Dear Me and You, Who Are We?

Dear Me and You, 

It’s nap-time and I’m in the room putting Daphne down. I boldly– and bashfully– admit that our nap-time routine consists of warmed milk in a bottle and scrolling through TikTok, with the occasional catch up of the Bachelorette. It works for us. And today we opt for TikTok. So, we’re scrolling and she always delights in the videos with babies, which by nature of being a mom that creates mom content we see a lot.

However, today we see a video of a plastic surgeon (a woman) remarking on what she thinks Gwen Stefani has done to her face, which was revealed on the premiere of The Voice. I was shocked; I didn’t recognize Gwen, a woman who I grew up idolizing because she was unapologetically herself. 

I exit TikTok and Daphne immediately says, “More show!”  I open Google to search “Gwen Stefani today”. I see a photo. I screenshot and send it to my husband and a couple friends, curious if they are as dumbfounded as I am. Only one person was able to identify the photo to be Gwen. My friend said she zoomed in and was able to see “a little bit of her left.” 

Daphne continues to demand, “More show.” I oblige. She drains her bottle. She cuddles up a little deeper on my lap and I sing a song. I put her in the crib, cover her up with her blankets and tell Alexa, “White noise on.” I leave the room. 

I’m still haunted by the photo and laundry list of procedures the plastic surgeon assumed was performed. I’m not entirely okay. At what point does it all become too much? I have friends and family who have been getting Botox and fillers for years, breast augmentations, face-lifts and tummy tucks, things lifted and zapped. I’m not a fan of shame and I know I may come off as shaming people for their choices… and maybe I am, and maybe I’m being judgy but why do we promote this as a society? Why are people willing to go to such extremes? Where did we go wrong? Or who did wrong to them? And how can I help my daughters love themselves? 

I remember back to middle school when my best friend was daydreaming about the large bosom she would inherit from her mom. She was elated and less than patiently waiting for her trainer-bra sized boobs to grow into the luscious Victoria’s Secret standard. As weeks turned into months, turned into school years, and puberty came she was perplexed– where were her boobs? Eventually she asked her mom. And her mom finally admitted that she had a breast augmentation. Tears, literal tears fell from her eyes as she told me. 

I love my body. And I don’t love my body. I’ve done a lot of work to be in a much better place, read some amazing books (The Body is Not an Apology and Beyond Beautiful) and talk through the body-shaming that I grew up with in therapy. So, I love my body, and still, sometimes I don’t. I know what my body did. I know what my body can do. And I know that I’m wanting more from my body today. 

I also know that I want to do better for myself than was done for me as a kid, so I can do more for my girls. I don’t talk about my body negatively (well, except for my shit ankle from all the sprains), I allow my hair to grow big and full, I wear makeup sometimes– like lots– and often go bare-faced. I do all this because I see the direction of expectations for women and how we age– or rather don’t. 

I’m appreciative that there is a big movement to have more representation, more natural, more celebration of being you. But when I see someone like Gwen Stefani debut a face I literally don’t recognize, I know we're still so far away. So, I plead with me today and you and me tomorrow, to love ourselves a little bit more, celebrate ourselves extra and put the emphasis on who we are and the choices we make over the outfit we put together or the smoothness of our skin. 

We made it through another day, me and you. Kudos.