Yes, I’m getting old, but I was born to break

Yes, getting old sucks, but some of us were born to break, and I am one of those people. I have a doctor’s note. Even in your 40’s, with a body that is in better shape (and way more active) than some people in their 20’s, bone breaking has nothing to do with age.

Disclosure: Pissy pants post prompted by some haters in my life, most that shouldn’t even matter, but I feel I need to get this off my “old” chest.

We all hate getting old, but let me dispel the rumor. I’m not falling apart because I’m getting “old”. I have a doctor’s note. I’m falling apart, and breaking, because I was born this way, and the breaking started some time around birth, apparently.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not fooling myself. I am getting old, but I’m not broken because of that fact. I’m broken in spite of it since I’ve always been “broken”.

I posted the other day about my “new normal” and I got some flack on Facebook. I heard that I’m just “getting old” and “these things happen”. Honestly, I was offended. I wasn’t offended that people said I was “getting old”. I am getting old. I was offended because people made the assumption, and overly judgmental statements, that my condition, my current broken situation, was solely based on the fact that I’m “old”.

Apparently, according to my doctor’s note, I was born broken. I guess I was born old? My bones, my tiny body, are not strong. I have a condition, that I was born with, when I was young.

There’s no name for this “condition” that they can put their finger on yet, but basically, I was born to break. Someone should have noticed years ago, apparently. I was born large, with Erb’s Palsy (because I was a huge baby…HUGE…1o lbs 11.5 oz). I’ve been ridiculously bow legged my whole life. I broke my baby toes while I cheered (or walked into wall jams) so many times that my baby toes now bend completely to the side of my feet with a ridiculousness that’s nothing short of a party trick. I have scoliosis (diagnosed at the “old” age of 12), a muscle disorder in my back (that they found when I was ridiculously old at 18). Broken, since birth.

I demolished my left elbow at the ripe “old” age of 35, it broke like a twig in several places, and I hit menopause at 41, just 4 months after the birth of my son. Let it be noted that I’ve had 4 children, now ages 26 to 7, without any hormone therapy, because “old” people do that. Yes, I might sound snippy here, but I’m tired of the insinuations and I’m ready to set things straight because my new “old” normal has been my normal my whole life, and I never knew it.

My normal is the reason why I never grew “like a regular person” apparently. My normal is why I break. My normal is why I don’t “heal” like everyone else. In fact, my “normal” is why my body actually heals quicker than most.

My body is what my orthopedist and my therapists now call “Mighty Mouse Syndrome”. No, that’s not an official medical term. That’s their term. They can’t explain it. In just 24 hours after my second surgery, while my arm was completely numb, a full block, my elbow healed itself to non-motion before I could get motion back again. Yes, in 24 hours, my body healed itself, protected itself from more pain, at a rate that most bodies, at a young age, would heal in 2-4 weeks. That’s what “old” bodies do, or not.

I have a disorder. I’m not your kind of  “old”. So, before you say my issues are because I’m “old” and I should deal with it because I’m “old” like you, maybe you should try to read, research, and understand, before you make your rash old judgements. You know who you are and thankfully I have WAY more supporters than I do haters, so there’s definitely that!

I am getting old. We all are, in fact. But my body, my 95 pound fit body, is still fighting harder than a 20 year old. My arms might be broken, but it has nothing to do with my age. Proof positive, there are millions of 40+ year olds walking around without broken elbows, all day, every day. Go figure. But not me. I was born this way. I’m an abomination of nature. Yay, me.

I can deal with getting “old”. I can’t deal with uneducated people telling me that I’m broken because I’m old. I can’t deal with uneducated people telling me that I’m not healing because I’m getting old. Take the time to read. Do your research. I’m not “healing” because my “old” body is healing too quickly. It’s fighting my condition. It’s protecting me from pain and further injury.

Thanks for your “advice”. When you get a medical degree, when you understand what’s wrong with me, I’ll be happy to listen to you because I really hope you can fix this “old” body of mine. In the meantime, I’d appreciate if you’d STFU because you have no idea how it feels to hear real professionals tell you that you were born to break.

You might be falling apart because you’re getting old and you don’t work out regularly and take care of yourself. I’m not taking that road. I’m really not that “old”. I was just born broken. I’m dealing with my new normal, my life-long normal that I never knew about. What’s your excuse?

Keep your issues to yourself and don’t read my rants if you want to judge. For real, I don’t need that shit in my life right now. I’m dealing with real issues. Just grow “old” and shut up. Thank you in advance!

#endrant

What’s in Your Anti-Aging Arsenal?

For the record, I received product from Valentia Skin Care to facilitate this review. All opinions are entirely my own based on my personal experience with this product.

anti-aging products. Valentia  Even Glow Serum, anti-aging, aging with grace, beauty products

Let me just put this out there, I spend a lot of money on my face. A LOT. In an attempt to maintain a youthful appearance, I literally have an arsenal of products that I use daily or weekly. The island climate can be rough on my skin so I have to work extra diligently to defy the signs of aging. Recently, I’ve added Valentia Even Glow Serum to my arsenal which already consists of wrinkle creams, anti-aging concealer, sunblock, teeth whiteners, lengthening mascaras, lip plumpers, and many more products. If I have all of that other stuff, why would I need more, right? Well, honestly, you can never have enough stuff, and I’ve found that no one product works on everything that I need to address.

Valentia, Even Glow Serum, anti-aging, aging with grace, fabulous and 40, beauty products

The Valencia Even Glow Serum is strategically formulated with powerful natural ingredients to support and enhance Vitamin C efficacy. This antioxidant treatment serves to brighten, protect, and even skin tone to reduce the appearance of aging. It helps to increase your skin’s glow and radiance, absorbs quickly, boosts collagen production, and reduces fine lines and wrinkles. Please take note that I said FINE lines and wrinkles. If you need to take care of deep wrinkles, might I suggest shots in your face? But that’s another topic.

