No Filter

I asked my husband to change the light bulb in our bathroom because it had gone out. He has a fascination with light bulbs, always searching for the most energy efficient one he can find.  When I returned to the bathroom, there was nothing efficient about this one, other than the fact it was scorching my retinas.  I needed sunglasses it was so bright. We live in a house that was built in 1941, and whatever light bulb he screwed in was making a buzzing sound.

There in front of me was a woman who is about to turn 40.   I immediately closed my eyes, one because it was bright, and two because I was nervous.   Do I have the courage to really examine this face under the harsh reality of this light?

What I have noticed lately, especially on social media, is the filters.  I have an iPhone, but a friend told me that the Android phone has an app that can make your skin look flawless and even slim it.   There is a filter for everything.  I'm sure iPhone has it, but beyond Instagram, I'm clueless about these.

I recently had head shots done with a fantastic creative photographer. He used natural light and sent me the proofs the same day.  I wondered how he could edit them so quickly and he told me that he hadn't.   This scared me.

In the past month, I have had two incidents that I'm afraid to look at my own face.  What am I afraid of?  If I can't look at my face just the way it is, how can I be confident for anyone else would want to?

I took a deep breath and looked in the mirror.   I have dark spots on my face, not from sun damage, but from a condition called melasma that sometimes goes away after pregnancy, mine stuck. Since I don't have stretch marks on my face,  I apparently needed a facial reminder of the kids I have carried.  I see a few lines around my eyes. A few hairs that shouldn't be there.  Eyebrows that are unruly.  I see a chicken pox scar that has been in every single one of my school photos since I was seven years old.  I also see the face that my boys see when they look at me.   The same face that my youngest touches constantly, so much so, that sometimes I don't even notice.   Just like when I look at my mom,  I see beauty even when she doesn't.

My oldest son is about to turn 14 and told me that he prefers when I don't wear makeup. Not because he thinks I look beautiful without it, but because he thinks I don't look like myself with it.

What if you could post a picture of yourself the way your children see you?   Sure, I'm not about to stop wearing makeup because truthfully, I prefer the way I look with it.  But I don't want to get to the point that I will stop doing things I love if I don't have access to it.

I love working out, that is not a secret.  The people I work out with are some of my best friends. There is no filter.  There are no flattering lights in the gym. There isn't a slimming mirror.  At times, I have sweat dripping everywhere, my clothes are stuck to me, I probably don't smell great, my hair that was in a tight ponytail is now half loose.  At times I have snot running down my lip and calluses bleeding on my hands.  It may not sound pretty, but it is when I feel the most beautiful.

Life doesn't happen in aesthetically pleasing filters. Beauty is found in reality.  It's found in the middle of the night when I hear one of the boys have a nightmare and my face is what gives them comfort.   I remember talking to a friend who was upset and crying and I thought to myself that she had never looked more raw, real or more beautiful.

Why filter out the good stuff?

So the next time I think I should add a filter to my Instagram post, I'm going to ask myself, what I'm trying to hide?  Is it the things that make me, me? The things that make the people I hold closest to my heart love me?

I had coffee with a friend of mine (who also is my trainer) yesterday and was voicing my concerns about my body. Specifically, the amount of time that I spend in the gym and that I don't think my body reflects that.  He asked me what I was comparing myself to.  I told him I would think about that, but the truth is, I knew, I just wasn't willing to admit it.

I was comparing myself to something that doesn't exist.  A time filtered image of myself, 20 years younger.   A version of myself that was great, but was just getting started.  Just like our house, the imperfections are what make it a home.

And the truth is, I want to look like I have lived because the last 20 years I have.. and then some. Even if I did try and hide that, if someone saw me in real life it would be very obvious.   I saw a woman whom I'm friends with on social media at a meeting, and I couldn't believe how different she looked. Not bad, just different than what I see in her posts.  I don't want that.  I want to look like me.

Today I had one of the most challenging workouts I have ever done.  It was more mentally challenging than physical. And my friend just kept talking to me, telling me not to stop, not to worry about the people around me, or my body that was telling me to quit.  He encouraged me to just keep going because he knew I could do it.  And I did.  And I felt amazing.

I went home and put my phone on the table and returned to mommy mode. While I was making eggs, I casually mentioned that I did 210 burpees to my boys and Jack wanted to give me a hug.  Because I snap photos of everything, Oscar took a picture.   Sure, I could look at it and see the sweat, the rolls, the dark spots, but instead I will choose to look at the arms around my neck.  A hug is a way of telling me "good job."  And his expression shows it.

The best filter you can add is life.  Even if you have been through hell and back, it looks so much better than a life-less air-brushed face.

As I approach my 40th trip around the sun, I'm going to try and see myself as I am, not as I was, not as someone else. No filter. Just me.