Finding Comfort in Comfort: A Journey from High Heels to Spanx to Muumuus

It's time to embrace the ease in living.

Author with daughters wearing her favorite shapeless dress and kicks!

Ah, the folly of youth. When I was young, I labored under the illusion that time would forever be on my side and that my reflection held the key to my happiness.

I used to adorn myself like a Picasso, painting my face, sculpting my hair with hot rollers and curling irons, and meticulously assembling the perfect outfit—including jewelry, nails, and accessories. 

I was a bit self-absorbed—okay, maybe a lot. Yet, beneath the layers of mascara and hairspray lurked a shy and insecure soul—an introverted bookworm terrified to be seen for who I was. I didn't think I was enough, so pursuing perfection consumed me.

When motherhood came, priorities shifted.

Suddenly, I had to compromise my vanity. It was a good day if I got out of the house free of spit-up stains, and my concealer actually worked to erase dark circles, the signature of sleepless nights spent tending to little ones. Still, I refused to surrender to the chaos of parenthood, clinging to my beauty goals like a lifeline, even if I couldn't meet them.

As the years passed and my children grew, I found myself at a crossroads. Now, I had time and money, but the wrinkles, the sagging skin, the stubborn belly rolls—they mocked me and my futile efforts to deny the fact that I was getting older. After all, I was a career woman and needed to keep up the farce of perpetual youth. 

And so, I waged war against the inevitable, investing countless hours and dollars in a battle against aging. Hating my hooded eyes, I had eyelid surgery a few months before my second marriage. I didn't like myself for contributing to the $55 billion plastic surgery industry and for being that vain.

But I was, and the boat was sinking faster than I could patch the holes. What was next? My Spanx wasn't doing its job. Tummy tuck or boob lift? Both? 

But then, a revelation. 

I'd been excited to read Sheryl Sandberg's "Lean In." I liked her message so much that I gave copies to several women I knew. However, my view of the book dimmed when I heard one of Ali Wong's comedic truth bombs. 

Like a beacon in the night, her words spoke to my exhaustion—a weariness born from the relentless pursuit of perfection in how I appeared to the outside world.

Ali Wong was younger than me, and she, too, felt the smothering weight of being a woman. Yes, Ali, I want to lie down, too.

Ali's joke planted a seed that took a while to grow roots. Finally, I decided I was allowed to rest.

In 2019, at 56, I let my hair grow into its natural color--white. Full disclosure: I was working as a yoga teacher when I made this decision, not at a corporate job, and it felt safe to take this step.

I haven't had any more invasive cosmetic procedures on my face or body.

If you're reading this and considering fillers or a facelift, my message is not to sway you or make you feel bad about it. I get it and applaud the "your body, your choice" movement. But please help me let go of the expectation to look a certain way.

And so, at sixty-one years young, I stand the most liberated I've been thus far from the shackles of vanity. Gone are the days of torturous heels and constricting waistbands, replaced by the sweet embrace of comfort. There is no joy to be found in shoes that pinch and pants that bind.

Instead, I embrace the ease of comfy clothes that are simple, effortless, and freeing. 

Sweats or muumuu? Birkenstock or Sketchers? I revel in the freedom and privilege of dressing as I please. 

So, to my fellow weary souls, I offer this simple truth: comfort is the ultimate luxury, and true beauty lies not in the reflection staring back but in the ease with which we move through the world. 

So slip into those sneakers, my friends, and let's stride boldly into the future, one comfort foam step at a time.