Let’s get one thing straight right away: I love my walking stick. There, I said it. At 75, worried about falling, I’m not ashamed of it – and neither should you be of whatever mobility aid you choose. If confidence had a mascot, it would be a beautifully decorated walking stick, preferably one with a bit of panache.

This stick isn’t just a stick. It’s a statement. It’s a companion. It’s that quiet little boost of confidence that says, “Yes, I’m out here, I’ve got this, and I’m going to enjoy the day.” I’ve taken the plain wooden model and turned it into something that suits my personality – a walking stick with a bit of sparkle, a swirl of colour, a laugh if you look at it sideways. Because if you’re going to use it, you might as well own it.

And owning it is the key.

The Reality We Don’t Talk About Enough

We all know ageing brings its quirks, but one of the biggest realities most of us face – or will face – is the risk of falling. It’s not hypothetical. It’s a genuine health issue for older Australians. In those aged 65 and over, falls account for about 77 per cent of injury-related hospitalisations and make up the majority of injury fatalities in that age group.

That’s not a statistic to terrify, but to inform. It’s worth noting that in 2019–20 alone, there were 133,000 hospitalisations and over 5,000 deaths from falls among Australians aged 65 and over – and many of those injuries occurred from something as mundane as a slip or a trip right at home.

Another way of saying this: if you’re over 65, you’ve probably got a friend, neighbour or cousin who’s already experienced a fall. That’s one reason falls are the leading cause of injury hospitalisation in older adults, and one very good reason to be proactive about reducing your own risk.

But here’s the thing: talking about fear of falling becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy if we let it. Worrying about losing balance can lead to less movement, which can lead to weaker muscles, which – eventually – actually increases the chance of falling. Which is exactly why confidence matters. And that’s where my walking stick comes in. Because when confidence increases, movement increases – and resistance to the idea of using a stick decreases.

So Why I Cherish My Walking Stick

First – it gives me stability. That’s not bravado; that’s physiological fact. When you’re walking with a stick, your base of support increases. That means when the unexpected happens – an uneven footpath, a misstep, a momentary lapse of balance – your stick is a buffer between dignity and an ambulance ride.

Second – and this one is underestimated – it gives me confidence. Confidence isn’t fluff. There’s actually research showing a fear of falling is linked with reduced independence and can itself increase the likelihood of future falls. A stick doesn’t just steady your step – it steadies your mindset.

Third – and much more fun – I’ve decorated mine. If I’m going to be seen with it, it might as well broadcast something about who I am. Bits of colour, a personalised handle, even little charms – it’s turned what could be a bland medical accessory into an extension of my personality.

Some may raise an eyebrow. Others might ask if I’m “really okay.” My response? Absolutely. I’m fine. More than fine. I’m mobile, independent and – dare I say it – stylish.

Because here’s a truth I’ve learned: there is no shame in using a walking stick. Only practicality and poise.

Owning Your Stick – And Your Age

Age is not a punchline. It’s a reality we’re all lucky to be living into – and wisdom says we take care of ourselves as we go. Using a walking stick doesn’t mean you’ve given up on mobility. It means you’re maximising it. It means you understand your body and work with it rather than against it. And if a little decoration makes you smile every time you walk out the door – well, that’s not vanity. That’s style with purpose.

Think of your stick as you would a favourite hat, a trusted coffee mug, or that comfy cardigan you wear to every brunch. It’s part of your ensemble, part of your armour, part of your identity.

Because at 75, I’m not stepping back from life – I’m stepping into it, stick in hand and head held high.