The Woman in The Mirror

Have you taken a look at your neck lately?

One day, I pinched the skin on my neck because I was trying to remove a piece of lint.

What happened next shook me to my core…

The skin on my neck, usually supple and taut, stayed in a little wrinkled mound like a Shar Pei.

It was just for a second, but it was noticeable. I couldn’t help but ponder when that change occurred.

This is what is strange about getting older. We can’t pinpoint the day and time aging occurs. We notice it in small, subtle ways.

A gray hair mocking me on my chin turned to two, then three, then more than I could count. My hair, I vacillate back and forth between letting go and letting nature take its course or breaking out the Loreal.

I Still Feel Sixteen.

The crazy part of all of this, is I feel like my teenage self. I’m her. Moving about the world (sometimes with a few aches and pains). But I still have her wit and sense of hope. I still long for the new adventures life has to offer.

Then, walking by a glass door or on the unflattering CCTV of the grocery store, I catch a glimpse of my reflection.

I still believe I am attractive. I notice that my eyes are not as white and bright. My skin has a weathered hyperpigmentation.

And the moles. Oh, the moles. They are the same moles that belonged to my mother and aunt.

The slight creases around my eyes and smile. They tell the story of all the times I have laughed with friends or cried during times of loss or tragedy.

It is incredible how many of my girlfriends my age feel the same way. We sit around and commiserate about the odd journey of maturing. We reminisce about our youth and how we wasted time worrying about the wrong things.

The Sandwich Years

My aging process also includes the layers of being the mother to an eight-year-old at 48.

My son is a mirror of my younger self. We are alike in so many ways. In him, I am reminded of the talkative, bright young girl who enjoyed the company of adults more than other kids — the girl I used to be.

I think about my mother, who had me at thirty, and I find myself doing the quick math of how I will be ten years older than she was for all of my son’s milestones, like high school graduation.

My mother, who is such a blessing, also lives with me. This occurred after she called me one day and said a “voice” told her to sell her house and move in with me. It is great to have her here, watching her only grandchild grow up.

It also makes it easier to help her out. Taking her blood sugar each day and picking up her prescriptions. I cherish these times because my friends are already losing their parents.

Each day, I look at my mom, and she, too, is my mirror.

I see how I am becoming her. The way my body is filling out, the changes in my hair texture. The unexplained pains that spark in random parts of my body.

I’m living in the sandwich years. Taking care of my kid and caring for my mother. Each of them is still teaching me more about who I am. The woman I am still becoming.

Reflecting on My Reflection

So, I have resigned myself to face masks and night creams because I am trying to hold back the years. I believe in growing old gracefully, but I also want to preserve what I can. I want to continue to see myself when I look in the mirror.

As it stands, I still look like me, for the most part.

But what is most important is that I haven’t given up on myself, not because of my commitment to moisturize but because of my commitment to grow.

As I mature into the last third of my life, I am preparing for new adventures. I am ready to take on new challenges. I want to travel, meet new people, and make new memories.

And my new reflection (including my new neck) is welcome on the journey.

Nicola is a wife, mother, and recovering perfectionist specializing in successful women with a secret struggle: “Having it all.” If you are interested in unpacking your truths, operating intentionally, and experiencing a satisfying life, you can connect with her at www.livingintentionpurpose.com