Not too long ago, I tried a few sessions of facial acupuncture.
I let someone stick many, many, fine thin needles in my face. Then laid there motionless for 40 minutes.
Who would do this? A woman willing to see if this remedy for facial rejuvenation works. I went to the Pacific College of Oriental Medicine in lower Manhattan. On William Street to be exact. They’ve since changed the name to the Pacific College of Health and Science.
I’d been there several times over the years for relief of back pain and was once informed I had a sluggish liver.
Did the results last? It did plump up my face a bit although I wondered initially how much of it was swelling. A few weeks out, there was some smoothing across my skin. There was less tension in my face and the elevens were a tad less deep, but like everything else, I’d have to keep going back. Like botox, or exercise, or eating right. It’s maintenance, time and discipline. It’s commitment.
Why put myself through this search for a less worn out looking face? In an attempt to be semi-wrinkle free and look less tired, I could say I want the outside to match the inside but there’s more to it than that, more than I care to admit.
This week, I watched my almost 83 year old mother sigh as she looked in the mirror and ask me if she looked okay. As I watched her apply lipstick, I realized that it’s not always society that makes us feel certain ways about our aging face, but that at some point we no longer recognize ourselves. We catch sight of our gray hair and aging face in our reflection and we’re taken off guard. We we ask someone close to us if we look okay.
While my mother sighs, we all write our own aging story. There’s one that that says our wrinkles, laugh lines and elevens etched into our foreheads prove we’ve lived - but ask anyone living in the U.S. if we need to prove we’ve “lived” by showing our wrinkles and laugh lines and a fair share may say - no thanks, I’m good.
It’s possible our attempt at slathering creams and inserting needles is not all about fighting age. Maybe it’s not necessarily even all about youthfulness. Most of us wouldn’t go back to our 20’s. Maybe we just miss our “old” young self. The one we expect to see in the mirror but don’t. We’re looking for the face our brain responds to, the one our eyes expect to see because regardless of the images we’re bombarded with daily and societal norms, we have our own expectations.
My mother has made me think deeply about my own personal journey with aging. How far I’m willing to go down the pipeline in the quest to remain looking like the younger “old” me. Should I fix my extra droopy left eye with the marvels and madness of an ocular plastic surgeon? Will I feel shame associated with it? Should I do skin resurfacing? IPL? Lasers?
Maybe I could avoid all of this by simply looking in the mirror a little less while working hard to avoid any group selfies or - like Cleopatra, 5,000 years ago, stick to Dead Sea salts, milk and honey masks, and henna to keep myself looking my best. I’ll let you know how that works out.
I won’t go back for another round of facial acupuncture. Those students learning the trade don’t need me specifically. While I’m not sure I’m ready to completely slow my quest for looking "fresher” rather than younger, I do have to remember that I could be wrinkle free and drop dead tomorrow. I like to think that I’d rather hear someone at my funeral say, “What a heart she had!” rather than “I couldn’t find a single line on her face.”
“I wonder if she really lived?”
Wow, wonder perspective, and I join you in the struggle. While most days I’m all in on aging naturally and gracefully, there are days that the reflection in the mirror hits me hard. I respect each woman’s choice as it is definitely a personal decision.
I hear you….if we’ve had it this long maybe it’s okay? (Speaking about my droopy eye!) I guess we get to a point where we say ok I’ll do it or decide to live with it. I walk a thin line..