This has been quite the summer. You have heard about my struggles with the oppressive weather, but there has been a lot more going on in my life. In future blogs, I will probably share more reflections on the events of the past season in my life. Today, however, I want to address a particular issue head-on. Buckle up- here we go!
This summer, I decided to blow up my look. I felt like I was looking rundown and scraggly, in addition to feeling old and used up. I had my hair cut off. Well, not all of it, but enough to startle people. In fact, some people had trouble recognizing me. One of my dearest friends still struggles to identify me from behind. After that change, I decided to go with a darker color for my hair. Then, most recently, I had my long-suffering hair stylist add some red highlights. In addition, I have had two eye surgeries this summer. This means that I have not been wearing my glasses for the past four months. In the next couple of weeks, I will be getting new glasses, but I’ve gotten used to seeing my face without frames and without glare reflected from my eyes. When I do get my new glasses, they will be much smaller and more delicate in design than the somewhat overwhelming spectacles I used to sport.
In assessing me for my eye surgeries, the doctor pointed out that I had wrinkly retinas and, therefore, some of the traditional cataract solutions would not be available to me. It was not a huge problem medically, but it certainly offended my delusional sense of my own youth. First of all, I didn’t even know retinas could have wrinkles. Secondly, I have always been the youngest person in the room amongst my circle of friends. I am beginning to see that I am graduating from that season of my life. I am inclined to rail against it.
To be honest, I never thought too much about having wrinkles. I have enough other body image problems to place wrinkles firmly in the back seat where I can forget they exist. Once the ophthalmologist brought the issue of wrinkles to my consciousness, I could not stop thinking about it. Usually, on Monday nights, Max and I look at old pictures or videos of our life together. That life now consists of almost 30 years. We have a lot of media from 2003 forward, when Max moved in with me. Since hearing about my wrinkly retinas, I cannot look at myself in these images without being painfully aware of how different my face looks now than it did twenty years ago. This may seem like a “duh” moment to many of you, but I honestly had not noticed very much until this summer. I doubt it all happened in the span of four months. Ick.
The other day, I was sitting in the hair stylist’s chair staring in the mirror looking for the red highlights. I was trying to figure out if they were bold enough to do what I wanted them to do or if they were trembling in a corner of my scalp. I noticed that I was furrowing my brow. I decided to relax my forehead. NOTHING CHANGED! I wasn’t furrowing my brow. My brow just has furrows now. No wonder I always look worried. I thought it was just because I am always worried. Apparently not. Those furrows are deep and permanent. I could plant crops in my brow.
I could call my furrowed brow a “pleated forehead” and see if it catches on as a new fashion trend, but I doubt the branding will work. Pleats give too much of a “Catholic girls’ school uniform” vibe. How about a “rouched brow?” Isn’t rouching supposed to be the answer to every body insecurity in the fashion world? Got a lumpy midsection? Try rouching. Got arms that seem to get lost in the sleeves of a dress? Try rouching. Want to show a little leg but are uncomfortable with a slit? Try rouching the hem. Feeling aged? Try rouching your brow? What do you think? Could it catch on?
Or maybe I should stop fantasizing and just come to terms with reality. I am getting older. My appearance is taking the journey right along with me. In some ways, I have been growing closer to making peace with my looks over the past few years. I have been working hard to banish the crippling self-image that has limited my life in some pervasive, insidious ways. There are still days- way more frequently than I would like- when I feel like I am completely ineligible for love and value simply because of my appearance. However, there are days now when I can look at myself and not feel like the most unattractive, repulsive woman ever born. Then there are days like today when all I can see is my permanently creased brow.
I understand that the way I feel about my appearance is not necessarily reality, although it absolutely feels like reality. Feelings are not forever. Maybe tomorrow I will be able to see myself through a more generous lens. Or, if not tomorrow, maybe someday. Why is it so hard to see ourselves as beautiful and attractive when it is so easy to see others that way? Maybe I just think about this too much. Maybe THAT is why my brow is furrowed!
Have a youthful day- but don’t rub it in!
Terri/Dorry 🙂