Someday I Really WILL Be an Irish Hag...

"You're 26?  Daaang.  That's almost 30!"

"You're going to get old, and wrinkly, and saggy... you better hurry up and get married before nobody wants you!"

Didn't I tell you teachers had to be thick-skinned?  These comments from the mouths of my students on a Friday afternoon could reduce a lesser woman to tears.  But not I... not I.  I simply shook my head, rolled my eyes, and chalked it up to adolescent brain damage.

Of course, as I drove home, those words echoed in my ears.  I wasn't hurt; the words weren't spoken maliciously.  They were an attempt at humor, and I didn't mind.  It really is funny though; those exact words have come to my mind, and it was bizarre to have them uttered aloud.

Sometimes, when I get ready in the morning and look in the mirror, all I see are the tiny lines starting to form around my eyes and the sides of my mouth.  Oh, and that one that's starting to form above my left eyebrow because that's the one I use for the "cocked brow."  Sure, they're just evidence of many a laugh-fest and thousands of genuine smiles, but on a bad day, they seem more like reasons for a man to skip over me.

Don't make fun of me because I'm in my twenties and think about these things.  I'll bet I'm not the only one.  I realize I'm still relatively young, but my relative youth is no comfort at times like these.  It's not that I fear getting old, necessarily, or even wrinkles themselves.  It's the fear that getting old is going to be the reason I get passed over for a relationship.  It's the fear that the little lines forming around my eyes and mouth will cause men to think, "Hm, maybe I could get a newer model; this one needs a new paint job."

Yes, I realize this is irrational for several reasons (are you starting to see a pattern here?  I have irrational fears that I understand are completely irrational yet blog about them just the same, because maybe, just maybe, there are other single women out there who feel the same way).  First, God is in control and even if I am eighty-three years old and have a face that looks like a catcher's mit, God could still bring me the man of my dreams.  Secondly, the "man of my dreams" won't care about the lines forming by my eyes and mouth.  In fact, he may appreciate them and will definitely add more.  The right man won't pass over me because I'm getting old.  He'll appreciate me like a vintage car, which everyone knows is worth more than a newer model anyway.

Maybe he'll even think this, which would be awesome:

As long as he doesn't sing it, of course.  Because when guys serenade girls it's always hilarious, even if they're trying to be romantic and not funny.

So maybe my students are right.  Oh well.  But then perhaps there will be someone in my life someday who sees the "young woman" instead of the "old hag."  Hope so.

The Ugly Duckling...

I have discovered something about myself.  Well, in truth, I have known this about myself for many years, but I've only just analyzed it.  I am very uncomfortable with compliments about my appearance.  If you were to compliment me on my appearance, you would find that I would respond in one of the following ways:

1.  "Thanks."  *blush and laugh nervously*
2.  "Pssshhhhh."  *make a face and wave hands as if to wave away the compliment*
3.  "Thanks; I know, I'm awesome."  *make cheesy face and ham it up as if actually conceited, then laugh*

Why do I have such trouble accepting compliments?  Let me be perfectly honest and open-- I'm not fishing for compliments here, so don't post any-- this is just my analysis of yet another neuroses I've discovered.  Ha.  See, some girls are born pretty.  They grow up pretty, and they stay pretty.  Some girls are blessed that way, but I wasn't.  However, my cousin was.  She was always an adorable blond, and I'll never forget my aunt telling her she'd grow up to be "a heartbreaker."  I didn't realize what a heartbreaker was, but I remember wishing someone would tell me that I'd grow up to be a heartbreaker.  Some girls grow up hearing they're beautiful and knowing they're beautiful, and that's what they develop: their beauty.  It's what they're praised for, so they develop it, just as an athlete who is praised for her ability develops that ability-- you naturally develop what you're good at.

I was a perpetually chubby child with curly red hair and a face that reddened all too easily.  I didn't have beautiful, dark eyelashes framing my ambiguously colored eyes.  I had pale lashes that made me look like an albino.  I didn't have smooth, tanned skin.  I had freckles.  I wore glasses at an early age.  I had a gap between my teeth.  I had a nose too big for my face.  I had a too-pointy chin.  Don't get me wrong-- I never thought I was hideous.  I figured I was normal-looking, but not pretty.  Girls who are not pretty realize they must develop other things if they want to be accepted.  So I developed my intelligence and my humor. 

