About once a month when I look in the bathroom mirror I see an old enemy.
Or at least I think I see an old enemy.
The time is usually around 5-6pm, just as the last of the afternoon sun is streaming in through the window, and I see along my top lip a certain manly shadow that is not usually visible in the general light of day.
That’s correct, I see a moustache.
So I do what any self-respecting, vanity driven, 25-year-old does. I seek to destroy.
I locate the tweezers and then, for several frenzied minutes, I attack that forsaken moustache.
Then, as suddenly as the enemy appeared, the light changes as the sun goes down behind the mountains and I see that I was somewhat mistaken in that, although I do have hair on my upper lip, it is actually very fine and pale and, I do not have a manly moustache at all.
This is just one example of the way that I can overreact to the parts of my body that I am, for whatever reason, not happy with. Stretch marks, bruises, sun damage, weak fingernails, wobbly bits, things that used to be nicer before pregnancy/birth/children ravaged me.
I’m human, right?
Though the thing is that I actually really love the way that I look.
I’ve learnt to appreciate the paleness of my skin, no longer do I lie in the sun willing it to be tan. Tan is just something I won’t ever be. I’m happy with that these days.
I used to wish I had blue eyes, then I tried some blue contacts and realised that brown was so much more my colour.
Straight brown hair was, once upon a time, something that I prayed would change. But now I love it.
With, some, maturity and lots of life experience I have gained wrinkles and stretch marks, but thankfully the stretch marks fade and the wrinkles simply go to prove that I have lived.
This body hasn’t been designed to last forever, so while I have it I’m going to appreciate it and I don’t intend to sweat the small stuff.
“I feel pretty and witty and bright.”