I don’t know when it happened.
It used to be that when I looked in the mirror all I saw was a doe-eyed, beautiful, unblemished façade staring back at me. Even with scant eyebrows, I most often thought myself to be reasonably attractive. I always enjoyed a full head of hair. Even through the multiple afros, jerry curls, and perms, of which I was not allowed to get until I was sixteen, my hair was always exquisite. Even though my genes dictated that my hips spread and breasts swelled sooner than that of my young girl cohorts, (I have always been fluffy); I could always rely on the pretty face, despite being thick in the waist. And as a young lady I learned how a little bit of red lipstick and an eyeliner could transform a ’round the way girl’ into a glamourous and exotic thing of beauty.
So, I’m not exactly sure when it happened—when that beautiful, youthful creature vacated my mirror. She was there, it seems, only a few days ago. Perhaps, she began ghosting me in my mid-twenties, when I decided a full-face of make-up was no longer needed. After someone did not recognize me without Fashion Fair, I decided that I did not want to be a slave to the beauty industry, spending thousands throughout my lifetime just to look like not myself. I began wearing less and less foundation and eye shadow, until ultimately, now forty years later, I only occasionally use just a little lip tint. Maybe it happened when I straightened my hair for the last time in ’92.
My nose has always been wide—almost as wide as my hips. But as I have grown older, I have grown equally proud of both. As I see my features and my body as being representative of, not just my struggles and experiences, but of the strength and confidence I have gained as a result of how it has manifested and been received in this world. I used to wonder why God didn’t make me svelte. Now I believe it is because it wanted me to learn to be disciplined, to learn more about my body and how to take care of it; and that this knowledge will be essential for the continuation of my journey here. But two things can be true at once. I also believe that the Universe wants me to enjoy the things in life that are meant to be enjoyed.
Though my beauty no longer adheres to the standards of the world (not that it ever really did) I see my beauty in many other ways. Oh, I still see the deep chestnut in my eyes, and I like the way that my gray hair is slowly seeping in from the roots. I love that I can still touch my toes, and how after years of Medusa-like dreadlocks, I still have a hairline. I love how my husband can conjure from me a gut-busting laugh with one of his funny jokes. And I love the way I can scramble the best tofu for breakfast or fry up a mess of red snapper—depending on the company.
My lips are not as pouty as they once were. And sexy? Let’s just say that I am a sensual Goddess in my heart, and in my mind. But I am grateful to have reached an age where what I look like to others matters not, and when pretty is no longer necessary because I know how powerful I am, and that I was created from stardust. I am loving, strong, and intuitive. I recognize my connection to the electricity in the air, to the sunlight and earth. And I am guided by the cosmic energy of my ancestors—I know it, I feel them— and that understanding trumps pretty every time.
SPITTING OUT BONES 