Political statement one beauty product at a time

How suspicious I’ve become of a plastic bottle of goo

Two years ago I was decisive – in and out of a store in minutes. Now, I squint at the tiny font, comparing ingredients lists to lists of toxic chemicals to avoid. Sheesh, I can’t pronounce most of the chemicals offered to make my hair shine and my skin not.

I give up on all of it. The beauty industry is going to have to earn its gazillions without me. My bare, chemical-additive-free face may not be photogenic, but I’m going au naturale into the world. Since I wrote this, more evidence has come to light that it’s healthier. Here’s my list of unenhanced body bits:

I’m now a chemical free zone where possible

Hands, smooth and red tipped – not.

The feeling’s back in my fingers after the side effect of peripheral neuropathy, dried hands and bruised nails. My hands may be plain, but they’re useful and getting stronger.

Hair, long and blonde tipped – not.

Yes, I was a natural dark blonde. My hair returned dry and steel-gray but it returned. My bald head got cold in winter and wool hats are itchy on bare scalp.

Lips, plump and soft – not

When I could barely eat or speak, I didn’t care about cracked dry lips. Now, it’s lovely to smile, kiss and laugh again, which are the best uses for lips, whatever their condition.

Breasts, perky and tipped up – not.

Scars from armpit to sternum to armpit are an improvement over constant testing and medical investigation of various lumps. I can pass the scars off as tattoos – very Goth.

Age, young and tarted up – not.

Before cancer took its toll, my daughter and I passed as sisters. I cruelly giggled when my older sister was asked if I was her daughter. Now, I look my age ++. I’ll settle for aging over decomposing.

Changes happen

I’ve listed the visible change; the invisible places need healing too. It isn’t always easy to strip off the makeup and pretense, to walk around as a naked authentic soul for people to see, scars and all. This is the real person I am, unembellished with nothing to hide behind. Scary? Yup. Until I behave like I’m happy to be here. Then no one notices how I look.

Share your thoughts, knowing this website stores submitted information although Deborah Sword doesn't access or use it for marketing, nor sell it to anyone who does.

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

w

Connecting to %s