I’ve been using this product daily for about 2 weeks now, and I’ve noticed a difference. My skin is definitely softer and has a softer appearance. Although uneven skin tone has never been a huge issue for me, it has helped with the little bit of an issue that I have there. I’ve also seen a decease in the fine lines around my mouth and cheeks (dang it, I need to stop smiling so much). It’s simple to use. Just wash your face, apply a small amount to face and neck, allow to dry, then apply your favorite moisturizer. You’re done.

The product retails for $35 and it seems like this one bottle will last me FOR-EVER. It’s available on Amazon and totally worth the investment in my opinion. Especially considering all of the other money I dump in my face. This is a great deal!

Valentia Even Glow Serum, beauty products, anti-aging products

Do I look 20? Of course not, silly. I’m more than twice that. Does anyone ever guess my real age? Nope, and I’ll take that. I can still hang with my 30-something husband and feel comfortable that people don’t realize we’re ten years apart. That’s a tall order and Valentia Skin Care is helping me with my mission. So what are you waiting for? Want to look younger too? Then click on over to Amazon and place your order today! Plus, you’re welcome.

Daddies, don’t tell your daughter she’s pretty. Period.

Growing up, my dad always introduced me as the pretty one. Period.

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The Thompsons 1970 – L to R: Christy, Vicki, Cathy, Elsie (mom), and Ron (dad)

My sisters were pretty, but they had other attributes he chose to point out when introducing them to friends and business colleagues.

Meet my oldest daughter, Cathy. She’s so sharp. She’ll be an architect, an accountant, or a lawyer some day.

Meet Vicki, my middle daughter. She’s a natural born leader and very intelligent. She’ll be a teacher and make a difference in this world when she grows up.

Meet Christy, my baby, she’s so pretty. Period.

That’s all I ever got. Pretty. Period. It stuck with me my whole life and that label, that concept, has probably, in some way, been transferred into the minds of my own girls. Period.

Pal-Mac Varsity Football Cheerleaders - Look Ma, I'm up top - no hands - aren't I pretty?

Pal-Mac Varsity Football Cheerleaders – Look Ma, I’m up top – no hands – aren’t I pretty?

My whole life, I’ve been consumed with “pretty”. I was afforded all of my opportunities because I was pretty. Period. There could be no other answer. In high school, I made the cheerleading squad. I was captain in fact. It was obviously because I was pretty. Period.

I got good grades in high school and college. I’m sure it was because I was pretty. Period. Pretty people always get everything handed to them. Period.

Milliken Associate of the Year 1996.jpg

In my 20s, I got jobs, when there were countless applicants, because I was pretty. I wasn’t the smart one. I certainly wasn’t cut out to change the world. I was just pretty. Period. And people admired that and they gave me all of the opportunities I was afforded because of that. Period.

Surely, I never got anything based on my merits. I couldn’t. I was pretty. Period.

I’m pretty, I’m thin, I’m nice, and GOSH DARN IT…people like me. That’s my life’s platform. I’m afraid that’s what I instilled in my girls. Because…pretty. Period. That thin thing often brings up talk of  Body Dysmorphic Disorder amongst my pretty (not-so-period) friends. I’m taken aback, but I get it. 

My oldest daughter is thin as a rail, and she’s pretty. My second daughter is struggling with her weight since the birth of her daughter, but by God, she’s pretty. My 7-year-old daughter is basically a stick, but she talks about the fat content in her food despite my constant insistence that she allows me to “worry” about her health while she just enjoys her youth. It’s not pretty. Period.

my babies

You see, I don’t want her, or any of them, to worry or stress like I did. My dad, my high school boyfriend (4 long years), and my 1st husband (10 long years) reminded me how important it was that I was thin and pretty. Period. That lead me to years of binging and purging, anorexia and bulimia, that not many people know about. But I was pretty! Period.

It’s a life-long lineage that stemmed from the fact that my dad said I was pretty. Period. Constantly.

As I look back on my life now, at all of my accomplishments, at all of the jobs I’ve secured, at the financially-secure place I am at now, I realize that it wasn’t “pretty” that got me here. Period. Sure, I might have gotten my foot in the door when I was 20 because I was “prettier” than another candidate, but it wasn’t because I was pretty. Period. I got those jobs, those opportunities, because I was pretty intelligent, pretty charming, pretty entertaining, pretty convincing, pretty funny, and pretty damned amazing. Period.

I’m 47 now and “pretty” doesn’t get me far in life anymore. I get me far in life. I always have. Period. The inside of me is so much more powerful than “pretty” and that’s what I want to pass on to my daughters. Even though I’m sagging, my abs will never be what they once were, I’m still pretty. Period.

So, a message to my dad, and to all of the dads (and moms) out there, please don’t just continue to tell your daughters they’re pretty. Period. Don’t ever end pretty with that period. Instead, say, hey baby, you’re pretty amazing. You’re pretty intelligent. You’re a pretty good reader. You’re pretty intuitive. You’re a pretty great family member, friend, and an all around great person. In fact, you’re pretty good at EVERYTHING you do. Period.

Serve your daughters well. We struggle with pretty enough. Please don’t make us think that is the be all and end all of life. We won’t stay pretty, young, and thin forever. We just can’t. Period.

And I’ve finally accepted, despite what I’ve heard my whole life, that I’m pretty freaking amazing. Not just pretty. Period.