Older, Wiser and More Beautiful

Submitted by: Maya

All last night my vulnerable post left me lying awake.  Unusual for me… Firstly to lie awake ~ secondly to show my vulnerability… I fake it so well most of the time that when I feel weak, I feel like I’m walking in someone else’s moccasins.  Only I know that these same feelings have plagued me throughout my life as I imagine they do most people. Not good enough, not projecting the right face, not accepting me as I am.  I don’t like showing my soft underbelly… ever.

I always go back to wise words of our elders, typically my mother, who would say that when I feel ‘less than’…  to look at whom I choose to surround myself with and they put myself in among them.  Am I proud to be there or does that image make me squirm?  If I feel my skin crawl, I should move away, improve my surroundings, reach higher.  If I feel that flush of pride and acceptance and I admire the faces of those who embrace me ~ then be thankful and keep on track.

My circle are almost all women.  Strong, good, kind women.  Family women, working women, women who care about making things better.  They are my sisters more so than the ones born to my parents.  We gravitated together like magnets and neither time nor distance has lessened the impact that we have on one another.

If my friends knew how weak I felt when putting my face online they’d feel sad at me and for me.  They love me for my heart, for my experiences, for my input and my sense of humour. They see me as beautiful while I see me as tatters and shreds of who was once was ‘cute’.  I don’t think they’ve seen me struggle for a long time.  And this struggle just seems wrong.

My life is excellent, I am happy.  I radiate happiness in everything I do… so why do I loathe putting my face out there?  Shouldn’t I just be happy with who I am, what I’ve achieved?  Why do I feel that my older woman’s face would negate those accomplishments?

I’m the upbeat one, the counselor, the moral compass.  I think my sisters would simply envelop me with their love and do their best to boost me up and out of my funk.  But if I let them see my vulnerable side, they’d also feel lost… Who would take charge?  Who knows how to care for the carer?

So this morning I bounced out of my lovely bed in preparation for a day of cleansing.  My home, my dog’s gummy eyes, my heart and my spirit.  To get back into that mojo of remembering that it’s about WHO we are, not what we look like.  To let go of the vanity that holds me back and to propel myself ahead.  To climb out of my funk and grasp hold of my dreams again… to let go of that piece of me who pulls me down.  To sit and write and admit that my vanity hurts me.

That I am fifty-six years old and the photo was of a fifty-six year old woman taken in shadows to hide the ravages of time.  It was deceptive because my wrinkles are blurred, the lighting was dim and I was posing. There was no inner joy radiating out of me.  That in a million ways it was an unfair portrayal of me, trying to still be young and beautiful.  So what’s wrong with older, wiser and beautiful from the inside out?

Will I put another pic on to replace this one?  HELL NO!  I must have gone through two thousand snaps to get these two.  I am still going to detest photos and I’ll still steer clear ~ but I WILL try to work on accepting my physical self as much as I accept my inner self.  Maybe someday I’ll stop being so hypercritical of my appearance and just love this face that is lined from smiles and kisses and pain… On the other hand, I think I’m a prime candidate for a botox party.  Wish it came in economically sized, home use packages so I could hide my dirty little secret.

Don’t you think it’s odd that I am more comfortable with talking about sex toys than I am my own face?  I do… There’s something wrong with this picture.

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