Who am I?

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.)