A few months back, I found myself at the store, gathering an assortment of skincare products—Stridex pads, Neutrogena face wash, and a pile of washcloths. Once home, I stashed them in the upstairs bathroom and announced to my three daughters, “Feel free to use any of this whenever you want!” I demonstrated how to use the pads and explained the benefits of the face wash. My intention was to equip them with the knowledge and tools to face the skin changes that are inevitably on the horizon. They were eager to learn, but it hit me: I’m far more familiar with the woes of adolescent skin than I am with the trials of skin in my 40s.
“Girls, if you don’t at least rinse your face with warm water every night, your skin might get a bit yucky. And you should definitely change your pillowcases regularly.” They looked back at me wide-eyed, and my middle daughter chimed in, “There are kids at school who get those red things all the time. What are they called? Dimples?”
I flinched. “Pimples.” It’s a word that sounds just as unpleasant as the condition itself, and I’ve never been fond of saying it. I also thought I would have outgrown them by now. Yet here I am, grappling with more skin issues than I ever imagined possible. I’ve scoured tips in magazines and on websites aimed at women of all ages, but I still don’t feel quite mature enough to have a proper skin regimen.
In the past few years, my skin has gone through a shocking transformation—one day it was fine, and the next, I emerged from the shower feeling like my face was on fire. By bedtime, my skin was tight in the worst way, and when I woke up, it was literally peeling. I switched to a sensitive skin lotion to combat the flaking, only to find myself battling acne. I always thought that was something teenagers dealt with!
The way I try to fix my skin issues has also evolved. Picking and squeezing are no longer options because, let’s face it, my skin doesn’t heal like it used to. My face resembles an archaeological site, with remnants of past breakouts leaving their mark. Concealer just sits on top of my skin like a mask—blending is a lost art.
I’ve attempted to divert attention from my increasingly lackluster complexion with eyeliner and mascara, but now, not only can I not apply a straight line, but I can also count on my makeup smudging within an hour. I’ve tried everything from budget brands to high-end options. And really, does non-sparkly eyeshadow even exist? I end up looking like a failed audition for a musical!
Going makeup-free isn’t much better. Some days, I try to embrace the natural look—pulling my hair back, applying a bit of mascara, and pinching my cheeks for color. Yet, when I glance in the rearview mirror, I’m met with a face that looks like it’s seen better days. “Fresh and dewy”? That ship sailed long ago.
The highlight of my day? Washing off all that makeup at night. My kids honestly don’t care what I look like, though I’m bracing myself for the day my oldest asks to borrow my makeup. One night, as I sat with all three girls reading a story, my youngest reached out and touched my forehead. “Mom, how does your skin tell a story with you?”
“It’s simple,” my oldest said, squishing her forehead skin around.
“But your skin isn’t squishy like mom’s,” my little one remarked.
My cheeks turned crimson, and I was ready to end that conversation when my youngest added, “I hope I look like you when I grow up, Mom.”
“Me too,” chimed in my other two daughters.
So, my skin may be sallow and marked, but at least three little people think I’m beautiful just as I am. And you know what? That’s perfectly fine with me.
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In summary, navigating the complexities of skin care in your 40s can be challenging, but the love and support of family make it all worthwhile. Embrace your unique journey, and remember that beauty comes in all forms.