Wrinkles — near my eyes, near my mouth. Laugh lines.
Grey hair — about four to five strands.
And yet, it doesn’t worry me. You hear about women complaining about wrinkles and grey hair. For some reason, it doesn’t bother me. I quite like the lines. I doubt I’ll ever be using any of those anti-wrinkle, anti-aging creams that are constantly advertised. Yes, in the future I may colour my hair. But as of now, I’m quite content with the few strands of grey.
I remember as a teenager, worrying about being fat, too short, having funny teeth, having braces, too dark, too geeky, too plain. All that has changed now.
I like that I am dark and tan. I like the wrinkles. I like the strands of gery. I like that I’m a size 8. I am accepting of my appearance. Overall. [True, I wouldn’t want to put on more weight!] And it’s been a long time since I’ve liked the way I look. I haven’t become prettier. I haven’t lost too much weight. I’m still wearing glasses with a nerdy look. I probably look older.
I’ve become more mature [Yes, more mature than I already am!]. And hence the acceptance.
Changes — can be good.
Until next time,