Every year I post a filter and makeup free photo on my birthday. It’s not for kudos or compliments. It’s to show reality. It’s to make peace with another year. It’s to be free.
Anyone who follows me on Social Media knows I’ve like to take the selfie. Why? Well I loathe my picture being taken. I rarely like how I look. This way I’m in the driver’s seat. I want to be real, flaws and all. Again, I cannot fall back into hiding myself because of insecurities.
Another thought of note, middle aged women becoming increasingly invisible in our culture. Where smooth skin and “sexy” bodies used to be, wiser, bolder, truly beautiful women emerge, yet society shuns that.
The most gorgeous women I know have cellulite, wrinkles, relaxed breasts, mama bellies to moosh into, and silvering locks.
The eyes, the heart, the stories, need to be heard and respected, but first we must be truly seen and not ignored.
My entire life since 13 years old, I’ve had a love/mostly hate relationship with my looks. Ridiculous and shallow, yes. Crippling and true, yes. A criticism by a friend sent me into a deep spiral. I became anorexic. Yes, the ripples from that wave continue to reach my shores.
My body is squishy and fit. I am strong. My arms are just like those of my Grandma Esther Sarozek. I should be proud. I feel much younger than the calendar dates me. I’ve a husband who adores every inch of this vastly childbearing, age, and stress afflicted physique. He only sees wonderful.
Posting natural photos of myself keeps me accountable and less hateful of my outside structure. I hope what it helps someone else reduce their own self loathing and love themselves better.
So this is 48. A bit of silver, abundant squish, a few more wrinkles. Not too bad.
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