“With a broken wing, she carries her dream. Man you oughtta see here fly...”
I am holding here at thirty-nine... and I think I'm still trying to decide if I like being thirty-nine.
I'm not my wittiest self this early morning. I can't sleep, and perhaps part of that is because my conscience has told me I promised I would write a blog that I haven't written.
I was looking at an entire group of people I'd grown quite fond of recently. They were these young and beautiful thespians at a local high school. I had the pleasure of costuming them, so I was privy to things like the size of their hips or the length from their neck to the floor. I think I had an epiphany. Each of these persons were sized differently from one another – sometimes in drastic variety – and yet when I looked at the whole of them, I found them all to be beautiful physically.
I think, to carry on further with this mindset, that it would be incredibly dull if all the people I costumed were the same size and height. I looked at the girls and realized two things. One: Their various curves were altogether very pleasing to look at. Two: The curvier ones, perhaps some would say “plump”, had an altogether different appeal to them which was certainly not less than the thin ones. Maybe even more.
Beauty really is not something we can stereo-type. It is ridiculous to think that one body-type is the right one, or that we should weigh the same, or have the same shaped legs, etc.
My daughter had a couple friends over last week. We were trying on clothes and giggling. I heard both of the friends talking about swimsuits, and was horrified to hear that each of the girls had recently been told similar things by their mothers. They were told that they were getting fat, and they wouldn't be getting new swimsuits this year because it would be embarrassing to take them to the beach. Or something like that.
One of the girls was skinny as a rail, and the other a completely curvy and beautiful young teen.
OK. I am a very disciplined and well-mannered lady when it comes to public appearances. I don't burp or fart around people. I don't put my elbows on the table at nice restaurants and I know the right forks to use. If I am unsure of things, I am quiet and don't draw attention. I know how to dress up, and I learned early how to walk in heels and how to sit properly while dressed up.
But if I ever hear any mother saying such horrible crap to their daughter, I will confront that mother. I will talk to that beautiful daughter in front of her mother and tell her that I am sorry anyone speaks to her that way. I will tell her she is beautiful and to never let anyone tell her otherwise.
Mothers, you have an important role. Don't tear down your daughters' self-esteems. Don't break their beautiful wings! They may never be able to rebuild them once you have destroyed them.
The thing is, I have been trying to get through this wretched winter by blogging about beauty and health. I have attempted consistent exercise when I don't even want to get dressed or leave the house sometimes.
So what do I have to show for it? Almost five months into my declared journey, I am pretty much exactly the same weight as when I started. My hair on my head might be a little longer, and the rest of the hair on my body might be gone, and my butt muscles might be a little smoother, but I am still just this full-figured girl from the Midwest. I have given up coffee and dairy, thus diminishing my migraines. (At least they aren't chronic anymore...) and I have increased my consumption of water and green tea. I have introduced myself to yoga, and begun my walking again. It is very hard to stay consistent to either routine. You don't need my excuses why – as they are the same excuses you come up with.
I have enjoyed learning about the many odd things I've shared, and I have enjoyed writing about my growing philosophy on beauty. I've decided to post pictures of myself in my swimsuit. My mother would be mortified to know her not-skinny daughter is posting pictures of herself in swimsuits, but I decided I am not bothered. I am ready to say, “Hey. This is me.” I kinda think my shape is absolutely fine just the way it is...
It's kind of freeing. Besides which, I have also decided that since I am officially thirty-nine-in-holding, I can keep up the blog and continue writing about my journey to fitness, beauty, and healthy skin. This is not going to stop just because the proverbial timer went off. (You'll have to scroll all the way down if you're determined to see my firm-but-chubby curves after a few months of working at it...)
I promised I would get a Brazilian wax and tell all about it.
Well, on Wednesday of this week, I did just that. Actually, I went to a studio where they do “sugaring” instead of waxing. I had studied up on it and decided to try this method because it sounded less painful than waxing. (Last summer I tried to wax my inner thighs myself with the Sally Hansen home kit. My skin was so black and blue with bruises. It was awful. I knew I needed professional help...)
