Why anti-aging matters to me….beyond esthetics?

I never had sun spots until I lived in Hawaii.   You might think living in paradise is a happy trade off for a few sun spots.  But, it’s deeper than that.  Hawaii is where I became a full-time caretaker of three people (my daughter who was just 9 years old, my Mom who was 94 and had dementia, my husband who is disabled.) I quit nursing, a career that meant a lot to me, made me feel competent and proud, to be an full-time unpaid laborer.  My social circle shrunk overnight, because I lived in a new state, knew no one and had very little time to make friends.  What made me, “me”, just fell away, as I became a useful tool in the unlucky hand of life’s circumstances.  In so many ways, to this day, I’m still trying to find myself, not the girl I lost, but who she is today…it’s still a question I can’t answer.

Why did I unconsciously choose to get sun spots when a little sun screen would have prevented it?

Given the busy nature of my life and living in the tropics for the first time in my life, I routinely failed to put on sunscreen.  I naively believed that the Cuban blood in my veins would somehow kick in and protect me…..Ah, it didn’t.  I was in denial, having always looked younger than my biological age, I thought I could just keep surfing my good genes and ride off into the sunset.  In fact, I crashed again and again, as control over my life slipped completely out of my hands.

What’s the big deal?

Getting rid of sun spots and my anti-aging journey, in general, represents me trying to take back something I’ve lost.  I gave up making myself a priority, even in the smallest ways, while caring for others.   My hair was in a perpetual bun.  Whether I washed my face or not, didn’t matter.  Many days, I didn’t make it into the shower.  I struggle even to this day to get washed up, something I used to take for granted like brushing my teeth.

Thankfully, I always took good care of my teeth, one of my best features, though I rarely smile, ironically.  I wish it weren’t true, but I’m stingy with my smiles.  I struggle with being tight jawed, have cracked teeth to prove it and TMJ off and on for years.  I’ve spent a fortune in dental care, trying to keep my teeth healthy, correct any changes that have occurred due to age.  I guess I’ve always been a little obsessed with teeth.  My Mom was too.  She had a naturally beautiful, Hollywood smile, until dementia took over.  After other relatives took care of her for 18 months…and I say that loosely…her beautiful smile turned brown, as they didn’t bother to help her with her teeth.   So, I guess despite the ways my health and looks have declined, I’m glad that my teeth are the one hill I didn’t die on.

My Resuscitation of Self

To be honest, I sort of died a slow death inside, as a caretaker.  Not to be confused, caring for my daughter was a joyful, enervating experience.  A true blessing I will never take for granted.  But, caring for two adults as a retired nurse, no matter how much I wanted to or thought it was my duty (brace yourself, the next words are the honest truth that caretakers RARELY talk about) was fucking hard.   Soul-crushing actually.

I got fat, trying to feed the longing that ran so deep in me I couldn’t breath.  I lost my pretty.  I lost my youthful optimism, my Scarlet O’Hara notion that tomorrow will be a better day.”  When you have been beaten down by daily life, no matter the cause, you are in a sense, dying a little every day.

There’s a different look to a woman who has aged, yet lived a good life she loved, than a woman who has aged and not had the life she wanted, dreamed of and worked for.  The difference has something to do with spirit, the light in all of us, that revels in sunrises, hand holding, sharing a meal with a loved one and talking until sundown.  Each life needs to languorously relish moments such as these.  Having all energy going out to others, no matter how much we may care for them, extinguishes the light within us, until that life force dies one day.

Maybe my Make-Up Collection is the Nuts to the Squirrel in Me

I collected in the hopes that one day I’d have time to put them on.

I collected in the hopes that I could one day play in my “sandbox” again of make-up.

I collected because I fell in love with the packaging and the colors that reminded me of all the impressionist paintings I once loved and viewed without hurry in the museums of Washington and New York.

I collected because I knew, or hoped, that maybe someday I’d have a life again that was mine and it might not be too late to live again.

I collected like a squirrel manically gathers nuts, to sustain himself during the long Winter, but also knowing that Spring will come again.

 

I study anti-aging products and techniques because….

It appeals to the nurse in me who seeks balance and health.

It intrigues my science mind.

It represents hope, however, misplaced at times.

It entices the explorer in me, searching for that Holy Grail.

It is my life raft in the sea of indecision that has become my life, as I try to find the shore once again, where I can breath again and not worry about drowning any second.

 

 

“Chrysalis”

What lies beneath the surface is the truth.

What is hidden is the beginning of tomorrow.

This is my interphase

Where I spend most my time.

My chromosomes are replicating.

You can’t see them though.

They remain hidden, silent provocateurs,

Awaiting the “Big Reveal”

Revenge is a dessert served best cold.

Drama is the cliff’s hanger moment of your story.

But, my quiet mitosis is hidden and beautiful.

I will complete my cell division one day.

You don’t know it, but it’s happening,

Below the surface of sedimentary things.

Frozen peas, launched into a hot pan of pancetta, garlic and oil.

I will sizzle and burn once again.

Enter warm wine enraptured lips in a Tuscan sun perhaps…

Or so I imagine.

I am struggling to be born.

I don’t look alive.

But I am.

I’m still in here.

Wait for me.

Look for me.

I’m coming.

 

– Mrs. Sassy Pants