"Old Age Is Not For Sissies"

This quote from Bette Davis says it all…

As I progress through therapy a lot of stuff comes up. I feel a lot of sadness about not enjoying, or rather never being able to enjoy, my life as a young person and is something I’ve talked about a lot with Dr D.

It makes me feel a bit uncomfortable to even publish this post, because it might sound as if I’m being boastful or vain. I’m not. No one who knows me would ever describe me in those terms.

But the fact is…yes, finally, at this late stage of my life...I’m gonna acknowledge it…I was a knockout when I was young. When I was a sophomore in college, I was even approached by a modeling agency…a real one, not a “weird” one. But I was considered "too fat" at the time…having lost my "freshman 20" that I had gained the previous year, I weighed about 145. But the agency said they wouldn’t sign me up unless I lost an additional 25 lbs. For me, at around 5’9”, this was a physical impossibility, even using the extreme measures of starvation, non-stop exercising, and bulimia.

Now I look back at pictures of my younger self, and I truly regret that I didn't realize what I had. I was pretty, but I didn’t enjoy it. I was so focused on my flaws and my angst about not being the “perfect weight” (as dictated by the modeling agency and before that, my mother).

Bette Davis had such an amazing look and such beautiful eyes…she was an iconic figure. Now, I'm not comparing myself to Bette Davis, but…Bette seemed to know she was beautiful in her youth. Then (this is just my impression) she didn't seem to mind too much when her beauty faded.

Bette Davis in the 1930's

I, on the other hand, never realized that I was pretty, and now I'm dealing with the regret of not appreciating it at the time. I was tall and thin and I had gorgeous curly red hair and porcelain skin and the most naturally straight, whitest teeth anyone could imagine.

And yet…I spent my youth criticizing myself and hating how I looked…because I wasn’t “perfect.” The modeling agency’s pronouncement that I should weigh 120 just added to my insecurity and low self esteem. And when I couldn’t starve myself or throw up enough to get to that proscribed weight, I considered myself fat and ugly and a failure.

Me in the 1970's

Now that I’m so much older, all I can do is look back at pictures of myself and say “WTF?” (My ex-hub was an aspiring photographer, so he took scores of what I realize now were artistic pictures of a beautiful young girl, someone I don't even recognize as myself.) Why didn’t I appreciate what I had??? Who the hell, besides myself, cared whether I weighed 120 or 145? Even when I became a firefighter at the age of 28, and I needed to be strong and fit and muscular and a “normal” weight, all I cared about was trying to be as skinny as whichever model was in vogue at the time.

And now…it seems like it’s too late for me…things are going downhill FAST. The latest insult? When I went to the dentist a few weeks ago, I mentioned to him that I had noticed one of my front teeth seemed to have grown and was now actually longer than the one next to it. (I guess that’s what the saying “long in the tooth” means.) Since I've always had nice teeth, this was kind of annoying, even a bit scary. So my dentist referred me to an orthodontist…Turns out our teeth grow and shift constantly throughout our lives, and that was what was happening. The crookedness is only going to get worse, so now I need braces. I’m 56 years old…and I need braces! DAMN!

I'm approaching my "twilight years"…and I need orthodontia…my skin is so dry I could compare myself to Lot’s wife… I have hot flashes and really crabby days (although these are better since I started HRT and anti-depressants)…and in spite of eating carefully and working out a lot, I’m a bit overweight and lumpy and flabby in a lot of places…and…my face is falling in like a jack-o-lantern in the middle of November...so saying I need a facelift wouldn’t be crazy and overly critical of my appearance.

I’m not fishing for compliments on how I looked in my youth. I’m writing this as a way to help me process what I went through, and to try to figure out why I thought I was so unattractive, especially when the hard evidence of photographs tell a different story. So I guess you could say that this is a story of regret…regret for what I had but didn’t appreciate. If I’d appreciated it when I had it, I don’t think I’d be so angry and depressed today…if I’d appreciated my looks then, I think I could more readily accept the changes in my appearance now. But instead I just feel pissed off.

I know it's not healthy to live in the past, and I don't most of the time (at least I try not to) but occasionally I just want to...punch someone? Scream and yell? I don't know what.

Yes, old age is not for the faint of heart. I want to age gracefully, but I don’t know how. Probably because I never knew how to feel beautiful when I was young.