Serafina? I like that name.
I know it’s not very feminist of me to care about the crevice in my forehead.
It bothers me though.
I tell myself it bothers me because I feel together and happy. I haven’t always felt together and happy. I wish my forehead looked how I feel. But why do we associate ageing with unhappiness? I am happy to be ageing. I should think the crevice in my forehead speaks of happiness. A life being well lived. I’ve always loved the meme with Lauren Bacall stating:
I mentioned on my Facebook status recently, that it would be great to live two lives. One where we learn how to be our best selves. The other, where we get to be our best selves from the beginning. Of course, this means, understanding the important things to focus on (helping others, self improvement and learning, caring for one’s body that carries us around through life, not worrying about comparison to others or measuring ourselves against unrealistic or unimportant criteria, learning how to manage goal stymying anxiety at a younger age). It does not have anything to do with my physical appearance. But, as far as such second lives would go, it’d be great to have my 30 year old forehead, coupled with my 49 year old wisdom. Not an original thought, but true.
I know the crater between my brows is a privilege of age. I am grateful to be in such an otherwise lucky position, that I have mental energy to waste on my forehead. As I write this, I know it’s ridiculous.
I should care about more important things and others (and I do). But caring for more important things doesn’t mean that occasionally when I see my forehead in a picture or on camera, I am not subconsciously trying to erase it with some kind of magic eraser. My brain is capable of creating a wide range of emotions, seemingly thousands at a time, some big, many small! Also, as we know, many of our thoughts are just wrong and we shouldn’t give to much credence to them.
But then, I think about how some women seem to age without intervention and own it and they look great. I think about how some women look like they’ve done too much to their faces and it doesn’t make them look younger, just like they’ve done a lot to their faces. I also think about how I shouldn’t care about what other women’s faces look like. And, I don’t really. I care that the person seems happy and comfortable in their own skin. Do I feel happy and comfortable in my own skin? Yes, for the most part. Some of the mojo I had several years ago would be great too. I’m so greedy.
I have a rough idea about how Botox works, how much it costs, what other women who have done it have to say about its effectiveness. I think being a feminist means being supportive of whatever they do as long as they seem comfortable with their choices and not coerced into doing anything (and that while they are not being weakened by the patriarchy, they are also not weakening others who are equity-seeking).
I keep telling myself that I don’t want Botox because I feel like it would be a losing battle. The start of a never ending quest for an unachievable goal that I don’t really want anyway. But I still find myself wondering.
I want to love my forehead, crevice and all. It is merely a cover for my healthy brain.
I think I should give the crevice in my forehead a name. I think by naming it, it will feel like mine. A loved part of myself that I chose to keep and give a name. Any suggestions?