A few months ago, I ventured out to purchase a collection of skincare products—everything from exfoliating pads to Neutrogena face wash, along with a stash of soft washcloths. After returning home, I placed my new haul in the upstairs bathroom and told my three daughters, “Feel free to use any of this whenever you’d like.” I demonstrated how to use the pads and explained the soap’s function, hoping to equip them with the knowledge and tools for the changes they would inevitably face. They were enthusiastic learners, which made me realize something surprising: I’m far more knowledgeable about the skin issues of teenagers than I am about the challenges of being in my 40s.
“Girls, if you don’t at least rinse your face with warm water before bed, your skin might get a bit gross. That’s also why changing your pillowcases is so important.” They listened intently, and my middle daughter chimed in, “There are kids at school who get those red things all the time. What do you call them? Dimples?”
I winced. “Pimples,” I corrected her, a word as unattractive as the condition itself. I had hoped I wouldn’t still be battling them at my age. Yet, here I am, dealing with more skin and hair issues than ever. I’ve scoured online articles and magazines aimed at women in their 20s, 30s, 40s, and 50s, but I still don’t feel mature enough to adopt a proper skincare routine.
Over the past few years, my skin has undergone a drastic change—one that arrived suddenly and without warning. One moment I was managing with my hit-or-miss oily-skin wash; the next, I stepped out of the shower with my face feeling like it was on fire. By nightfall, my skin was uncomfortably tight, and I woke up to find it peeling. I switched to a sensitive skin moisturizer to combat the dryness, but now I find myself grappling with acne. I had thought that was a concern of my teenage years.
The approach to addressing skin issues has also evolved. Picking at breakouts is no longer an option; my skin simply doesn’t heal the way it used to. My face resembles an archaeological dig site, with remnants of past breakouts still visible. Concealer now sits on my skin like a layer of paint—no blending possible.
I’ve attempted to distract from my increasingly dull complexion with eyeliner and mascara, but drawing a straight line has become a challenge. The makeup inevitably bleeds onto my eyelids within an hour, and no matter the brand—be it a drugstore find or high-end Dior—my mascara smudges. Do non-shimmering eyeshadows even exist? I feel like a failed attempt at being an extra in a high school musical.
Going makeup-free isn’t a solution either. Some days I opt for the natural look, pulling my hair back in a ponytail, applying a bit of mascara, and giving my cheeks a pinch for color. However, the reflection I see in my car’s rearview mirror shows a tired face that looks well past its prime. The days of looking “fresh and dewy” seem long gone.
The highlight of my day is washing off my makeup at night. My children are indifferent to my appearance, but I anticipate the day my eldest asks to borrow makeup. One evening, as I sat with my daughters reading a story, my youngest reached out and touched my forehead. “Mom, how do you make your skin tell the story with you?”
“It’s simple,” my oldest said, pinching her skin and moving it around.
“But your skin isn’t all squishy like Mom’s,” my youngest pointed out.
Heat crept into my cheeks, and I was ready to steer the conversation elsewhere when my little one continued, “I hope I look like you when I grow up, Mom.”
“Me too,” chimed in my other daughters.
While my skin may be sallow and marked, at least three people in the world see beauty in me just as I am. And honestly, that’s perfectly okay.
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Summary:
The article explores the challenges of aging skin for a 40-year-old mother, highlighting her attempts to educate her daughters about skincare while reflecting on her own struggles with acne and changing beauty standards. Despite the frustrations, she finds solace in her children’s love and admiration, underscoring the importance of self-acceptance.