It seems a cruel trick of nature, this growing old thing. As soon as you begin to feel comfortable – happy – in your own skin, it all begins to go south. Literally.
The teen years were filled with self-doubt, endless insecurities and unjustified angst. The twenty-something years offered some relief, yet the perky boobs and firm body were still wasted on a young, overly sensitive and still insecure version of myself. By the time 29 rolled around, I was resigned to the belief that insecurities were my way of life. And then I turned 30 and gave birth to my first child.
That’s when it all began to change.
I delivered my oldest daughter naturally at a teaching hospital on Long Island. For those who don’t understand what that means, let me give it to you straight. I had an audience of not-yet-obstetricians watching me – and my who-ha – as I delivered my very first child. That was when it all changed. That was when I passed through some imaginary and magical threshold into the world of women without insecurity. It was liberating.
It was during my 30’s that I finally began to marvel at myself – appreciate both my mind and body in a way that I never had before. It was wonderful. And then I turned 40.
Suddenly I’m listening to friends gripe about their changing bodies, their forgetful minds and the dry skin embedded in their new wrinkles. I’m being greeted by old friends who say “You look older,” and I’ve finally given in to my obvious need for reading glasses. I tried to choose a pair that screamed sassy yet sophisticated. What do you think?
It seems cruel that Mother Nature would waste a perfectly good body on an insecurity ridden mind. But I think I’m happier in my imperfect body with my perfectly good mind.
Jokes on you Mother Nature!