Looking Like I Care
I have never in my life considered myself beautiful, but I have occasionally looked back on an old photograph from some special event of my younger days and thought, “I actually don’t look bad there.” Is that not a common experience — we look back on photos of ourselves at times we had convinced ourselves we were ugly and only now can we see the beauty there? All caught up in our body issues, our imperfections — how harshly we judge ourselves. I did not have a lot of help in envisioning myself as even slightly attractive. My brother often called me “Ugly,” not as a descriptor, but as my actual name, as in “Hey, Ugly, how was your day?” My grandmother, after I had lost a lot of weight after fifth grade and cut my hair short, asked, after I had just finished styling my hair, “Are you going out like that?” Even my mother…I asked, as I prepared for a big high school dance, prom I think, “Do you think I look beautiful?” She paused for a moment, weighing her words, and she answered, “I think you are a good looking girl.” Even my own mother could not say the word beautiful to apply to me. Once, my high school boyfriend, whom I eventually married, dragged me down to the hallway to put me on the scale because I would never tell him how much I weighed (and that was 24 pounds ago!) He thought it uproariously funny, for me it was just another reminder that I was being judged based on my weight, my hair, my looks. Eventually, I married that man, and became trapped by my own perception of my ugliness and by his words that I could not/would not be loved by another, and I stayed when I should have gone.
Failing self esteem leads some women to indulge in bi-monthly manicures, others work out maniacally to fend off the fat that might deem them unworthy, and some descend into the pit of sweatpants and hair ties. I just kind of quit caring, believing that trying to improve my appearance was a waste of time that could be more productively spent grading papers or catching up on housework so that I could at least sleep in peace. Once I had children, and then became a single mom, time was so limited, the one thing I could easily let go of was my morning preparations. Makeup, forget it. Hair? Ponytail was the solution. I could get ready for work in about 3 minutes.
So, over a year ago, I realized that part of my depression and dissatisfaction came from lack of pulling myself together, of presenting myself to the world as a woman who did not care about caring for herself, and so I committed, despite not really caring, to “looking like I care.” I could not do it every day, it was so overwhelming to me. I had become the woman who wore a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt (school related and thus off-handedly presentable) to work most days. I had gained weight from my last pregnancy, and many of my clothes did not fit, and I refused to buy a bunch of bigger ones, so I had limited options for the bottom half of my wardrobe. Makeup seemed silly on my increasingly wrinkled face, but to look like I cared, I made one simple commitment: to wear lipstick every day. I did, and people actually noticed. They complimented me. Now, I need to expand on “looking like I care.” If I keep “looking like it,” maybe I will start caring. Fake it ‘til I make it.
I admire older women who look elegant, sophisticated…who do not try to look like they are trying to look like younger women, but who dress with panache. Stylish but not trendy. I simply don’t know how to do it. I don’t have a stellar figure. What waist I do have is high, and many clothes just do not look especially nice on me. I have not tucked a shirt into pants or a skirt in 10 years. It feels like making an effort to dress more professionally does not really feel good…even dressed better, I don’t feel like I look better and so selecting a nicer wardrobe feels like a waste of time. However, I still seek to master the sophistication of older women who “have it.”
A big part of Embracing 53, for me, will involve attempting to find my own style, and what looks and feels good on me. As part of that process, I am committing to work on my best 53 figure. I will share that part of my journey as well — which is really scary because it is the journey on which I have failed for most of my life.
Some would say to just accept my body as it is. I am all for self-acceptance for everyone else, but I am not that enlightened. I have very limited and long-engrained conceptions about what is an acceptable body for me, and although I no longer have totally unreasonable weight goals, I won’t be entirely happy if I tuck in my shirt and there is a muffin hanging over my waist-band. I know I am not unhealthfully fat, but I am certainly not slender, and I really want to be. At times in life I have been. It is hard to admit. I wish it did not matter, and I could just learn to be happy where I am. So, I accept my own beliefs despite their probable falsity because I do see room for improvement and believe I can attain a body closer to what I want. I actually don’t want to learn to live with or love a body I don’t like. The Serenity Prayer comes to mind here. I can learn to accept wrinkles, looser skin, joint aches and other “signs” of aging, but the power to change my body is within me, and I am excited to embark (again) on this journey to see what I and my body can do.
Appearance is not much nor does it mean anything about our true value. However, looking like you care lends a sense of confidence and caring to the day. Looking like you care suggests you are eager for your day, even if you are barely able to move or think.
So, here I go. There are two large prongs to the process of looking like I care. The first is longer and more complex, and that involves a bit of weight loss and improved fitness and flexibility. That will be for another blog or two. The second is more easy. Today, I am committing to select something other than jeans and a T each day that I have work, to wear tinted sunscreen, mascara and lipstick. I also have to do my hair, beyond a ponytail that is, at least three times a week. I will let you know how it goes!
