I have enjoyed beauty rituals since I was a little girl. I always played in my mother's make up and closet. She had gold lamé pencil pants that zipped up the side and boots to match. She had long lace robes.
I was really good at make up before I was teen. I remember being an extra for a TV movie and the make up artist let a child do my make up. They all praised him but I was furious because he got eye shadow in my brow.
By the time I was 12 I devoted hours to primping each week. Removing unwanted hair, bathing, lotioning my skin, learning the latest trends in make up and hair. We didn't have YouTube in 1983. My mother paid for classes at modeling schools and department stores. I learned to have the latest styles on a budget.
A friend once showed me that she could wear 7 different colors on one eyelid! I had to go home and perfect the art.
I longed for the high cheek bones of the runway models but I knew that each day I turned the canvas of my face into a work of art that would fit in any video on MTV.
I got older and had children. But no matter how bad things got I would always find a way to make myself feel beautiful.
Once, in a domestic violence shelter, we received a donation from Victoria's Secret. I may have been 19 and pregnant with my 3rd child and I didn't know what was going to happen next but I had silk pajamas for the first time in my life. And a thick terry cloth robe. It felt like safety, comfort and luxury wrapping around me every time I put it on.
My body changed. I got older and hair styles changed and it was harder to keep up. I really tried.
The hardest criticism was when my teenage daughter told me that my make up was outdated. Why did my mom's make up from the 50s and 60s become classic and mine from the 80s and 90s become outdated? It wasn't fair.
Today my hair was weighing me down. I chopped it. I am 49. I am overweight. I don't even know what is in style. I took a shower on my shower chair and tried to pumice the huge calluses off of the bottom of my feet.
What would she think of me now. That teenage girl. I wish she would come and visit and make me feel beautiful again.
Oh wait. this is supposed to be positive and I am making myself cry. I am beautiful. I know that. I am grateful that I could get in the shower today. I was wearing the same pajamas since Friday. I am feeling a little better. My hair is a little lighter (less heavy), my calluses are a little smaller. I am grateful for beauty rituals and memories of feeling like a princess.
