The skin on my face has been sloooowly heading south, like melting ice-cream atop a cone while my jowls have wandered aimlessly towards my neck that mimics a fruit leather or a molting deer antler. While leaning forward, my skin follows suit, as if it is water settling on top of a tent into soggy reservoirs that can be manipulated by the slightest touch or flick of a finger. I feel like a stranger inside of someone’s used onesie and I want out.
I would like to say that I have been accepting this drooping gracefully, however, I am straight up telling you that it has been bothering the fuck out of me. I’ve been feeling betrayed by my body and wondering why it ignored all my efforts of healthy eating, using SPF every day and drinking tons of water?
After many days of self-examination and realignment, my vain anger morphed into being pissed at myself for thinking my body did something wrong. I mean, REALLY? I should be praising it for taking me this far after beating cancer, breaking 7 bones, having 8 surgeries, and being hit by a car 3 times. I am an official asshat.
Body of mine, you are one good shit and I am sorry for having a momentarily lapse in judgement.
Why in the hell is it so difficult to simply accept aging and the natural process our bodies go through?
Did I finally succumb to the shallowness of what we/I “should” look like via media, Photoshop, and statements that are shoved into our faces and ears at seemingly all hours of the waking day?
I’d like to say no, but sometimes I do.
There are a bazillion and one jacked up reasons that make us freak out about getting older, and I think a big one is because we have no control or say how ageing happens to us. Yes, we can take supplements, get tests, be active, have procedures done, etc., etc., but there is NO WAY to outsmart the inevitable process of ageing, it’s going to happen whether you want it to or not.
All our life we have the freedom to pick and choose how we present ourselves to the world. We choose our hairstyles, hair color, body weight, clothes, make up, facial hair, get tattoos, false eyelashes or bleach our teeth, but when it comes to aging, you get no real vote on what happens next.
The visuals of aging are so frustrating because so many of us take really good care of ourselves and feel mighty fine, when suddenly, you see yourself in a reflection and wonder “who in the hell is that? I look like a full-on adult, that could retire.”
I have also realized that I’ve reached the age when no one under 30 really notices me, unless I am in the way.
Fuck off to that load of bullshit and the barge it came in on. From here on out, I am shifting my brain to shut negativity down to celebrate my body’s perseverance and how completely awesome it really IS, not by judging it and finding fault.
What’s messed up, is that It’s harder to do than it sounds and requires some serious mental diligence. I’m giving it my best shot, starting NOW.
My feet, legs and thighs have not let me down for almost 47 fucking years. They brought me on mind blowing adventures some people only dream about, danced to music that made me sore for days, kicked some serious ass in sports, helped me to literally outrun stupid choices, and are always up for a challenge.
My ass has been rubbed for good luck, slapped by some dreamy people, shook at many events, and has yet to let me down.
My belly has consumed more food and drink than most, loving every single minute of it. It is strong as steel while deflecting body checks, cleats, pucks, shoves and elbows. It keeps me standing proud and ready for anything that comes its way, but prefers butterflies induced by a breathtaking moment or human.
My breasts have fought many battles and have the scars to prove it. They are beautiful and are fucking warriors, trust and believe.
My arms have protected me, helped me up, flailed with glee, held the weak, comforted many, provided strength and exchanged so much love it is unfathomable.
My mouth shares stories that one cannot make up, creates sounds that replace vocabulary and morphs into shapes that inflict painful, goofy and sideways smiles. It laughs loudly, is unabashed and relishes in a thoughtful kiss.
My eyes try their best to see the beauty in everything and everyone. They squint at the radiance of the sunshine, crinkle trying to find the truth, tear up for all sorts of reasons, blast open when surprised or delighted and squash closed while having a hysterical laughing fit.
My hair is good, healthy hair, even the ones on my chin. After losing it to chemo, I am lucky to have hair. It has been losing pigment since my 30’s and I prefer it not being grey and silver, so I dye it. My goal is to be self-assured and embrace my natural color someday, whatever the hell that is, or at least not be so bothered by it. I am unable to embrace the grey; I fully admit it. Sue me.
This body may be slower than it used to be and at times it generates audible crackles and groans, but I would place a small wager that I could still win another bar fight if it came down to it (dear universe, don’t listen to that “back in my day” gloat, just smile and nod). Things could be better; things could be worse. The future is unknown, but I am certain that I can run like a cheetah after an ice cream truck while also pushing kids out of my way without throwing my back out.....just a hunch.