A Brief Dabble With Botox or How I Learned to Live With A Flaw

Last week, a friend wrote about what he perceived as his greatest physical flaw. A few months ago, his hair fell out. It just decided to jump scalp. There was no medical reason for it. And he’s been coming to grips with being bald. Truth is, he looks good. He was blessed with a nicely shaped head. When he meets someone new, they don’t know his hair history. They accept him as he is.

One of the things I’ve learned about regulating emotions is dealing with them head on. We have a tendency to swallow embarrassment, for example. The new thinking is to give it a name. “Oh geez, I tumbled over that footstool! How embarrassing.” Name it. Say it. Don’t add that you’re “stupid” or “dumb” or anything that puts yourself down. Everybody saw you fall anyway, so just acknowledge it and get it over with. Then it won’t linger in your mind and torture you.

In that vein, this is something that bugs me about me. I have an 11 between my eyes. Frown lines are there even when I’m not frowning. I think people assume I’m angry or unhappy when I’m not. New people, not anyone who knows me. I perceive this from the way people communicate to me as if I’m going to be tough to deal with when the opposite is true. Someone might think, well, just stop frowning! But it’s the way my forehead moves. It’s not about frowning per se. It’s just my physical self.

When I was a teen, my Mom used to chase me around the house in order to stick a piece of Scotch tape between my eyes! She had an 11, you see, and hated it. She didn’t want me to suffer the same fate. The chasing part was only a game, really. At age 13, I couldn’t imagine getting a wrinkles let alone a couple of deep lines that might make me look serious when I wasn’t feeling that way.

What do women do about their unwanted 11s? They use Botox to freeze the muscles. My husband was adamant that I never succumb to the allure of Botox. It’s not his decision – we both know that. But he’s my partner and I respect his opinion. Botox scared him.

(Side note: I see other women with the 11 and they look completely lovely. This is MY issue. Now back to our regularly scheduled post. )

Going Deeper Into the Fear

One day, I asked Derek what he was really afraid of. Botox is botulism, yes, but it’s generally safe and the body removes it naturally. It wasn’t so much the Botox itself, he said. He was worried it would be a gateway to more invasive procedures like surgeries. I assured him that it would not. I was interested in this one thing, nothing more.

Having calmed his fear, I booked an appointment for Botox injections. The first one wasn’t great. I got it just before going away for a week and it never did firm up my forehead the way I was told it would. But what could I do remotely? Nothing.

I went back a few weeks later and she upped the ante. The second time was better but I still expected more stiffness. I knew 40 years of lines weren’t going to disappear in a couple of treatments but I also understood that I could expect the area to be immobilized. It wasn’t. It was better but it still wasn’t the result I wanted.

There’s Always A Choice

I could have gone back and complained. Or paid even more for her to inject even more toxin into my head. Did I really want that? If it was totally immobile, what would it be like when it wore off? The whole thing was problematic to me and it was getting expensive. The first visit was $300 and that obviously wasn’t enough. It was only going to go up and up from there.

I decided to quit altogether. And now my 11 curves to the edge of my eyebrows, looking more like tiny hockey sticks than an 11. Thanks, Botox!

But this is how it goes. With absolutely no judgment or negativity whatsoever for women who choose to do whatever they want to their own faces and bodies, in my experience, Botox is a treatment that feeds itself. When you stop, your original issue looks even worse. Other treatments probably do the same. And that’s fine if you want to continue it. I opted out.

So I suppose I have to admit that Derek was sort of right. Although these treatments aren’t supposed to be one-and-done, they do escalate in intensity, at least in my case.

Back to My Former Self

I don’t think anyone noticed that I’d had Botox. Nor would they probably care. It was for me, for my well-being about what I perceive that I project to the world. Honestly, it’s the reason I have bangs! To give it shade, like curtains.

I’ve also considered that Gen X and Millenial retail workers are simply a grumpy bunch that greet everyone as if they’re going to cause a problem. But I don’t think that’s a fair assessment.

Long, long ago I bought these stickers called Frownies. They’re supposedly Hollywood’s anti-wrinkle secret used by old-timey stars (and maybe current ones?). They probably help if you use them every day as directed. It does feel weird to moisten a sticker for your face, though.

Everyone has a “thing” about themselves that they don’t like. One friend says she doesn’t like her legs. All I see are healthy, pretty legs! Another has a thing about the shape of her face. Her perfectly pleasant and pretty face. It goes on and on. We almost wear our physical dislikes as a badge of honor. We are a weird species!

I don’t know one woman who accepts herself as she is. (Men? I’m not sure. They generally SEEM so relaxed with themselves!) I’m getting closer to acceptance but every day I must deal with a haunting voice in my head that tells me something isn’t as good as it could be. Stomach. Thighs. Neck. The skin on the inside of my elbow looked crepey the other day, like it had been starved of moisture. What’s next. Inner elbow injections? It takes strength to oppose that critical voice and decide you’re just fine. And it’s a journey, a fight we must renew every day, 11 between the eyes and all.