synonymous with age, as if that were a natural conclusion of time.

But what if it’s not?

What if we’ve mistaken stagnation for seniority?

The Cost of Letting People Off the Hook

When we say, “They’re too old to change,” what are we really saying?

We’re saying:

They no longer need to try.

They are exempt from responsibility.

They don’t have to face the damage they caused.

That line of thinking leaves a trail of consequences in its wake. It means the wounds inflicted—through silence, through rage, through abandonment or control—are never acknowledged, never repaired. It means the people carrying those wounds (often the children, now adults themselves) are left to navigate their healing alone, while the source of the pain sits protected by the illusion of age-induced helplessness.

But accountability is not a punishment—it’s a bridge. A bridge to understanding. A bridge to reconciliation. And yes, even a bridge to redemption. So when we deny our elders that bridge, we don’t just protect them from pain—we rob them of the opportunity to grow. And we rob ourselves of the possibility of healing with them.

What Does It Say About Us?

If we accept that change has an expiration date, what does that say about our own future? Are we just marching toward a version of ourselves that will one day be deemed unchangeable, unteachable, unforgivable?

I refuse to believe that.

I want to believe in a life that stretches and bends until the very end. A life where evolution isn’t boxed into the first few decades but is a lifelong unfolding. Yes, patterns become entrenched. Yes, some minds may resist reflection. But that’s not age—that’s choice.

And choice doesn’t vanish with the years. If anything, the wisdom gained through age should make the choice to grow more accessible—not less.

A Call for Elders to Lead Again

I want to live in a world where aging is not a retreat into self-righteousness or denial, but a sacred invitation to go deeper.

To make peace.

To own mistakes.

To rewrite legacies.

Imagine if elders embraced the role of healers, not just survivors.

If they modeled what it looks like to say, “I didn’t get it right—but I see it now.” What if the last chapters of life were filled with bold apologies, emotional bravery, and the wisdom of someone who finally stopped running from their reflection?

What a gift that would be to the world and the generations behind them. And what a message it would send to all of us still in the thick of becoming:

It’s never too late....

Not to take accountability.

Not to say “I’m sorry.”

Not to choose a new path.

Not to become someone different than who we were yesterday.

Because the moment we accept that aging equals rigidity, we lose sight of one of the most sacred truths of our existence— That we are capable of becoming more, until our very last breath.