In less than 5 months, I will be turning forty years old.
Forty. Years. Old.
I see the damage that thirty nine has done to my face. I have lines across my forehead, wrinkles around the corners of my eyes, drooping eyelids.
We won’t even talk about what age has done to my boobs.
I’m not the only one noticing what thirty nine years has done to my face. People around me notice.
Last month I went to a club in LA for my sister’s birthday. We had to wait in a line to get in. As I was standing there, a group of guys walked by and said something about “cougars” while looking directly at my face.
I made a comment on Facebook recently about my aging face.
“Get botox!” a friend suggested.
I could. I could pay to have a doctor stick needles in my face to paralyze the muscles to diminish the lines and wrinkles.
Here’s the thing – I don’t want to.
I’m terrified of pain, of needles, of bad reactions (Kim Kardashian, anyone?), of emptying out my checking account so that I can hang on to my fading youth. I’m going to get old. I’m aging as I type this. It’s inevitable. At this point, I’m choosing to embrace it. I am doing all of the things I should be doing to care of my aging skin. I wash it with cleansers that say things like “gentle enough for Old Lady Skin!” I’m ex-foliating it, smearing masks on it ,and moisturizing the hell out of it. But needles? Knifes? No thank you.
Please don’t confuse my lack of desire to inject botox into my face as my disapproval of such things. Plenty of my friends have had botox injections. They look great,but more importantly, it makes them feel better about the way they look. I’m all for that.
I’m just against putting needles in MY face.
When I turned thirty one, I remember feeling an overwhelming sense of dread that “40″ was just 9 years away. Forty! When did I get so old! My MOM was 40 when I had my first child. I was only 9 years away from being as old as my mom!
As each year of my 30s passed, I felt less sense of dread about The Big 4-0. I can’t explain it except to say, I’ve had nine years to make peace with this thing called Turning Forty. And I may not be aging well in my face, but my brain has never been sexier. I’m wiser, I’m more confident, less afraid, more willing to take risks. For the first time in my life, I like who I am. Wrinkles, saggy boobs, mom hands and all.