I got so many compliments. Which was great! But surely I haven't been so scrubby of late that it warranted quite the reaction that I got...right? Several friends and I conferred on our similar experiences, and I started to think back about my usual dress code over the past few weeks/months in horror. Yoga pants, oversized t-shirt, hair more like a rats' nest pulled into a messy bun, no make up. Glasses instead of contacts. Typically this wardrobe is reserved for days when I'm pretty much guaranteed to see no one, but in thinking about it I noticed that these off-duty habits have crept into my everyday existence. Curse the person who long ago informed me that it's better not to wash your hair everyday, and the makers of that Tresseme revitalizer stuff for making day-old curls look passable. Getting a free pass to snooze instead of dragging my ass into the shower is where things start to fall apart as far as appearances are concerned. And since much of our free time the last few weeks has been occupied by house repairs or cleaning, I felt no need to beautify myself, regardless of whether or not I planned to encounter other human beings over the course of my day. Even on those days which I was certain to encounter other people, I started slacking. Pretty soon the only day I attempted to look presentable was the day I see clients, and even then I was coming with pulled back hair and glasses at times. To be clear, this is not evidence of some depressive spiral. I just...couldn't be bothered. I didn't think it mattered to anyone else, and it certainly didn't matter to me, so whatever.
There was a time when I refused to leave the house without makeup. At least mascara, as my eyelashes are light and thus invisible without some paint, and concealer for those wretched under-eye splotches. I'm sure I've told many of you the horrible story of that horrible woman who steered me to the bathroom with concealer moments after I showed up in contacts instead of glasses, with the words "Are you ill? Oh no, you can't go out like that. You look terrible." Of course my fragile high school ego crumbled and I vowed never to appear in the presence of another human being without some assistance from Ms. Maybelline.
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| Kathy knows how it is for us gingers. |
I have outgrown this rule over the course of my adult life, which I must say, I'm rather proud of. Because fuck you, it's my face. I'll put makeup on if I want to, or not if I want to.I'll wear heels that make me freakishly tall and other (shorter) people uncomfortable because they make me feel sexy or flats that make me walk like a duck because that's what I choose to wear. I'll wear bike shorts and a tank top to weigh in at WW because that's less clothes and I want to be as close to naked as possible when they give me that number. It's my body and I'll look as scrubby or smokin' as I want to.
So apparently, in the last few weeks, I've erred on the side of scrubby more than usual. There are a number of possible reasons for this, not least of which is the aforementioned tasks required of me in my off-time. There's also this nagging familiar wish to get rid of this body and trade it in for another one (yes, I know, we've been over this). Also being annoyed that warmer weather is suddenly upon us and I don't fit into my summer clothes yet. Regardless of the reasons, I've decided to take a page from my therapist playbook and responding to these automatic thoughts and assumptions with a mantra:
"Let's make an effort."
Say I don't want to wash my hair. Because then you have to put stuff in it, dry it, ugh. Going out and about today, so let's make an effort. Cute chignon instead of rat's nest. And you know what? I felt better too. Not because anybody said "Oo, nice hair" (which they didn't. I tried to get J to and even he was like, "meh.") - but (or at least I think) because I had made the effort for myself. Let's try another: Have an appointment scheduled at a place about a mile from the house. Woke up with enough time to walk there, so let's make an effort. Try to let go of guilty feelings because I should have gone for a run instead. Because hey, activity is activity and that's enough for me at this moment. OR you could throw a party with lots of tempting dips and treats, but make an effort and keep tons of veggies on hand for snackings. And then you have leftover veggies to bring for lunches all week, which you pack before heading out because you are making an effort. The mantra has bled into other parts of life as well. Have a free hour between clients and really want to scour xojane and buzzfeed but have notes to finish. Let's make an effort. I get on a roll and BOOM! All my notes are caught up, signed and filed. Hell yeah, when's the last time that happened?! (honestly guys, I'm superexcited about this).
It's not much, but it's something. At the very least, I'm putting a little more umph into things when the opportunity arises, rather than automatically choosing the easy (most often: lazy) way. And really, it's mostly for me, because...well, I'm human and we are inherently selfish creatures. It's nice to be complimented, yes, and I'm sure that's an unconscious motivator to some extent. But I'm liking the way I feel when I make an effort (and can let go of feeling guilty or judging my efforts for not being "enough"), and for now anyway, that's enough of a reason to keep it up.
When my husband got home from work this morning, he noted my breezy
"Thanks. It's this new thing I'm trying called making an effort."
........
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