I’m proud of my forehead wrinkles. Okay, that was a major lie.
“Bad Mommy, Bad Mommy;” we don’t lie in our family. Oops. Okay, the truth is…
I. HATE. THEM.
But, I don’t hate the reason for them, and guess what? The reason for them matters WAY more than how they make me look.
Now, if you were kind, you would say I look beautiful in spite of them.
Oh, wait! That’s not kind.
A kind person would surely say that I look beautiful because they are marks of a life being lived.
Yes, that is the answer I will accept.
Of course, I hesitated to share this photo with the world. Of course, I know that my appearance will most definitely be critiqued by those trolling social media for a way to put someone down in the name of jerkiness.
The truth is, I nitpicked everything about this image since the first moment I viewed it. What didn’t I like?
Those noticeable, pay-me-some-attention forehead wrinkles.
My big, slightly pointy nose.
My small, too-yellow for social media teeth.
Oh yeah, and my way-faded, but I’m too cheap to pay to have them re-done micro bladed eyebrows.
Yet, I am still willing to share this photo.
Because I share way too few photos of myself as they are “unflattering”.
Do you know what is unflattering?
- An insecure woman.
- An insecure woman who is trying to raise her children to be secure in themselves.
- A woman who can’t see past her imperfect outer appearance.
- A woman who thinks she is imperfect when everyone else thinks she is perfectly her.
- A woman who engages in negative self-talk.
- A wife who doesn’t know her worth.
- A woman who gives any semblance of a hoot about what other people think of how she looks.
To those that think my forehead wrinkles make me less attractive, I challenge you to try to make me feel bad about them.
You will lose, and your efforts will have been wasted.
Now, at the ripe old age of 31, I am more secure in myself, my body, my appearance, and opinions that I ever have been and my newfound confidence (because I sure as hell wasn’t always this confident) didn’t just come with time — it came from motherhood.
So yes, my forehead wrinkles are undoubtedly a result of my little man and the chaos he brings with him everywhere he goes. But there is also no doubting that those racetracks on my forehead are a sign of giving, loving, not sleeping, laughing, and most of all, fully living.
And, I’ll tell you this, you can bite your tongue if you think I will ever, ever apologize for my forehead wrinkles again.
They are a gift from my son and his sisters, and for them, I will forever be grateful.
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