Aging is a phenomenon that often takes us by surprise. While we may expect the subtle changes—like the fine lines around our eyes or the deeper creases on our foreheads—some aspects come as a shock. As I stand in front of the mirror each year, I observe the gradual transformations of my body. Wrinkles don’t catch me off guard, especially given the countless beauty commercials that have warned me about them. However, the reality of my C-section scar, which seems to deepen with time, and the skin that has begun to sag in unexpected places—those were not on my radar.
Reflecting on my youth, I recall how I scrutinized every detail of my appearance. In a photo from fifteen years ago, I was struck by the youthful smoothness of my knees, which now resemble crumpled fabric. I often wonder what happened to my body in yoga poses. Did my belly ever resemble a sagging jowl? Back then, I was too busy disliking my round stomach, which I thought looked like a peach, to appreciate its youthful vitality.
I likely dismissed collagen as something only older people needed. Now, at 42, I feel as though my collagen has scattered like beads from a broken necklace, leaving me to grapple with the consequences. Despite my dedication to fitness through pilates and running, I find myself limited by injuries often associated with aging. I deal with tendonitis and plantar fasciitis—conditions typically linked to those who carry extra weight. Ironically, I’ve weighed less than 120 pounds for most of my life. I feel a sense of unfairness in dealing with health issues that seem reserved for others.
I don’t long for my younger self—the woman who loathed her body or felt insecure in her own skin. Those versions of me feel like distant relatives I don’t wish to reconnect with. However, I do appreciate the wisdom and strength I’ve gained over the years, even as I cope with the changes in my physical form.
During a recent mammogram, a nurse gently compressed my breasts between two plates, oblivious to my discomfort. As she asked if I was okay, I realized that my body might be the next thing to falter. Despite the physical wear and tear, I’ve achieved so much in my life—raising children, building a career, and creating art. It makes sense that as our inner selves expand, our bodies reflect the journey with their own wear and tear.
In light of these reflections, it is essential to embrace the body we have now. It’s time to appreciate our curves, even if they come with a few extra dimples or sagging features. Acceptance is key, and I recognize that I need to love the body I inhabit.
As I grasped the machine during my mammogram, I found myself responding, “Sure, I’m okay,” although I was far from it.
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In summary, aging is a complex experience that prompts us to reconcile our inner selves with the physical changes we face. It’s a journey that encourages acceptance and love for the body we currently inhabit, as it continues to serve us in myriad ways.