I've had to cut back on some things because school is demanding, but it's okay. I'm alright. I just won't be able to visit you all as much as I'd like.
I've noticed something, though, that I just had to share.
It's getting easier to accept myself and my age. I'm beginning to understand those sayings "Life begins at 40!" or "Life begins at 50!" - well, you get the idea. I'm okay.
Yesterday I had my hair cut, and the old color and low-lights are gone. I am completely natural now. I said to the stylist, "I look like I paid a lot of money for frosting!" The silver threads are pervasive throughout my light brown hair, and my new slightly-angled page boy cut really shows it off (new pictures soon).
I also recently stepped on the scale and didn't freak out. Yes, I'm a little heavier than I was a year ago, but my weight is stable. I like the weight I'm at. I like what I see in the mirror. After spending most of my life hating my body, dieting, starving myself, freaking out if I gained a pound only to get angry and eat everything in sight. Enough is enough! I'm calling a truce.
Today I wear the same size I wore when I got married 26 years ago (on Thursday). I wear the same size I wore when I had my kids. Could I be thinner? Well, yes. And I proved that by dropping down to a size 10. But I didn't like how I looked. I was gaunt and hollow looking. I didn't look healthy, not to me. I didn't look like me.
Certainly I don't want to gain any weight, because I had some health issues at a higher weight. I also plan to continue walking for health, but I am not going to actively pursue weight loss. My blood pressure is great. My cholesterol is great. My blood sugar is great. Why fight with my body over a number which, in the end, means nothing in the great scheme of things. After I'm gone, will people say, "Oh, she worked hard to always be in a size ___ (whatever)"? No, I hope they'll have something more substantial to say than that.
I am aging the way my mother and my grandmothers and my great-grandmothers did ... and so on. No injections in my face. No dermabrasion. No hair color (okay, Mom colored her hair, but she always gave in to silly pressure to do things like go on fad diets, too). What you see is what you get. And I'm OK with that.
Whatever you want to do, whether it includes a little nip/tuck or Botox, that's okay, too. I don't care what other people choose to do. I'm just happy that I finally feel good about me. It's about time!
Now, when I wake up tomorrow freaking out about a lump, bump, or bulge, I'll re-read this post!
Peace and goodnight - D