I'm so done feeling bad about my neck or any other body part
No offense to Nora Ephron, the author of "I feel bad about my neck". What she writes about is true...we women are obsessed with parts of us that refuse to stay 20 years old. I mean just because our brain thinks we are still 20 doesn't mean the rest of our body will follow suit and look that way. We spend a lot of time and money trying to fix things instead of just accepting them. Or we make fun of them - something I am good about. What if we just accepted ourselves for once?
Up until a few days ago, I was still in the "feeling bad about this or that part" stage but I am giving it up. Oh I have noticed my neck and it's dry wrinkly skin that I could spend a lot of money on different products to firm up - stuff like amniotic fluid infused Clinique products or stem cells or the latest Oil of Olay potion. And what I am sad about, as I think about it, is how Oil of Olay has morphed into all kinds of fancy stuff that is expensive, comes in fancy applicators, and promises many things that I bet it can't deliver. And women buy it. I used to love the stuff when I was growing up - it was pink and came in a glass bottle and it smelled nice. That was it. No age defying anything added.
Anyway, what made me decide to quit feeling bad about my aging parts (other than all the self help books I have been reading since I have been retreaded) happened when I was in my basement, lifting weights on my bosu ball. No one was home but me and the dogs and it was hot in the basement so I took off my shirt and was lifting in my running bra. I was admiring my arms as I did my curl repetitions and my legs as I did my squats. All was good until I started doing pushups.
I happened to look down at my stomach while I was on the up part of the pushup. I think I expected to see a washboard abdomen, like all the (20 something) women on the cover of my Runner's World magazine. Instead, I was horrified to see what looked like all of my internal abdominal organs suspended in a sack (a wrinkly one at that) and gathered in the middle of my torso - hanging down towards that Bosu ball. Then I started laughing. What the hell did I expect? This is why most women my age only do exercises in a sports bra in the privacy of their basement and not in public.
I then thought about how I could pay a plastic surgeon $10,000 to fix it - tighten up my abdominal muscles and fix the one (the rectus abdominus muscle I think) that splits apart when you are pregnant to accommodate the growing baby. I could get rid of my pending apron. So okay, even if I did have the money and was willing to risk anesthesia that sometimes indiscriminately kills people when they are not expecting it, what about the rest of me? Would I all of a sudden hate my neck and my ear wrinkles? Would I want perky boobs with unwrinkled cleavage and to have the skin on my inner thighs removed so that I could have that gap at the top of my legs like models and my old Barbie dolls had?
I will still complain about other things I am sure. But for now I am going to be happy with my abdomen and proud that it housed three now grown successful beautiful children who I love and who love me, and who are making their mark in the world and influencing many other people in the world in good ways. I have a husband who loves me and tells me I look good.
It is pretty amazing how a woman's skin can stretch to such girth and your body can take care of a baby (the safest place it will ever be) inside a usually fist sized uterus (RIP my poor uterus, you did good work) and grow it until it is ready to emerge into the world - won't go into that though - even though I am a nurse I still was kinda worried if it could really happen that way when I had Kseniya - the emerging part I mean. My stomach did a great job of putting itself back together and I did not even get stretch marks. I have helped it along by running, eating well and doing sit ups - but these can only do so much - no matter what products any of us use, or what surgery we will have, aging is inevitable but decaying is not (that sentence I am quoting from a great book called "younger next year").
We women have got to quit feeling like we are not good enough. I get sick watching the tot beauty shows on TV and am a little sad that the cool thing is to take a bunch of 8 year old girls to get manicures and pedicures and makeovers for a birthday celebration. I wish somehow I could start a revolution of us older girls and we could help each other be proud of how we look and not try to keep achieving something else. Maybe we could change things for the younger ones. Maybe we could get fashion and athletic clothing catalogs to feature fit 50 and above women instead of all those 20 year olds. Nothing is wrong with 20 year olds - none of us ever appreciate how good we look at that age, nor do we fully believe we won't always look that way.
I am not perfect - parts of me are though. The rest of the parts are just as they should be. As long as they keep working, I will be happy with them.
Up until a few days ago, I was still in the "feeling bad about this or that part" stage but I am giving it up. Oh I have noticed my neck and it's dry wrinkly skin that I could spend a lot of money on different products to firm up - stuff like amniotic fluid infused Clinique products or stem cells or the latest Oil of Olay potion. And what I am sad about, as I think about it, is how Oil of Olay has morphed into all kinds of fancy stuff that is expensive, comes in fancy applicators, and promises many things that I bet it can't deliver. And women buy it. I used to love the stuff when I was growing up - it was pink and came in a glass bottle and it smelled nice. That was it. No age defying anything added.
Anyway, what made me decide to quit feeling bad about my aging parts (other than all the self help books I have been reading since I have been retreaded) happened when I was in my basement, lifting weights on my bosu ball. No one was home but me and the dogs and it was hot in the basement so I took off my shirt and was lifting in my running bra. I was admiring my arms as I did my curl repetitions and my legs as I did my squats. All was good until I started doing pushups.
I happened to look down at my stomach while I was on the up part of the pushup. I think I expected to see a washboard abdomen, like all the (20 something) women on the cover of my Runner's World magazine. Instead, I was horrified to see what looked like all of my internal abdominal organs suspended in a sack (a wrinkly one at that) and gathered in the middle of my torso - hanging down towards that Bosu ball. Then I started laughing. What the hell did I expect? This is why most women my age only do exercises in a sports bra in the privacy of their basement and not in public.
I then thought about how I could pay a plastic surgeon $10,000 to fix it - tighten up my abdominal muscles and fix the one (the rectus abdominus muscle I think) that splits apart when you are pregnant to accommodate the growing baby. I could get rid of my pending apron. So okay, even if I did have the money and was willing to risk anesthesia that sometimes indiscriminately kills people when they are not expecting it, what about the rest of me? Would I all of a sudden hate my neck and my ear wrinkles? Would I want perky boobs with unwrinkled cleavage and to have the skin on my inner thighs removed so that I could have that gap at the top of my legs like models and my old Barbie dolls had?
I will still complain about other things I am sure. But for now I am going to be happy with my abdomen and proud that it housed three now grown successful beautiful children who I love and who love me, and who are making their mark in the world and influencing many other people in the world in good ways. I have a husband who loves me and tells me I look good.
It is pretty amazing how a woman's skin can stretch to such girth and your body can take care of a baby (the safest place it will ever be) inside a usually fist sized uterus (RIP my poor uterus, you did good work) and grow it until it is ready to emerge into the world - won't go into that though - even though I am a nurse I still was kinda worried if it could really happen that way when I had Kseniya - the emerging part I mean. My stomach did a great job of putting itself back together and I did not even get stretch marks. I have helped it along by running, eating well and doing sit ups - but these can only do so much - no matter what products any of us use, or what surgery we will have, aging is inevitable but decaying is not (that sentence I am quoting from a great book called "younger next year").
We women have got to quit feeling like we are not good enough. I get sick watching the tot beauty shows on TV and am a little sad that the cool thing is to take a bunch of 8 year old girls to get manicures and pedicures and makeovers for a birthday celebration. I wish somehow I could start a revolution of us older girls and we could help each other be proud of how we look and not try to keep achieving something else. Maybe we could change things for the younger ones. Maybe we could get fashion and athletic clothing catalogs to feature fit 50 and above women instead of all those 20 year olds. Nothing is wrong with 20 year olds - none of us ever appreciate how good we look at that age, nor do we fully believe we won't always look that way.
I am not perfect - parts of me are though. The rest of the parts are just as they should be. As long as they keep working, I will be happy with them.
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