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| 1960 |
Going back
through photos from 50 years ago or so as I’ve been doing, I find myself
wondering why I thought I was so unattractive and/or fat way back then. Do you
ever look at photos of yourself from long ago and think the same thing? What a
lot of time and energy wasted on wishing and wanting to be more beautiful and weigh
less. That doesn’t even take into account the money spent on having my hair cut,
colored, permed, teased and twisted into whatever style was a hit at the
moment. It also doesn’t account for the amount of money spent on skin and makeup
products as well as clothes.
I look at those old pictures and can’t
believe I didn’t like how I looked at the time. Of course, back then my self-esteem
wasn’t all that great or very large at all. For most of my life, no matter the façade
I presented to the world, I believed most people/family didn’t like me or found
me wanting in some way. I think it’s only been the last 25 years or less where
I came to believe I was strong, smart, attractive and capable of doing just
about anything I wanted to do.
Actually, it may be only the last 20
years, after my bout with breast cancer. The diagnosis was terrifying, but I
was reassured that removal of the diseased tissue and a bit of radiation would
probably do the trick. The fact they did the biopsy on Tuesday, called me with
the results on Wednesday and had surgery scheduled for the following Tuesday
added to the terror. I thought it couldn’t get any worse until John and I met
with the oncologist after the surgery.
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| 1968 |
At that meeting we were told the type
of cancer I had was very aggressive, that more than one-third of the cancer
cells were replicating at any one time. Even though the surgical edges were
clean, if they missed one single cancer cell…well, it wouldn’t be good. Their
suggested course of action was eight chemotherapy treatments, one every three
weeks, followed by a month of radiation to that breast and five years of Tamoxifen.
Easy-peasy, no problemo, I/we could do that.
I don’t know just when or how it
happened, but some where in there, I decided I was done worrying about my
appearance or what people thought of me. I was 54 then, so don’t you think it
was about damn time!!! At one time or another, people would remark on what a
great attitude I had about my diagnosis and treatment. I always thought those
remarks were ridiculous. What kind of an attitude did they think I was supposed
to have? I know some people do, but I couldn’t imagine being horribly depressed
or looking at my life as though it was going to come to a horrible end. I
needed to keep on keeping on and it was best done in a positive manner, head
held high and thoughts upbeat and futuristic.
Now that’s not to say I didn’t have
pity parties. Who wouldn’t and I definitely did, but I kept them private, small
and short. Once the tears were dried, it was on to resuming a positive outlook.
I also decided at that time to eliminate negative people from my life. True,
there were some I couldn’t ignore, but I could choose to ignore as much of
their negativity as possible.
For those ten months John was my
caregiver, comforter, uplifter, go to person when it came to the hard times. He
went with me to every single doctor appointment, was there for the surgery, the
chemo appointments and would have driven me every single day to radiation if I
had allowed that. I didn’t allow it because I could go on my lunch hour, eat my
lunch on the way there and back, park, go inside, remove my top, get zapped,
get dressed and be back to work on time.
John also did his best to make me feel
good about how I looked. I gained 20 pounds during treatment, but he never alluded
to the fact there was a lot more of me to love, especially around my
middle. John was also a breast man. I
knew one woman who’d had to have a double mastectomy and her partner left her…what
a horrible man. John took my changed breast in stride. The one reduced in size
from tissue removal he began calling, “the cute one.” The one that remained the
same was, “the big one.” I don’t think I ever thanked him for his understanding
and support.
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| 1982 |
In any case, since then I haven’t
spent a lot of time worrying about what people think about me or how I look.
Sure, when I lost those 20 pounds I’d gained, it felt good, but I only lost the
weight because my doctor told me I was a Type II diabetic and gave me time to
change my already good eating and exercise habits to see if the numbers would
change. They didn’t. I’m insulin resistant.
I also decided to stop coloring my
hair. Yes, I had high hopes it would turn the lovely silver/white that my
mother’s did, that my brother and sister got, but it doesn’t matter that it hasn’t.
I decided to stop wearing makeup or spending a small fortune on creams that were
always supposed to reduce the wrinkles. I still use lotion since I have really
dry skin; and it itches if I don’t, but it’s not because I think it will make
me beautiful.
When I retired, I gave away boxes and
boxes of clothes I knew I would no longer wear; and okay, it was partially
because they were too big as well. I gave up wearing a bra with underwire
because it was uncomfortable. Now I wear tank tops with A shelf bra. I wear
mostly sweat pants, sweatshirts and jeans. It’s what’s most comfy and I feel
good dressed that way.
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| 1994 |
Today when I look at photographs of me,
I look for the joy and happiness in my face and maybe that’s what I missed all
those years in those old photos. Recent pictures with my grandchildren,
children, the manta ray, and dolphin all reflect how I’m feeling. Today, when I
look in the mirror, I see the wrinkles, gray hair and tummy pooch, but it’s just
fine. I feel beautiful inside and outside in my very own special way. I'm just sorry I didn't know to look for the joy and happiness in those old photos all those years ago, but it's never too late as I'm learning every day.