Secrets and lies

I have a not so secret secret.

I’m not doing well with this ageing malarkey. Outwardly I write on my social media accounts messages of accepting yourself, how collagen supplements aren’t supported by science so might not be effective, how we should accept and learn to love our ageing self.

We should. We should place value on the knowledge and experience that we’ve gained over the decades we survived.

It’s just so damned hard. Especially as most of the Western world places value on one single thing.

How good you look.

My husband feels he’s in the best shape of his life (and who am I to disagree, he’s a hottie as far as I’m concerned), he’s successfully melting the weight off that he feels is surplus to needs, but I’ve loved him every which way he’s looked. Ok, I did struggle when he shaved off his beard… and the snoring.

I’m eating less, exercising more and honestly, looking worse. Tired, missing 1/3 of an eyebrow, the flappy bit-fun zones are less anti gravity and definitely more ‘flappy’. I’m looking like my mother.

How horrific.

For more reasons than I care to go into.

I have an unfortunate head and face shape- think kinda Germanic/square-ish. My nose has been damaged on a number of occasions (sports/accidents). My stomach was NEVER flat, but now is… well, very big each and every day (not just the 2 weeks out of 4 I used to complain about). My hair?… It’s fine, as in not thick. It’s dry and wavy bordering on curly but also straight and lank. It is the Heinz 57 of hair. It never looks right and certainly doesn’t do me any favours.

But still, I spout positive messages of trying to let go of insecurities, our bodies produced life and shouldn’t look the same at 50 as they did at 20, blah, blah, blah.

Oh but how I wish it did.

Truth be told I still hate my face and body. People told me that I will look back on my younger self and regret hating myself. This much is true. I wasn’t prepared for the hate never going away.

Still every day I’m showing up, I’m trying. Trying to hit my protein goals of 1.5g/kg of body weight and not fill my tiny flat with toxic fumes. Trying to hit the fibre goal of 30g/day… and not fill my tiny flat with toxic fumes 😂

What’s the answer? 1) Fake it ‘til you make it? 2) Go to therapy (hard no), or 3) just living each day and trying your very best?

I’m currently trying a combination of 1 and 3 and I think I’ll probably die in this holding state. Truth is, no one can help me. Changes have to start and end with me. Will I eventually learn to be happy with this body and face? No. Will I ever accept the under eye bags and jowls? Also no. Will I continue to wear sunglasses and lipstick in every photo of me. Yes, big yes.

Insecurities are a bitch. There must be a way to make them MY bitch.