Monday morning, at 9, sitting in a beige velvet armchair, I wait my turn in an aesthetic clinic. I play with my fingers, embarrassed, squinting at the other patients. what the hell am i doing here? Oh, I know very well what I am doing here, I come to smell some elixir of youth, see what is feasible for slow down the effects of timeto remain smooth and desirable according to sexist and ageist criteria.
“I find myself tracking every mark, every irregularity, every dip. »
For several years I have had problems with my reflex. I just turned 39 and I’m increasingly sensitive to the signs of aging appearing on my face and body. I remember precisely the morning I saw a small brown spot appear on my temple.
I find myself tracing every sign, every bump, every dip. My more sustained dark circles, the beginning of certain wrinkles. I watch myself move, I scrutinize my body, in the shower, in the reflections of the windows. I have an infinite number flashback of my mother’s body when I was a child, I found it soft and warm, I caressed the back of her hand, her neck. Today is my bodyand it’s my son who strokes the skin under my arms and curls up on my slightly soft belly.
“The feminist seems stupid with her messages of self-esteem and her inability to love herself, to value herself”
I am between tenderness and hatred. I hate myself for being in hate. This dissonance between my feminist principles and the way I look at myself for a few years is cracking my skull. even worse, loathing my reflection is also insidiously convincing me that I no longer have the right to enjoy my body. Or more like before. Make love, dance. If I do it, it’s in a compressed way, my range of possibilities has narrowed. If I do, it’s a little indecent, a little ridiculous.
The tacit prohibition hovers like a black cloud over my head. Also, I feel guilty to death. The feminist seems stupid with her messages of self-esteem and her inability to love and value herself. Yet I know well the tricks of the patriarchal system and the reasons for self-rejection. So why am I unable to fight? Essayist Fiona Schmidt, who comes out “Old skin: women, their bodies, their age” posted by Belfond reassures me: ” we have been conditioned to be wary of the signs of aging and to fight them as early and valiantly as possible. And now, as a feminist, should we accept them, even openly love them? It’s hard enough seeing ourselves change, we won’t feel guilty for not liking the changes we’ve been taught to hate all our lives! »
“I take some information about the different types of injections and run. »
What a pain to be a woman. At puberty, it’s the beginning of sexualization, dirty looks, street harassment, violence of all kinds (but not towards all genders), follows the teenage, young woman phase, during which you don’t have to fuck too much so as not to be taxed by ” bitch”, not fucking too little lest she be labeled “prude”, then having children, sacrificing herself for them, to finally see her twilight come as her fertility declines and the first signs of aging.
” We live in an aging society where aging is seen as a regression rather than an evolution. And because this society is also sexist, women experience ageism much earlier and much more violently than men, because their social utility is still indexed to their fertility. recalls Fiona Schmidt.
“Illana Weizmann? call the secretary. “yes…”, I say with a voice two octaves higher, “the doctor is waiting for you”. I enter with a stiff smile. I sit in front of her and I see her peering into every corner of my face. I take some information about the different types of injections and run.
“Meanwhile I’m trying to keep the injunction not to (appear) to grow old at bay”
On the way back, a lead blanket falls on me. I’m tired of these restrictions, tired of this programmed social death, tired of this almost inevitable self-hatred, despite awareness, despite feminism. How to get out of these borders? ” Our identities are changing, so they are not fixed in our youth, we have to work again and again to represent and tell stories of women over 50, to see them evolve, diversify. Fiona tells me.
I don’t know if I will call the clinic back, I don’t know if I will be injected with any illusions this year, in 5 or 10 years. Meanwhile I work to keep away the injunction not to (appear) to grow old, the injunction to accept me as I am, come what may. Meanwhile I drink in other stories, other narratives, I surround myself with women my age, from different eras, their faces, their stories shining to fill my heart rather than my fine lines. .
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Source: Madmoizelle
Mary Crossley is an author at “The Fashion Vibes”. She is a seasoned journalist who is dedicated to delivering the latest news to her readers. With a keen sense of what’s important, Mary covers a wide range of topics, from politics to lifestyle and everything in between.
