I continue to struggle with getting older.
I am, without a doubt, getting older. I have wrinkles. I have loose skin from my pregnancies and stretch marks. I have varicose veins.
I struggle to accept that this, right now, is as good as it is going to get. I don’t want that. I want my body back that I was born into.
Of course, I didn’t appreciate it.
I had great glutes and thighs from riding horses the majority of my early years. What? Thighs actually touch?? Yeah, I didn’t realize that. My legs were toned and tight and so was my butt. I had no idea what I had until it was gone.
Those mammaries were also under-valued. Good sized and perky. Then I nursed two kids. They are now the same size but definitely no longer perky.
My stomach has never been my favorite area, and after gaining 40 lbs with each baby it is a bit ravaged .
I’m trying to accept what I can’t change…and change what I can.
Acceptance is not easy. I’m not anticipating any plastic surgery for me in the near future, but I am also not going to give up. I use the good moisturizers, drink lots of water and am getting better at exercising. Eating healthy is another habit that will forestall your body’s decline. I need to focus more on that, as well.
I remember when I was in my 20’s and thought I would age gracefully. Which is what people in their 20’s think because they are not really aging at all. Once it actually starts to happen it is a whole different perspective.
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Dylan Thomas ~
Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
And you, my father, there on that sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
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