(This post contains content that might be sensitive to some)
I’ve been staring at pictures of my face so much recently for makeup blog purposes, and taking selfies. Before this year there weren’t any photos of myself on my phone. Why would I want to look at pictures me. I struggled to find a snap for my home page. It seems that I don’t like my own face.
My relationship with my face has been troubled since i was about 14 years old. I was quite a pretty kid, I think, until dreaded puberty reared its oily head. My features seemed to grow at different rates. There’s a famous school photo at 15 where it’s obvious that my nose and eyebrows were winning the growth race. I also had to take Roaccutane for my spots. It’s a nasty drug, you have to take the pill to go on it to prevent birth defects. It gave me nose bleeds and back pain. It didn’t even work!
In my late teens I was into black- black nails, black hair, black lips, black eyeliner, black clothes. I wasn’t miserable though, I was having a lot of fun. My poor mum and dad didn’t know what was happening. I talked to them about it since, they were worried I was doing drugs. I didn’t need drugs, just 3 pints of cider.
Like most young ladies I was down on myself. My nose is lumpy, my eyelids are giant, when you’re in your early twenties you’re your own worst critic, ironically at the time when you are at your physical peak. But at 28 I really hit a bump in the road- I split up with my husband of a year and a half. My self worth was gone. I stopped eating, I started running miles and miles every day. I felt I didn’t deserve food or rest. I cried for hours at a time. I felt completely alone in the world and held myself in no value. The funny thing was that at this wretched time when I was in bits, people were complimenting me on my physique.
It took a couple of years to claw myself back, to forgive myself. I didn’t get professional help, I probably should have. I started moving on, I broadened my social circle and met the man who is now my husband and started to learn to accept myself. He had to put up with some strange behaviour to begin with, but eventually we got to the point where I felt like a normal human again. I could go out for food without panicking. I could go a day without exercise and not burst into flames.
7 years and 2 kids later. I’m happy in my skin. With the third decade comes self acceptance. You have more important things to think about than some physical aspect that doesn’t fit the normal mould. I came to realise that while I’m looking at someone’s hair or skin burning with jealousy and self doubt, someone else will look at me and thinking how nice I look.
I think that’s why I love makeup so much. If you’re feeling down on yourself, you can just paint your face and looking in the mirror is no longer torture. Makeup makes me happy in my skin, how could there be any shame in that.
I don’t often (ever) talk about this stuff, I’m not sure why I am now? I worry that people compare themselves unfavourably with others, especially young ladies. I worry that young people take glamorous selfies at face value. Like RuPaul says “If you don’t love yourself, how in the hell you gonna love somebody else” Can I get an Amen?
Feel free to comment if you have any thoughts. Be kind to yourselves ladies x