Does it ever feel like life is a repeating record playing the same sorry assed tune? You finally think you have victory in one area and then God says again, “whoa girl, you still got issues.”
And vanity is unfortunately one I battle.
Like almost every woman in Orange County, I am assaulted by an image obsessed culture. Even when I think I have a handle on it, I am still, at times, like a little girl asking the same silly questions. Do I measure up? Am I pretty enough?
But this measuring stick changes on a whim. Pretty is incredibly subjective, eternally elusive and the world taunts us with it. One day it is skinny with boobs and the next it’s so much junk in the trunk you wonder how they don’t tip over?
And every single time I fall for the “beauty” lie, God whoops my own woefully small butt. I can’t get away with anything! I have the ultimate dad of the universe just waiting to hold me accountable for my folly.
So, I am at the dermatologist for a consult. It is one of those “mommy’s little secret visits.” You know the one that EVERY single woman over 40 has and talks about incessantly with other women but we all hide from the men.
And this very fact slays me because every guy I know says he wants his woman to look natural, but he does not actually mean that. What he wants is his woman to not look “fake” but still be attractive to him. BUT, in all honesty, this takes some serious behind the hood type of grooming that men are oblivious to.
For me…natural takes hard work. My skin needs to look good enough to NOT wear makeup. And a few highlights in my hair certainly don’t hurt. My teeth crave Crest Whitestrips to combat a love of strong coffee chased by the occasional evening Cabernet, they practically jump in the cart at Target, and my body is about as white as Casper the Ghost. Really, my monthly spray tan is a gift to you.
Basically, girls groom to look NATURAL. Fake is a whole different language. Fake is a lifestyle and a fortune to maintain. I secretly groom like all women do to look NATURAL and show the world I care enough about myself to make an effort.
Oh, the pressure to be a woman!
In all honesty, the quarantine really messed with my head when it came to self-care. And divorce…that too.
I get on these Zoom calls for work and it is like a magnifying mirror of every flaw, and you can’t NOT look. There you are on a giant screen with your face mask acne and a reflection of some chick who has not seen a facial since December because of the shut down.
And it is humbling y’all. Does anyone know what I am talking about? Can I get an Amen here for all us working gals?
During the pandemic I learned what my real face looked like. No hair dyes. No nail polish. No Med Spa. No brow wax. An extra five pounds from a glass of stress wine every night. And I tried to embrace this wild and untamed woman but I can’t say I wasn’t ready to ditch her too once the shit show was over.
The week everything started to open, oh boy was I ready. So, me, being the over-doer of life that I am, decided to hit it hard. I was going to groom like a mother.
I made all my appointments. Spray tan, hair, whiten my teeth, latisse for my lashes, Med Spa. I was on a mission to refresh.
So, I am at the Med Spa and there is that one crucial moment when the doctor asks me what I want to do? And I agree that a little IPL might be great. IPL is Intense Pulsed Light. It builds collagen and removes sun damage and brown spots. I’ve done it before and it’s like a facial on steroids.
“But will I bruise or have dark spots? “I ask. Because I have a date and I do not want to look swollen and banged up. In the past, sometimes I come out with beautiful pink skin and sometimes I look like a beast.
The doctor smiles and says I will look like I am 30. LOL. I sit back and let him blast my face, basking in the lies of pretty.
A day later, I head over to dance in the late afternoon to drop off Kolby. My girlfriend shrieks when I get out the car. “WTF happened to your face?”
I run for the mirror. And there is a clown line of dark marks surrounding my mouth.
Oh, you guys! I have a date in two hours and I look like someone beat me up. How do I explain this? I guess I could cancel but I am not really the flakey type. I mean… except for all the skin starting to flake off my face like a lizard.
This is that moment when you want to hit rewind.
But I am working hard to own it and take responsibility for my BS, dang it! And now here is a golden opportunity presenting itself.
Lord, once again, I allowed myself to let vanity take me out and now, I get to own the consequences.
I try to cover it up with a boatload of concealer, but it itches and every time I touch it the makeup comes off.
I pray, I ponder, and cry/hiccup/laugh at my absurd dilemma and then I decide to simply tell the truth.
When my date arrives to pick me up, I confess.
And it is hard. It is awkward. And on some level, I imagine he will think I am auditioning for the Real Housewives and turn around and walk out the door.
But he doesn’t. He just looks at me weird.
We end up having a wonderful time and I am glad I was forthright because by the time I got home the concealer was gone and I looked like I’d rumbled in the streets again.
God is teaching me so much about being real and vulnerable, even in my weakness, and even in my vanity. While I know the truth will set me free, I also don’t want to let go of my vice grip on my tube of mascara. And that’s OK.
During the course of the evening, my date eventually asked me why I did it. And I thought about it for a minute and then took a risk and opened up.
I told him I did it because I grew up in a home where my mom and dad validated me for being smart and pretty. I thought those were attributes they valued and so I took that on, and it became a key part of my belief system, of what it takes for me to be loved. And now, even though I know better, I still occasionally find myself, once again, on the hamster wheel of proving my smart and pretty.
He sat in the silence for a minute and then told me the first time he saw me, he thought I was the best looking woman he’s seen in years. He said his friend was kicking him under the table as he struggled for words.
And I was taken aback by his grace. He could have poked at me or teased me, but he didn’t, he let me into his vulnerability, and I was so grateful.
In that moment God stitched together a little part of my pretty wound, which I think He does only in the context of another human. Some wounds only repair when you feel safe and accepted by someone, even a new friend who simply acknowledges your brokenness and does not run for the hills.
Hopefully by the next time you see me, the marks will have faded from my face. And we can laugh about it and you can tell me all your beauty fails too. Because I know from talking to every woman it’s a battle, we all collectively face.
But in the meantime, I’ll keep deconstructing the bruises that lie a little deeper, letting Jesus (and not the med spa) reflect his glory onto me, finding my value and worth in Him, but also giving myself grace and compassion for simply wanting to be loved.
“People are like stained glass windows, they sparkle and shine when the sun is out, but when the darkness sets in, their true beauty is revealed only if there is a light from within.”—Elisabeth Kubler-Ross
Blessings,
–Sam
