When Did This Happen?

When did my Grandmother’s crepy, dark spot-riddled, lined skin sneak into my mirror and hijack my reflection? When did heavy, sagging eyelids and crow’s-feet dominate all of my other features and overwhelm my face?

This old and tired reflection staring back at me is almost unrecognizable. I want to rebuke it. I want to avert my eyes and never again see it staring back at me mockingly. I want to punch it right in its smug face.

My mind’s reflection refuses to acknowledge this is what almost forty-six years of life looks like. My mind’s reflection believes a dewy, unlined, unmarred face brimming with humor and optimism should shine back when it looks in the mirror.

My mind’s reflection looks somewhere between twenty-two and twenty-seven years old. My mind truly feels no older than twenty-eight. My mind refuses to believe it is delusional.

The kinder voice inside my head whispers things could be way worse: I am healthy, have three amazing children, a wonderful family, and the best friends anyone could ever ask for. It also reminds me I have an enormous amount of living left to do, and all of the parts of me are going to make the very best of the rest of my present and future.

If only I could permanently ignore my physical reflection…

 

 

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