I try not to be too consumed with matters of physical appearance; been there, done that. Growing up in a family where looks were very important (especially to my father), I heaved a huge sigh of relief when I found a mate who said (and still says) things like, "I like you better fresh-faced," and "You're not fat."
So imagine my surprise when I began noticing (last year? or even before that?) that I don't quite look like myself any more, and that it kind of unsettles me. Is it all aging, and irreversible? Or is it just the emblem of a particularly rough five years of life? Should I care? Or should I view it as permission to finally break free and get on with finding other ways to feel worthy?
(Make-up job by my five-year-old, who also does some pretty happening hairstyling.)
