I am not getting younger. I am relatively certain this happens to everyone, though, right? So why are we so hard on our ourselves when our bodies do what aging bodies do?
I have worshipped the sun. I have birthed two children. I have been unapologetically fat. And the spots and stripes on my body tell that story. Recently, the number of gray hairs on my head has grown exponentially. Part of me is so proud to have made it this far. I earned those gray hairs! I had to live through some things to get them: depression, deaths, parenting, abuse, teaching high school, divorce. But I am so good at listening to others, it becomes really easy to stop listening to myself and what I believe to be true.
Enter the mall cosmetician.
So I’m walking through the mall (mistake #1), owning my too-short shorts and showing off my less-than-perfectly-smooth thighs, feeling as good as a highly sensitive person can feel while being surrounded on all sides with the latest attempts of the free market to convince me of my inadequacy. Next thing I know, a smiling young man appears from behind a counter and offers me a free sample, which I accept with a thank you (mistake #2) and a smile (mistake #3). I know it’s a trap, but I can’t bear the idea of being rude–curse you, gendered socialization and southern hospitality! As soon as eye contact was made, the sales pitch began. (See previous sentence, beginning “I know it’s a trap…”).
I easily spent half an hour allowing a 22 year-old to explain to me why my 34 year-old face would be so much better off (read attractive and young-looking) if I bought all of his over-priced beauty products. (Basically everything I do from this point on is a mistake, so I’ll stop numbering them now). I started off strong, by which I mean declining with a polite smile that was taken for weakness, and I left with $800 worth of cleansers, masks, and creams and a “free” facial scheduled for the following week. Being nice is the actual worst.
Needless to say I felt terrible for having given in and allowed my politeness and, let’s face it, my insecurities to waste so much money on products that will not make me 22 again. I will never be 22 again, so why try? Armed with this attitude, I resolved to enjoy what I imagined to be the pampering I would receive with my very first facial.
Round 2: The Facial
I should have known. I thought: “I’ve already bought everything. What more could they possibly have to sell me?” I am constantly underestimating the degree to which consumerism permeates our society.
I quickly realized the facial is just another way for them to immobilize you while they point out all the flaws in your skin and sell you a combination of ridiculously expensive skin-care products and the dream of being young again. And yes, I hesitated. I listened to every “honey” and half-truth, permitted the excessive arm-touching, and almost caved when the price came down 75%. But, this time, I held the line! Because it wasn’t about the money. It was about me accepting that I’m 34, and I look like it. And one day I will be 44, and then 54, and I will look my age then, too. And that’s okay. And perhaps very few people will think I’m beautiful, but hopefully I will reach a point where I won’t care, because I will have made friends with my own demons, and that’s not something they sell at the mall.
I would love to hear from you in the comments about your successes or struggles with self-love and acceptance!
Open Soul Space 