HBD to ME!

Today is my birthday and I have decided to stop caring about how old I’m getting. But I have a confession to make: I’ve always been afraid of getting old. I’ve always hated the thought of my body failing me slowly over time, my mind and memory possibly failing, and worst of all, my looks deteriorating. I hate to admit it but it's true. And ever since I can remember it's been like this. It's been this life-long fight to keep from appearing like I'm aging. I learned from a young age it's not polite to ask woman how old she is. And every ad and commercial and beauty product has always  sent me a continuous messages that says "You can't show any signs of aging!"  "Buy this product and hide it all!" "Don't make the beauty mistakes middle aged women make!" And guess what? I bought into them all. No sun. Lots of sunscreen. Special creams. Sunglasses. Facials. Products. You name it. No matter where I looked it seemed there was someone somewhere telling me how to avoid aging and I was first on the band wagon until one day: I had a daughter. Early on in my education to become a teacher I learned how a child's interactions with their parents form the crucible for their growth. It's through these interactions that children learn what is good, bad, right, wrong, and who they are and want to be. And most time, the parents are so flipping tired and emotionally and physically spent that they can't even filter out the stuff they don't want their children picking up. And most times parents don't even realize their children are soaking something in! How girls and boys alike will grow up is up to the parents, but being a woman and knowing the struggles there are for girls in today's society, I would never wish any of it upon my daughters.  I grew up hating myself. Hating my hair. Hating my body. Hating my looks. Wishing I could change it all. And then I had a daughter. Two daughters to be exact but it was that first daughter that first touched my heart. 

I love her precious hair. Those golden curls that bounce when she takes off running. I love her body. Her stocky frame and cute feet and the way she's free in herself through the way she twirls and dances and laughs and cries. I love her looks. I love every scar and freckle and dimple. And it's so perfect. So beautiful. And she's going to grow up someday to hate it all. Unless I change the tide. Can I protect my daughters completely? No, Can I flood them with enough positive messages about the female image? Yes! It was never my body or my image that was the problem.There was nothing ever wrong with my size, my wrinkles, my curves, my stretch marks or my flaws. It is not my job to look like the people in magazines. It’s not my job to appear as if I’m not aging. But it IS my job to decide that I'm perfect just the way I am for my daughters. It IS my job to carry out my life as if I am a beautiful girl. It IS my job to respect myself. It is my job to be proud of who I am.  So today I am here to say: I am 35 years old. I've lived and I have learned and my journey is well on it's way, but it's not even close to being over.  I have wrinkles. I have smile lines. I have stretch marks. I even have a few gray hairs. And it's all a beautiful compilation of this wonderful adventure I'm set out on. I know that 35 isn't young. And 35 isn't old. But it's old enough to know that being confident in myself comes from embracing who I am and what I believe about myself on the inside is what my girls will manifest on the outside.