getting real

I apply my Maybelline foundation like war paint to hide any flaws or imperfections as I get ready to face the day.   I want people to think that what they see is the real me- very together, with no crow's feet, laugh lines or wrinkles. 

(When you find a foundation that actually pulls off this magic act, let me know).

I walk away from the mirror feeling confident, yet fake, knowing that I'm hiding behind a thick layer of medium beige from a bottle.  Who am I kidding anyway?  I'm almost 50 years old - nobody at 50 years old has perfect skin anymore, unless it's been photo-shopped on.  And it's really ok.  The laugh lines are there, thankfully, because I've laughed.  The freckles probably because I've had a lot of summers to spend time in the sun.  The crows feet because I've lived long enough to have....well..... crow's feet.

And this is all good.

It feels better to be real.

Better than being beige from a bottle.

It's the same with who we are.  We have a hard time being real.  We're scared to tell our story.  We're leary of letting on who we really are.  We're afraid of sharing what we've been through.

But, why?

Where is the unwritten rule that says we have to have it all together to be happy, popular, liked, loved, accepted, adored?

I am much more endeared to a person when they share their story, their struggle, their heart.

Because then I don't feel so alone in what I've gone through.

I've found that encouraging women to be real is one of my passions.  Encouraging them to do so and then listening and supporting them - no matter what they say.  Accepting them no matter what.  Hearing their hurt and thereby hearing their heart.

I love to hear what they have to say and watch them get bolder and stronger for saying it.  The fear goes away.  God uses the hurt.  And hearts get healed.

So throw away that bottle of beige.  Show those wrinkles.  Enjoy your laugh lines.

Be real with yourself, your friends and your God.

You never know who needs to hear your real story in order to deal with their own.


  1. Yup. I put away the beige about eight years ago, when I decided being in my fifties was about the freeing up of that whole trying to be perfect thing. My friends, the huge circle after all these decades, that is around me, are scarred, freckles, creased, full, silly, purposeful, spiritual, troubled, serene, searching, and quintessentially themselves.

    I will now go curl up under my snuggy blanket with my slipper socks. Take care.

  2. Thanks for that, Jeannette. And I absolutely love my snuggy blanket and slipper socks too...


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