I’m about to admit something to you all.
You see, I am 38 years old. I love being 38 years old. If you gave me the choice between being the age I am now, and the age I was 15+ years ago, I’m going with 38 every time.
And what’s not to love about it? I’ve gained wisdom, and I’m a much more confident person now than I was in my twenties. I’ve learned not to care (as much) about what people think of me to make better choices, and to invest in friendships that are truly good for me.
Oh wait – I remembered something I don’t love about it. (Here comes the admission.) While I don’t mind seeing the number grow higher with each passing year, I absolutely hate looking like I’m aging. I want to be 38 but look like I’m 28.
Every time I look in the mirror or see a close up photo, I’m surprised. The drawer in my bathroom full of discarded beauty creams and products is a testament to my desperation to stop the effects of time upon my skin. I am losing this battle, and I can’t stand it.
But I don’t want to be this woman – the one who wants to hold on tightly to days gone by. Why do I care so much anyway? I preach the whole, “Love who the Lord created you to be” schtick to my girls all the time. And I truly mean it! I’ve worked through body issues and come to a place of acceptance about things from the neck down. But there’s a disconnect for me when it comes to looking my age.
I’m not going to throw away all my creams and products. But my goal is to work toward embracing the skin I’m in – no matter how old that skin may be.
It’s a work in progress.
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