As part of my nightly routine, I tuck my daughters into bed before slipping into the bathroom for some much-needed self-care. It’s in front of the mirror that I confront the nuances of turning 40. I remind myself that noticing the new lines on my face and the more pronounced pores is not self-criticism—it’s a form of self-love. This time spent in front of the mirror is about truly connecting with my reflection. I pluck stray eyebrow hairs, apply toner with cotton pads along my neck, and brush my teeth twice.
Just the other night, while splashing water on my face, my youngest daughter, Lily, tip-toed in behind me.
“I just need to blow my nose,” she whispered.
“Okay,” I responded, my voice muffled by the water. After rinsing my face, I noticed her holding a tissue not to clear her nose but to shield her curious gaze. It dawned on me that she wasn’t merely observing; she was eager to understand the rituals that define my evenings—and, perhaps, her future. Standing tall, I met her shy smile.
This summer marked a shift in her, an increased stillness as she seeks to understand the world around her. In that bathroom, I felt the weight of being the subject of her curiosity. Dressed in a soft cotton nightgown, I felt exposed under her watchful eyes, a reminder of my own teenage insecurities about appearance. As a mother of three daughters, I constantly grapple with the desire to present an ideal image while shielding them from the pressure of societal expectations—thinner, prettier, more organized.
“Why do you do that?” she asked innocently.
“Do what?” I replied, feigning ignorance.
“Everything,” she clarified.
Taking a breath, I attempted to articulate the delicate balance I strive for between unwinding and the rush of daily life. “I guess it’s a treat for myself; it helps me slow down.”
“Why do you want to slow down?” she pressed.
I explained, “You know how I sometimes tell you to hurry and other times to take your time? Well, I have to remind myself to do the same. Coming in here is like getting a fresh piece of paper to sketch my thoughts or ideas. It allows me to shake off the day, or wash it off, and go to bed at just the right speed.”
“Yeah, but why do you take so long?” she asked, her brow furrowing as she processed my words.
“I suppose,” I said, “it just takes time for me. I’m not always the best at letting go or finding the right rhythm.”
She looked at me earnestly. “I think your face looks nice when it’s all shiny and pink after the hot water. And you smell good,” she said, hugging me. I felt her small frame press against me, a distance that has become noticeably shorter over the years.
“When you’re finished, will you come and rub my forehead until I fall asleep?” she requested with a sweet smile.
“Of course, I’ll be right there,” I assured her. As she turned to toss her tissue in the trash, she added, “Oh, and Mom, I really love your nightgown.”
With that, she skipped away, her vibrant striped nightgown trailing behind her like ribbons. In that moment, I realized we both navigate our lives under a constantly shifting lens. Though it may not always provide clarity, this perspective allows us to connect dots and understand ourselves in a new light.
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In summary, my nightly rituals are more than just a beauty routine; they are moments of reflection and connection with my daughters. It’s a delicate dance between self-care and nurturing, reminding us that as we explore the intricacies of our lives, we gain insight into ourselves and each other.
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