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M Tamara Cutler's avatar

I was tired of looking at my reflection and seeing a face imprinted with worry, so it was with my tail between my legs that I entered the offices of Rocio X, a plastic surgeon, on December 7, 2023. I had known Rocio socially for a couple of years. I also trust her as a surgeon who helps people after cancer treatment & car accidents. She's not the Beverly Hills type.

Why was I there? I had a very small Dot on the side of my nose where my glasses pad rests. It bothered me to no end. I could see it in my vision, and I was obsessed with it in the magnifying mirror. After trying everything non-invasive for a year, I asked Rocio about removing it with a laser. During our appointment, which was more like a therapy session, I admitted that 2023 had taken a toll on me, and I couldn't get my worried brow to relax.

Of course, Botox was suggested. Botox would 'freeze' my middle worry lines (muscles) so that the other muscles on the outer sides of my face would engage again. The worry muscle was so strong, it overrode the rest of my expressions. Rocio showed me before and after photos of her clients. I noticed the Before's all looked like they had been through Trauma. The After's looked like the same person after a week of rest. That's how subtle Post Traumatic Face Syndrome (I made that up) is.

The magic of Rocio's consultation: the Dot has since disappeared on its own, and I have sought (still seeking) weeks of rest - incrementally - to smooth my PTFS brow. My reflection has altered slightly since I've made time to process the WHY of my trauma. The WHAT of my worry. Perhaps, acceptance is also at work....

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Julia Williamson's avatar

I usually smile at myself in the mirror, much as I would coming face to face with someone else. I joke that having poor eyesight is a blessing at a certain age; I don’t have to see the lines the Anti-Aging Industrial Complex is warning me to fear.

Can I look in a mirror and see a familiar face, one that belongs to someone I’ve seen through the bright times and dark days, without fear or judgment? My refusal to get caught up in the way I look is a point of pride. And perhaps also a form of self-protection.

I like to think I refuse to adopt an actual skin-care routine because I’m truly not concerned about my appearance. But is it the feminist in me (as I claim) or the pretty-enough girl who would never be a beauty feeling relieved at the chance to bow out of the competition? I guess it doesn’t matter.

What if the only thing you knew about your face was the reaction of other people? I assume you’d figure out where you landed on the attractiveness scale. But without the details, would you be free from the desire to change things around? Would the joy you evoked in the eyes of your loved ones be enough?

I think we want to be beautiful because we want to be loved. Isn’t that at the root of most of our desires and behaviors? I live in a world that is obsessed with youth and beauty. I’m making my tiny stand against it by accepting my face as it is. So I smile whenever I see it.

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