Beauty Tips For Body Care
When I turned 14, I started getting the tiniest clogged pores on my nose. One day, when looking for feminine pads in the bathroom drawers, I found my mom's old foundation stick from her wedding 15 year before. It was expired and at least 4 shades too dark for my skin. And the most I plastered my nose with this makeup, the more bumpy it got, and the more makeup I needed, causing a vicious cycle.But I had to be very secretive with my makeup usage. My mom was very much "people don't need makeup if they're naturally beautiful" or "too much makeup looks trashy." I was a good girl, and I didn't want to come across as unconfident or slutty, especially to my family.One fateful day, after grocery shopping, my mom studied my face in the bright sunlight. "Are you wearing makeup?" she asked. I pretended to not hear. She then grabbed a white tissue and vigorously rubbed my face raw. The tissue came back streaked with beige. I cried on the drive home. Once we arrived back in the house, my mother dumped all of the makeup in our trash bin outside.But I hated my skin even more than ever, and I couldn't leave the house without at least some coverup, some sort or powder or foundation. So as a middle schooler, I would sneak out of school during lunch to buy concealer, even though I never had anyone teach me how to put it on the right way or pick the correct shade.When my makeup was discovered, or when I lost or ran out of it, I started resorting to stealing makeup, whether from stores or from relatives' homes. I felt bad about stealing full bottles, so I would carry small bottles with me, and pour small amounts of others' makeup into my own bottles to keep. I always kept my eyes peeled for makeup, at school, on the sidewalk, or even in public restrooms.In my homeroom, someone left their concealer stick out on the table. When it was still there the next day, I stuffed it into the bottom of my backpack.My mother would blot my nose after school with a white tissue to make sure I wasn't wearing powder, and she would scour my drawers for makeup. I hid my makeup under stones in the backyard, under my pillow, and in obscure places around my house. On vacation, I would hide my concealer in places like Icebreakers containers, or in the elastic of my pants. My mom soon discovered these different tricks of mine, so as a last resort, I was often bottling my concealer in tubes, and stuffing them up my vagina, then taking them out, washing the tube to use the product inside.One day, we were in an airport when coming home from vacation. I was carrying my concealer tube using the aforementioned method and wearing a loose skirt, and without warning, the concealer tube fell out. Nothing could ever compare to the anxiety I felt in that moment. I tried to keep my legs together, but my mom noticed, and the concealer fell to the ground. After much screaming, my mom insisted that I empty out every single one of my purses, my drawers, my backpacks, my school lockers, my bed, etc. She collected the remaining makeup and hid it away from me. I was kicked out of the house for the evening and slept outside that night.At this point, without my makeup and due to worsening anxiety, I couldn't leave the house. I was left housebound due to my body image issues and feelings of disfigurement. After numerous crying spells, depression episodes, and a warning from the school due to low attendance, we scheduled a visit to the doctor. We were then referred to a family therapist who diagnosed me with body dysmorphic disorder and obsessive compulsive disorder. It turns out that my skin was practically perfect (aside from a few clogged pores and the occasional spot), but my mind tricked itself into seeing my reflection as deformed.My coping mechanism was to not give a shit about my appearance. I didn't comb my hair, didn't wear makeup, rarely washed my hair, started to alternate between binge eating or starving myself, and wore baggy t-shirts that hid my body. My weight changed so drastically that I needed an EKG (I'm 5 foot 3: from 115 pounds to 120 pounds to 131 pounds to 110 pounds to 92 pounds) and I ate crap (candy, ice cream, etc.). I purposely became the least attractive as I could, while at the same time feeling disfigured and praying for a miracle. It was only with mindfulness, cognitive behavioral therapy, exercise, healthier eating, and medicine that I felt a bit better.So now, as an 18 year old, I'm better, but I still have a really complex relationship with my face, my body, and with makeup. I'm scared of looking like a clown, but at the same time, I love editorial, colorful looks. I always feel like it's a bit of a taboo when I put on even some mascara, and I always tell myself that I'll try out this or that makeup look the day I look prettier. If I have a child, I want to let her (or him) know the basics of makeup and not think it's taboo, but at the same time not feel that it is necessary in order to be presentable to the world.Luckily, my mother is now okay with me wearing makeup, and she even enjoys wearing makeup herself now. I think she realized that her efforts to make me realize my natural beauty, however well-intentioned, were counterproductive, but I haven't discussed these past events with her because I find them quite traumatic.And as for me? I'm learning to both accept my bare face and my face with makeup, which is difficult when you've taught yourself to hate both versions of your appearance for your entire life.
Girls Blog 2015
Submitted by modudupup
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