127 days ago, I stared at that button for 20 minutes.
"Whatever doesn't work, I'm the only one who falls for it again. I can't survive another disappointment.
I'd spent $14,000. My skin hadn't looked awake in years. My dermatologist had brought up laser resurfacing at every appointment for two years."
But I also thought: I can't keep going like this.
So I clicked. Hands shaking. Distinctly certain I was making a mistake.
Day 7, I skipped my moisturizer by accident and my skin was still soft in the morning — for the first time in years. I didn't know what to do with that. I kept waiting for the tightness to come back.
Week six. Caught my reflection in a shop window in the afternoon light — the hour my skin always looked its most gray and drained. And it didn't. It looked lit up. I stood there for thirty seconds just… looking. Texted my daughter: "I just caught myself in a window and didn't flinch." She knew exactly what that meant.
Twelve weeks. A woman at the market asked if my daughter and I were sisters. My daughter looked at me. I looked at her. Neither of us corrected the woman. I'm 60. She's 38.
It's the small things that get me. Not dreading the mirror. Not calculating what new product to try next. Not fighting three separate problems that were always one problem.
I don't know where you are right now. Maybe the same tunnel I was in. Maybe you're thinking "she got lucky, but it won't work for me."
I thought that too.
127 days ago I clicked that button. Today I look in the mirror and see a face I'd forgotten I could have.
Whatever you decide, I'm waiting for you.
— Margaret