As I start transitioning into a new stage of life, I find myself being visited by old insecurities around my body and appearance. I observe myself being captivated by images of young, thin, flawless women who are perfectly dressed and perfectly made up. I fantasize about being the woman in those pictures. I see my behaviors shifting a bit – I quietly compare my beauty to that of the women around me. I spend a little more time in the mirror. I criticize my “inadequacies” and dream up ways to overcome them.

I am not proud of any of this.

              Yet, there is a wisdom to be found here when I take a step back and dig deep. But first, I have to give myself grace. I have made it through the thick of disordered eating and body dysmorphia, but recovery and healing is a lifelong journey. I remind myself that this is not a set-back, but rather an invitation to heal another layer within. Guilt and shame have no place here. Second, I remember that pursuing the path of self-love and body acceptance in a society that continuously distorts women’s bodies into unattainable perfection is like white water rafting upstream. There’s gonna be many bumps along the journey. Once I have grounded myself in this reality, I am able to look within and excavate the real core of what is going on.

              As I dig in, here’s what surfaces. I am terrified of entering a new stage of life and getting older because it also means that everyone I love is getting older too. I cling onto the images of youth because for a split second they make me believe that I can stay young forever, and I can avoid the pain of change. On the flip side, what could be more of a visual representation of change than that of an aging face and body? I believe that this speaks to our greater cultural fear of aging too because it forces us to confront our own mortality and recognize that ours and our loved ones time here on earth is limited.

Confronted with this reality, the allure of youth and beauty feels like it can protect me from the grief that comes from the passing of time, of life changing, of growing up. I reflect on this and realize that the sweet dream of attaining the perfect body feels soothing – like candy—a quick hit of serotonin in this time of transition, when I’m forced to reckon with how much things are changing and all the emotions this brings.  Pursuing it feels like it can give me control and security in the face of uncertainty.

As I breath into this realization, I offer myself grace and compassion. As I breath into this I send gratitude and love to my beautiful aging grandmothers who illuminate the path of life with the brilliance of their wrinkled faces. Holding my hand and leading the way, the only way a grandmother can. With a comforting and understanding grasp that says “I know. I know mijita. I understand, life is hard. But still, I am here, and so are you.” Strength of the hand that has butchered chickens and fed seven children.

  I feel the warmth of my grandmother’s hand holding mine, the softness of her skin, the kindness in her eyes. I see all of her experiences, of love, loss, joy, and grief written on her face like a book I can’t stop reading. Her presence in my life feeds my soul like a warm bowl of oatmeal with champè jam on a winter’s day. I don’t want to be like the girls I see on my screen. I want to be like her.