I read a beautiful article over the weekend about a middle-aged woman’s perception of her aging body. The impetus for the article, which sadly was a man who rejected the author because he preferred the bodies of younger women, ended up producing a piece which is how I would hope women come to look at their wrinkles and marks of a life lived. An excerpt, by Robin Korth:
Naked, I stood at the closet doors with the lights on and made myself ready. I took a deep breath and positioned the mirrors so I could see all of me. I consciously worked to remove my self-believed inner image. I opened my eyes and looked very carefully at my body. And my heart lurched at the truth: I am not a young woman anymore. I am a woman well-lived. My body tells of all the years she has carried my spirit through life.
As I looked in the mirror — clear-eyed and brave — I claimed every inch of my body with love, honor and deep care. This body is me. She has held my soul and carried my heart for all of my days. Each wrinkle and imperfection is a badge of my living and of my giving of life. With tears in my eyes, I hugged myself close. I said thank you to God for the gift of my body and my life. And I said thank you to a sad man named Dave for reminding me of how precious it all is.
You may read the full article here, if you’d like.