How Could I Be So Vain?
The Reflection I Don’t Recognize
How could I be so vain?
I asked myself as I cried, looking at my reflection in the mirror this morning.
The tears were a mixture of chaos — the swirling of emotions that had ravished my body over the last few years — and the reflection staring back at me. They were also tears of embracing the woman in the mirror — the woman with gray hair, fine lines, and dark spots.
The woman who knows beauty is more than skin and bones.
But it isn’t just the reflection.
It’s the metamorphosis taking place — almost like a caterpillar in a chrysalis, squirming and wriggling around, trying to figure out how those wings will fly when she breaks free from the cocoon that’s been surrounding her. Not quite knowing who you are anymore… or who you’re supposed to be in this stage of life.
I believe that’s where the tears are truly from.
My vanity takes me by surprise these days — a 52-year-old woman watching her face age at speeds greater than light.
I am not a vain woman, but I fear it’s become a common theme among women my age.
The conversations about not recognizing the reflection in the morning are whispered along every hallway, car ride, office, evening walk, and bedroom.
The Quiet Voice of Vanity
The wrinkles have never really bothered me that much. I’ve welcomed them with “mostly a smile.”
It’s the sagging skin that’s become my kryptonite — the thorn in my side, the underbelly of the aging process.
I sometimes stare at the looseness of the skin around my jawbone and neck as I turn side to side in the mirror, and then back again.
I gently take my hands and pull the skin taut — a frequent joke I share with my family as I talk about saving money for that facelift I’ll get at 60.
But how could I be so vain? I’m not that woman.
I cried as I looked at myself in the mirror again, trying to decide if I was crying more at the face I’m beginning not to recognize… or at the realization that sometimes, I am a vain woman — something most of us never want to admit.
Vanity has never been my specialty. Yet this past year, it’s become a familiar friend.
I went down the list of people to blame for this newfound vanity.
Was it the media and their disdain for the aging face?
Was it men? (I can always find a way to blame a man, I laugh.)
Was it their standards of how a woman should or shouldn’t look?
Why do I even care?
I’m dumbfounded at the absurdity that I’m entertaining these thoughts.
I try to walk my talk:
“Women are beautiful at every age, every shape, every size, every way.”
I believe that with every ounce of my being. But when I stared at my reflection this morning, it was evident I wasn’t following my own advice.
What I Want My Daughters to See
I’m a mother to daughters who are watching my every move — holding onto every word I speak about myself.
I was intentional when they were born — that they would only hear me speak kindness into my own life. And I held that promise in every way.
But something happened when I turned 50.
The occasional slip of:
“Delete that picture — I look so old,” or
“Stand back, the picture is too close,” started creeping in.
And let’s not forget the tagline of my life: “If you are healthy, then you hold the key to life in your hands.”
I felt like I was betraying myself with this vanity.
Health is a gift I never take for granted. t’s a privilege to get old — and I will always stand by that. Always.
So how did I find myself in this session of vanity?
As the tears started to dry, the lapse in judgment still took me by surprise. And I knew this vanity session was coming to an end.
I looked directly in the mirror and smiled — “an almost smile” — and mouthed the words I promised I’d say to myself:
“You’re beautiful for the human you are inside.” “You’re beautiful because God’s light shines through you.”
And sometimes, I chuckle and say what my dad would say to me:
“You’re a kidder, kid.”
And just like that, it snaps me back into reality.
My metamorphosis is almost complete.
These newfound wings — made of wrinkles and silver strands — will be embraced.
It just takes a while inside that cocoon.
I dried my tears so that my magic eye cream could do its magic. And I promised myself a longer time in between the vanity sessions, when I’d ask myself again…
How could I be so vain?
If This Spoke to You…
If you’ve ever found yourself standing in front of the mirror, questioning your reflection or your worth — I see you.
You’re not alone in this dance of growing older, stronger, and wiser.
If this piece touched your heart, I’d love for you to leave a comment, share it with a friend, or pass it along to someone who may need these words today.
Let’s remind each other that beauty lives far deeper than the surface — and sometimes, the most powerful healing begins with simply saying:
“I feel the same way too.”
Much love,
Candy
