Have you ever noticed that when we are at our heaviest, we tend to devote a lot of time to hair and makeup, not to mention, nails?  This is not a bad thing, at all! We should certainly do whatever makes us feel great about ourselves, but I think that many times we're confused about what makes us feel good, and we might even be a bit off in our perception of what makes us look good. You see, I think women use hair and makeup as a protective device, almost like a suit of armor. Why do we work so hard to hide behind a façade? Well, to each her own, but something happened to me ages and ages ago that has stayed with me, and when I see women all made up with hair sprayed high, I recall a time when I, too, used to hide behind a mask and hair. Please understand that what follows is not meant to render judgment on anyone! Please also try to remain open to the possibility that what I'm about to share might cause you to rethink your relationship with cosmetics and other things that effectively disguise your true beauty.

My new readers might wonder why I am writing today about makeup in what is supposed to be a weight loss forum. My veteran readers would laugh and say, "Berta has a very different take on most topics, and we're about to hear what she thinks about this one!" And you are!

Allow me to share a short introduction to my tale. About a year before my story begins, I was working as an assistant to a man who was dating a beautiful young woman, striking in her features, her skin, and her hair! So perfect that she drew stares from men and women alike when she entered a room.  One day, needing a file my boss had at home, I drove over to retrieve it without calling ahead. I waited for what seemed like a very long time before anyone acknowledged the bell, but finally, I heard Theresa's voice asking what it was that I wanted. I said that I had to pick up some paperwork and would be in and out in a second.  It was clear to me that she had no intention of opening the door, so I reiterated my promise that I would only take a moment of their time. I don't know what made her ultimately open the door, but when she did, I was astounded to see her framed in the doorway with a towel wrapped around her face. I quickly ascertained that she was not in the midst of a deep cleansing facial; no, this perfectly gorgeous woman refused to let me see her face without her makeup!

I was astonished. Didn't she realize that she was a natural beauty? Didn't she see that she was better looking, without makeup, than 99 per cent of the population? At that moment, I hoped I would never become caught up in the idea that my face was the only part of me that the world could see and that my value as a person was determined by the appearance of my face. As young as I was, I realized how sad it was that this woman thought that her perfect porcelain complexion was all she had to offer and that without the makeup to...cover it?...enhance it?...she had to hide it from me with a towel. That is my definition of tragedy.

Back to my story.  Close to 30 years ago, I was young, overweight, starving and working out so much that it was amazing that I had the strength to do half of what I did.  My weight was coming down, but I was far from happy, and I could not stand to look at myself in the mirror.  I was working in a racquetball club at the time, and a lot of people saw me on a daily basis.  Big hair was in style back in the 80s, and with all that I have on my head, I could do big hair with the best of them! I loved doing it; not so much because I could, but because it covered up so much of my very round face.  So, my hair went up high and I worked in some semblance of bangs that I always pulled down over my face.  I finished off the disguise with my daily makeup regimen: the whole nine yards with lots of cover-up, lip liner and stick, and tons of eye makeup with some seriously heavy liner to distract the onlooker. To complete the image, my nails were always perfectly manicured and designed.  I was something!

One day, I was working the circuit training rounds when, finishing my leg curls, I looked down at the bench and was appalled by a greasy, six-inch flesh-colored smudge, with lovely undertones of darker red. Was that my face on the bench?  Did this always happen without my realizing it?  I was mortified, and I quickly grabbed a towel and wiped the greasy mess from the bench, ugh!  I felt very embarrassed for myself and was sure that nobody had ever experienced anything like this. Granted, it wasn't the end of the world, but I was startled to think that all of that gunk on the bench had been plastered over my face. Did I really wear that much makeup? And, oh no! My face must show that it's missing what was left on the bench! I ran to the upstairs bathrooms and took a look. Yep...big white area.  Immediately, I panicked. How was I going to repair the damage and cover up all that naked skin before anyone saw my raw, naked face? The very idea scared me to death.

I never showered at the club, but this was an emergency! I jumped in the shower and figured that I would just reapply everything right there in that bathroom and hope nobody would see me. When I came out, I ran to the mirror wrapped in a towel, hair piled on top of my head ready to start the paint job. As luck would have it, in walked Jenny. "Hey, how are you?" I said. Jenny looked at me as if she had no recollection of having met the person in the towel.  She gave me a puzzled little smile and was starting to walk away when I said, "Hey, Jenny, what's wrong?" She looked at me again, and I said, "Berta?" Jenny did a compete double take! Here was girl who I spoke with every day of the year, and she did not recognize me without makeup.

I turned back to the mirror and made the decision. That was it; I was done, finished with hiding behind my makeup. I decided, right there and then (which is the only way anything is ever truly changed) that I would use half the eye makeup, lighter lipstick, and I would forgo the foundation that was truly the foundation of my mask.  From now on they would see my face, my real face, and I would have to brave the showing of it. This incident was a first huge step toward self-acceptance. I was overweight, my hair was bigger than big, and my skin was not great. My nails, however, were awesome!

The next morning I went to work and it began.  "What's wrong?" asked one.

"Are you sick?"  asked another.

"You look really tired," said the next well wisher.

Indeed, all day I took in the judgments.  Depending on who felt the need to comment, I looked pale, older, younger, heavier, thinner, you name it. What they didn't realize, in their earnest need to label my new look, was that I simply did not look as good as I looked with the makeup.  With each passing comment, I wanted to shout, "If my face offends you, look somewhere else! This is my face! And I won't hide it any more." However, for the rest of the day, I just took it, and eventually they had nothing more to offer.  As the days wore on, other people got used to my real face, and I got used to my face.  I was happy that when I went to sleep at night I knew who would be looking at me in the morning: good, bad or indifferent, it was me.

It might sound trite, but that was the beginning of becoming myself, the start of owning who I was and what I looked like.  None of us are perfect, and we are, in fact, more alike than we think.  We have the same fears, phobias and self-doubt as the next person, regardless of what we think about their looks.  We are so afraid of the judgment of others that we forget that we actually judge ourselves more harshly than anyone else ever would.  I had accustomed myself to hiding what I thought was a horribly plain, unattractive, puffy face. What I hadn't yet accepted was that it was my face, and if I could not accept it, then how could I assume anyone else would? It was the beginning of showing my deep secrets to the world. I stopped hiding things to avoid the disapproval of others. Interestingly, when I put it out there for all to see and judge, I learned that it was hardest to show my secrets to myself. 

Do you know that in the end nobody else really cared-except that they were glad someone was out there showing it all! It made their secrets seem less dark, and it made them feel better about themselves.  We all have the same fears, but how can we know this if everyone is hiding something?  When you hide behind your heavy body, or your made up face, or your big hair, long nails, and baggy clothes, you still fear the judgment of others, so why not just show who you are? Show yourself raw and naked, your face to the sun. Shout out, "Here I am, and I'm proud to be here. This is who I am, and I'm not perfect; I'm perfectly imperfect!"

Just show yourself!