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SixteenYearsLater
Who is this woman in the dressing room mirror?
I squint my eyes and lean in closer to get a good look at the person in front of me. I mean, I know it’s me. Same pale skin, ocean blue eyes, sandy blonde hair in a messy bun, and same old, oversized clothing, but beyond that, I can’t say that I know her well.
My eyes narrow in on my face.
When did all those lines get there?Geez, a better question would be:When was the last time I really looked into a mirror?
I delicately run my fingers over the ridges around my eyes and down to the crinkles around my lips, the harsh fluorescent lighting of the store not serving me any favors.
This isn’t the fresh face of a young eighteen-year-old ready to start life on her own, a girl who’s excited to find out all the world has to offer. No, that naïve newbie couldn’t have known the adventures that lay ahead…
Like how hard college would be as she studied all day and night while living off ramen noodles. And then after, how working would never quite feel like her purpose because she longed for an entirely different life not driven by numbers and the success of someone else’s goals, but centered around the family she would one day create.
All the while, how falling madly in love with the first guy she had ever dated would be so exhilarating and terrifying at the same time. She’d be blown away every time he proved his love by always intently listening to her after a grueling day, making her laugh with his sarcastic humor or easy charm, considering her needs alongside his, and making her feel utterly adored every time he simply looked at her while continuing to earn her trust and become her very best friend as they both began their journey into adulthood.
She couldn’t have foreseen the depths of their commitment after they saidI do, or how their love would have to change as they did to withstand the changing of seasons either.
She’d be absolutely blown away by the constant stress and frustration that came from owning and maintaining a home with him, but grateful he mostly managed to take out the trash without being prompted and rarely complained too much about all the tasks she asked him to complete.
But the biggest surprise of them all would be that one day, all those years of being a couple would simply fade into the background after she birthed their first baby and began her most important journey of all:motherhood.
She’d learn quickly that being someone’s mom would deplete her in indescribable ways, but in the same breath, fill her with more love and joy than she ever knew existed. And that the immense responsibility and exhaustion of motherhood would nevereveroutweigh the love and euphoria that she felt by simply staring into her children’s eyes. And how, even when she’d only have the energy to give to their children, her love for her husband would grow exponentially every time he stared at their babies with eyes full of wonder.
No, the face of the woman staring back at me is the face of a wife and a mother who has earned all those lines with the gravity of her devotion, and the stress that came along with her responsibilities.
The face staring back at me in this mirror is me, and every version of me there ever was.
Snapping back to the moment, I take a deep breath and shake my head as I pull away from the dressing room mirror.
I begin to underdress and lay my clothes on the bench and marvel at the body that is uncovered. I’d be lying if I said those changes were as easy to accept, but my soft center and tiger stripes in the reflection tell their own story. Even though my logical brain tells me I’m a badass and a goddess and a warrior for creating life from scratch, these marks contribute to a vulnerability that’s hard to shake.
“What’s the holdup in there, lady?” Jess shouts, startling me.
“Geez chill, Jess. I’m going,” I puff.
Jessica Johnson, my sassy Latina soul sister since we were assigned as roommates our first year of college, interrupts my trip down memory lane as she waits for me outside the dressing room.
“I’ve been waiting like eight years for you to drop the potato sacks and find clothes that express that womanly shape of yours!”
Little does she know, something bigger than her sparked this change.I’m nervous to share with her just yet why because her journey through motherhood has been so much different than mine.
“Yeah, well, I’ve been busy growing, birthing, and nursing babies for most of my adult life, forgive the delay.” I roll my eyes, even though she can’t actually see me. Grateful she understands and appreciates my dry humor, I audibly scoff as loud as I can.
She laughs. “Babies, shmabies. You deserve clothes that don’t make you look like you’re a walking campaign for garbage bags.Hefty! Hefty! Hefty!” She giggles.
Do I, though? Seems irresponsible to spend this money on me when it could be spent on a new water heater, saved for the braces fund, or set aside for minivan tires — all expenses more important than me.
Was coming here a mistake? Should I put my garbage bags back on and run the hell out of here as fast as I can?
Taking another deep breath, I reply, “Okay, okay. I’m going. Calm yourself.”
I promised myself I would try, so I’mtrying, but this decision still feels selfish so I’m struggling to shake it.
“Good! Now hurry up and get out here.”
Jess has been by my side through it all: college, career, marriage, and now we stand together in motherhood. I’m grateful for her, even when she pushes me outside my comfort zone or won’t let me go back on my word.
