In my last post about all things menopausal, I discussed the painfully funny discovery of acne, post 50. Today I am going to discuss why getting acne at 50 didn’t put me into a state of panic, the way it would have in my teen years or even my twenties.
I just don’t care anymore.
Have I given up? Ready to trade in the fitted jeans for a pair of track pants and a leisurely stroll around Walmart…NO. I just find that now that I have reached…and slightly passed the ripe old age of 50, things that used to send me into a downward spiral don’t have the same effect. Take the other day for instance. I had long hair and went in for a trim. I had showed the hairdresser a photo in a magazine they had in their lounge of a cute short haircut. I don’t remember telling her that I wanted this haircut…just that I though it was cute.
Well, twenty minutes later and the haircut was now on my head. 20 minutes, 6 inches and I couln’t care less. Back in the day that would have sent me to my to room for at least a week all the while calculating to the minute how long it would take to grow back. Fast forward 30 years and I don’t even think I glanced in the mirror when I got home.
Sure, there are a lot of changes that come with getting older, but I think it can be an incredibly liberating time. Why? Because you’re more comfortable in your own skin (even though it is starting to look more like your husbands skin, whiskers and all). What other people think of you matters less…and conversely..what you think of yourself, matters more.
So all those things you had promised you would do for yourself start becoming a reality in your 50′s.
Are hormones the reason. Maybe. Advancing age…possibly. Maybe it’s just the realization that even though the days sometime seem to last forever, the years go by in a heartbeat….and given the finite number of heartbeats that each of us has…I going to spend mine on the important things that make me happy…not the latest pimple or the length of my hair.