I was married at the age of twenty and enjoyed decades of being told I looked too young to be the mother of seven children and the wife of 30+ years. Those days are done, for sure. When I tell people I’m a grandmother, they don’t flinch.
As hard as that may be to accept, and in spite of how young I feel, I am coming to terms with the fact that I may never look younger than I do today.
I am also realizing that to women younger than me, I may look old, but to women older than me, I may look young.
So which is it? Do I look young or old?
The answer is, it doesn’t matter. I’m done fretting about whether I can defy wrinkles, gray hair, and sagging body parts.
Yes, I want to look polished.
I want to look put together.
I want to look poised.
But I’m tired of debating with the mirror over whether I look young.
I realized this recently when I started wearing my hair naturally again. I don’t think my natural style makes me look as young as I could possibly look.
But it sure enables me to get ready fast in the morning.
And it sure is fun to try something new with my hair.
And it sure is freeing to be free of worry about whether I look 45 instead of 54.
I am embracing my mature look, accepting the realities of aging, and rejoicing that I am alive.
Aging is a privilege we all take for granted. We can either grow old, gray, wrinkled and worn, or we can die young and beautiful.
I choose to grow old.
I choose to focus on beauty of heart and soul, that grow more lovely with time.
I have new goals of mind and spirit that matter more than the perfect selfie.
I’m done with impressing people with my appearance, while fully aware that how I look matters. It just doesn’t matter most.
Sure, I want to be fashionable and fit.
I want to be friendly and fun.
But those things are not tied to age.
So I choose growing old and looking old, because aging is a gift every day that I wake up, and I am learning to receive it with joy.
Charm is deceptive and beauty disappears,
but a woman who honors the Lord should be praised. Proverbs 31.30