I became the smart, funny chubby girl with curly red hair and a red, freckled face with glasses.  I didn't have to be a genius though to know I wasn't one of the pretty girls, to know I wasn't one of the heartbreakers.  The pretty girls always had boys around them.  The pretty girls had nice clothes and wore makeup and did their hair.  The pretty girls were the most popular girls in school.  I had friends not because I was pretty, but because I was friendly.  There were very few boys around me, and I never really developed my looks because I knew there wasn't much to work with.  It was like trying to water a weed in hopes that it would flower into a rose.  I can't say I really minded though.  I was content.  I wouldn't have minded being pretty of course, but I knew this was the way God made me.  Besides, if we were all beautiful, life would be boring.  I was just mixing it up a bit.  In fact, the pretty girls should have thanked me!  I made them look more beautiful.

I don't remember when things changed, but at some point in my recent history, maybe when my face grew into my nose and chin, I lost most of my chubbiness, and I figured out how to tame my curly red hair and love my freckles, I started getting compliments.  And I didn't have any clue how to handle them.  My first reaction was to disagree with them.  But I found that made people uncomfortable and made it seem like I was fishing for more compliments, which was exactly what I didn't want.  Then my reaction was to choose one of the three options I listed above, but inwardly not believe them.  How could I believe them?  I'd never been pretty.  I'm still the chubby redhead with curly hair and a big nose and freckles.  Maybe they're just trying to make me feel better about the way I look.  Maybe they're just saying that.

And that's where you find me today.  The other day, a friend complimented me.  And suddenly I analyzed my instinct to not believe her.  She wouldn't lie to me, so why did I find it so hard to believe her?  I wondered if anyone else like me had similar issues.  Did other "ugly ducklings" in youth always feel like an ugly duckling?  I am a confident woman when it comes to my intellect and my wit because I was forced to develop those things in my youth.  But I may always feel insecure about my looks.  I have determined to try to graciously accept compliments without awkwardness or self depreciation, but I may never really believe them.  In my mirror, I may always see myself at twelve.  Did the real Ugly Duckling ever stop seeing himself as such and really see himself as a swan?

I'll tell you why I think my neurosis might not be such a bad thing, even if it is weird.  It's because "charm is deceitful and beauty is fleeting, but a woman who fears the Lord is to be praised."  If I can fear the Lord, that's what will last, and that's what matters.  Who cares if I've grown into my big nose and pointed chin?  Who cares if I've shed a few pounds.  Who cares if the gap in my teeth has closed?  Someday the compliments will stop again, because wrinkles will overtake my face.  My chin will disappear into my neck.  Age spots will replace freckles.  I'll gain the shapeless form of the aged.  My hair will turn white and wiry, if it doesn't fall out.  The compliments will stop, and I'll be the ugly duckling I've always thought of myself.  But by God's grace, I'll be a woman who fears the Lord, and that is truly beautiful.

How are Your Heels?

I just saw an advertisement for heel cream. This heel cream claimed to rid you of your cracked, disgustingly grotesque heels and leave you with heels as smooth as baby feet. I had literally not thought about my heels for maybe ten months. Who has heel insecurities, really? Then I thought, "When does it end? When does the poor body image/body insecurity train stop and all the women get off and say, 'This is the end of the line-- I will go no farther than this.'?"

Enough is enough. I mean, I get the weight issue. That's insecurity number one for women. Besides needing to be healthy, we constantly are harangued with images of perfectly thin, toned women with neither cellulite nor fat roll, and are often expected to live up to those images. So while I don't succumb to them, I understand all the advertisements for diet fads and weight-loss programs. Then they attack hair contentment. Basically, if we as women have hair, we should be happy. But according to advertisements, our hair needs to be thick, lustrous, shiny, and frizz-free. It should sway in the breeze, tempt men to run their fingers through it, and fall perfectly over our forehead in an oh-so-coy manner. So now we are insecure about our hair. And our faces. Let's change our eye color. Let's fix our wrinkles. Let's cover our blemishes and the things that make us "us." Let's fix our teeth and make them whiter. Let's be insecure about the unique face God gave us. How about the level of our skin's softness? Our skin should be touchably smooth, including our armpits and definitely our legs. Forget moles and freckles-- those are automatic insecurities.

And now, we can be insecure about our heels. Oh for the day when women will stop looking in the mirror, picking out all the "flaws" society has pointed out, and instead will realize that God designed them before they entered the world. Do we realize that every time we are dissatisfied with our God-given looks, we are telling God that he made a mistake? More importantly, when will we as women spend more time grooming our spirits and fixing our internal flaws than grooming our bodies and fixing our supposed external flaws.

Our minds have become so warped that what consumes our thoughts is the color of our eyelashes, the luminosity of our skin, and the tightness of our abs. How many of these things will matter into eternity? None of it. So why do we care so much? Pride, probably. We want better heels than so-and-so; we want a different so-and-so to notice our lustrous hair; we don't want inferior skin-smoothness. So as usual, pride is at the root of our deepest problems. What do you say we root it out and get off the poor body image/body insecurity train for good?