I constantly flirt with the idea of quitting Facebook, but last week, I read a post that stopped me in my tracks and reminded me why I haven’t committed to deleting my account altogether.
It was written by one of my former magazine editors, and it almost felt as it was written just for me.
Nila’s just turned 50, and her attitude towards this milestone birthday was one of celebration and joie de vivre.
“I’ve been waiting for this day like a child’s first trip to Disneyland. Why? It’s a BIG feat to reach 50!” she wrote.
You see, I’ve been feeling slightly crap about myself recently. I have two kids, including a nine-month-old, and bouncing back into shape hasn’t been quite as the easy second time around. Worse still, I recently found a wrinkle – a really big one on my forehead, in a previously smooth and wrinkle-free space.
Now, I’m fully aware that this is a shallow problem to focus on. I have a husband who struggles with depression, two gloriously demanding little girls, a busy career, electricity bills that defy logic (our last was $1,750!), and my dad is being treated for pancreatic cancer. There’s plenty else going on.
But still. That bloody wrinkle. I see it every time I glance in the mirror, every time someone snaps a photo.
I know it’s not about the wrinkle. Other women my age have crows feet and laugh lines; it’s completely normal. Isn’t it?