There are some similarities between sugaring and waxing. First, with both, the technician applies product to your skin, and pulls hair out (rips hair out) quickly with a strip of fabric or gauze or whatever it is they use. But I am told that this is where the similarities end. Waxing pulls hair out in the opposite direction of its growth, and sugaring pulls in the direction it grows. Sugar-product is made from sugar, thus easy to clean up. The wax (at least from my experience last summer) – not so much.
OK. So here is how it went: I got to the studio exactly on time. I had prepped well ahead of time. I made sure I wasn't menstruating (this really seems like a no-brainer to me. But it is on all the websites for both sugaring and waxing – the warning that one should not get a Brazilian “Bare-it-All” waxing/sugaring while on their period. If you don't understand why, then perhaps you should not be reading this blog.) Secondly, the technician told me on the phone to not exfoliate in the areas where hair would be removed for the two days leading up to my appointment.
After I filled out initial paperwork (a little like a doctor's appointment), I went into a little room... just like at the gynecologists, only prettier. She had me take off my clothes from the waist down, clean/disinfect the area to be sugared with a special product she gave me, and then I sat on the table, covering with the little towel she'd provided me. (It was a little towel, too.) When she returned, I told her that I was actually a little nervous. She smiled and started talking to me. “What made you decide to try this?” We talked about my blog. We talked about sugaring versus waxing. We talked about babies – I have four, she has two. This conversation all took place as she was applying the gooey sugar product to my nether hairs, and ripping it off with a gauze. I had to hold my skin tight for her. Sometimes it hurt, but not too much.
She left a “landing strip” in the front to see if I liked it. She handed me a mirror, and I laughed because I was so red everywhere. She told me it would go back to normal after a few hours. (Incidentally, I chose to not have a landing strip. Why not get the whole lot of it removed, right? If I'm gonna do this, let's just do it.)
OK. So, when you get a Brazilian anything, you also opt to get hair removed from the backside. I am sooooo trying to word this so that it isn't uncouth. I laugh out loud. Hairy butt. That reminds me of when my oldest daughter was three and she saw me going to the bathroom... (OK. I will spare you the story...)
In order to accomplish this part of the Brazilian, the removing of hair that is just inside your butt-cheeks (if I were to wear a thong in public, this would be the purpose of such a service), I had to lay on my side and hold the area tightly so she could rip those pesky little hairs off.
By the time we were done, we were already talking about my next appointment in five weeks, and that it would get easier, less painful, and faster each time. I said, “Like weeding a garden.” She laughed. She hadn't thought of it that way before.
It is, though.
All in all, for a first-timer, it took about an hour of my life, and cost me $63 plus tip. I spent an extra $5 on some exfoliating gloves to use in the shower. She stressed that exfoliating was the single most important thing we can do for our skin's health, and to avoid ingrown hairs, whether in the nether regions or not. (However, she said to avoid exercise or exfoliating for two days so the skin could heal.)
I have since had a few irritated bumps on this newly smoothed skin. I am a redhead. We have ridiculously sensitive skin. I will just have to deal with it.
I have to say, I think I'm a fan. The one thing I came away with was this: I hardly ever spend money on myself at all. I don't get my hair done. (Have you seen my pictures? I might get my hair trimmed three times a year...) I don't have a stylist do any cool highlights or coloring. I am not one to spend the money on that. I am an absolute Scrooge about everything else.
So maybe I can try to afford this for myself, if it makes me feel pampered. I know I felt like a million bucks when I stepped out of the studio. I still do.
Why do we resist beautifying, if it is that we are resisting beautifying? I think there may be a couple of reasons. Maybe we think we are supposed to focus on the inner beauty, to the point of denying our outer person to be beautiful. That is sad. I encourage my girls to be lovely outside as well as on the inside. (My second-born does not need to be encouraged. She, the small tot who wouldn't eat a cookie if it was broken, because it wasn't “pretty” anymore...) The second reason we might stop ourselves from pursuing beauty may have something to do with feelings of self-worth.
I used to be attracted to men who were really cruel. I was always tormented and awaiting morsels of their goodness to be delivered in sarcastic smiles or a momentary gentle touch. My girlfriend looked at me one day and said, “Laura, that will change. That will change when one day you realize you deserve better.”
Ah. Epiphany number two: The day has arrived.
Long blog, I know. I will continue to write through the unfolding of my wings...
Until next time.... xoxo
