Time Out

My husband tells me that I am beautiful, still. Nice word, right? Still. As in, despite it all.

I look in the mirror and see my face falling. Lines around my mouth that I always loved, because they were from smiling so much, now offend me. Lines around my eyes, from crinkling them up when I smile, are equally complicit.

Heavier now around my belly, hips, and thighs, I focus on diet and know that it isn't enough. Working late, I actually dream I am exercising.

When he catches me looking in the mirror in surprise, I say, "I'm old."  He says, "You are not old!" and I think, 'He is lying to me, right to my face.' 

He says "You are middle aged and you are beautiful." And as I look at myself in that mirror, I think, 'So, it has come to this.'

* * * *

I know that Help is Not on the Way, and that it is up to me to do something about my face, my figure, my attitude. Diet is surely a start. I know exercise will come. I know that I look better when I laugh. And that if I really want to, I can certainly explore surgery - although that seems almost too vain. Whatever happened to my thinking about aging gracefully? Apparently that went out the window when I looked in the mirror a second time.

Does every woman - does every person - come to this place where you realize that you are on the other side of some imaginary line, and there is no way at all to turn back? I think I have had this experience with time a few times before in my life, moments of realization, really understanding that I can't back up and do anything over. I must say that I don't like them.