Last two paragraphs of part 2, the Botox dilemma:
… .After Eva my beautician dropped the Botox word, I left and didn’t give it much thought over the next few years. I had no extra disposable income to consider such frivolity anyway, and I wasn’t particularly interested in marketing myself to others. At the time I was a stay at home mom with kids in competitive sports requiring a lot of bundling up (I spent/spend a lot of time in cold rinks); cosmetics in general didn’t really play a very big part in my life. I’m a less is more kinda gal: foundation, maybe powder, eyeliner and mascara. And Shea butter as moisturizer.
But that pesky wrinkle/scar between my brows continued to disturb me. What’s more, Eva moved away and I was unsuccessful in replacing her talents elsewhere. The two other salons I went to didn’t do a very good job, so I bought better tweezers and some depilatory creams and shaped my brows in front of the bathroom mirror myself.
The scar however continued to mock me.
The scar between my brows not only continued to mock me, it began to affect my self-image.
This rattled me. I’ve never considered myself a vain person, why am I accepting vanity now?
I struggled with this question and wondered if aging affected me more than I cared to admit. Did I miss out on too many positive social opportunities in my youth? Why the sudden zooming in on self-perceived flaws?
I went back to other moments in time since I turned 50 where I struggled with the physical changes of aging. I went through some phases, documented some, even published a few (most recently here and here).
I realized something; other readers (and writers on the internet) struggle with similar issues. I am not alone. Although the vanity-induced self-esteem comes and goes, I am much less insecure now than I was during my 40s, which I partly credit to pushing comfort zones and writing, sharing my stories here and on my Medium account.
Turning 50 was a the pivotal Tower Moment for me (although it was not a term I was familiar with at the time).
Taking matters into my hands I tackled things head-on:
I changed my hair, continued to shaped my eyebrows, reduced white carbs and sugar from my diet, supplemented with zinc, vitamin C and D and a probiotic to improve immunity, began yoga exercises with focus on strength and fitness, and wrote my heart out.
Just prior to my 53rd birthday I recognized I needed to take one more giant step to activate the next part of my journey. Simultaneously, my mom had an accident requiring care-giving which I was able to provide, thereby solidifying my move out of the family home.
All this was a form of therapy for me. Living in the burbs has improved both my mental and emotional health significantly which ended up making me a much better parent to my teens. And, because I took care of my health from within first, my exterior health improved as well. Which somehow affected me tangibly when I looked in the mirror.
I suddenly saw myself as reasonably attractive. I liked myself. I did not feel invisible anymore.
But a smidgen of vanity remained. This wrinkle in between my brows continued to bother me.
The Botox people have a name for this: glabellar lines.
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