On Beauty and Motherhood
I put on makeup every day for 30 days. I didn’t wear makeup every day before I had my daughter, so I surely didn’t prioritize it after she was born. One day in January, I realized that I liked how I felt when I wore makeup, so I thought I would conduct a little experiment. I wanted to see how it would make me feel to wear it every day for 30 days. Depending on the results, I may consider making a concerted effort to wear it daily.
It was fun for the first week or so, and then I got tired of it. I didn’t always like how my skin felt. I didn’t like the smell of the products I was using. I sort of missed my face. The final of the 30 days happened to fall on Valentine’s Day, which I thought was a wonderful accident, and I carefully applied a bright red lip to really up my game. It was fun, but the next day I went bare-faced with glee.
I can understand why some women take their daily beauty routine quite seriously. For some of us, access to our beauty is closely connected with our joy and our energy. Some women just don’t feel like the day has really started until they take the time to carefully adorn their face with color and shimmer. I can respect that, even if it doesn’t resonate with me. I don’t think it is wrong that women have their passions and practices to access their beauty. Especially mothers.
It is no secret that motherhood is full of sacrifice. There is frequent talk of what is lost: time, sleep, sanity, control, freedom, selfishness. But the element of loss that has struck me most deeply, with most surprise, is the loss of beauty.
Motherhood does not go easy on a woman’s body or her beauty. Once clear skin haunted by hormonal acne. Dark circles under her eyes. She can’t wear her hair down because a baby may spit up in it, or grasp a handful in their tiny but mighty fist; it probably hasn’t been washed lately. What’s left of it, anyway.
Clothing is carefully chosen not for style or for her delight, but for practicality, for motion, for a tiny mouth’s easy access to a breast. The bras are ugly and hardly do the job they’re intended for. Half of the clothes no longer fit, and the ones that do often fall victim to stains by muddy feet or little hands covered in blueberry. One morning a few days ago, I put on a clean sweater, just for a stream of snot to find its way to my shoulder mere minutes later. Most of the jewelry I own remains hidden away from curious hands.
Skin stretched and torn, forever marked. A scar on a belly that was sliced open for her escape. It is not pretty, what has happened here. It seems like a father would be better suited for such battle scars.
I recently read the book, Captivating by John and Stasi Eldredge, for probably the fourth or fifth time. This book focuses on the heart of woman, the way in which women display the person of God, and the deep longings put in us at our creation. Along with the desire to be romanced and a desire to play an irreplaceable role in a story, is the desire to unveil beauty. I’m sure there are many women for whom this narrative does not resonate, but it does for me. My desire to unveil beauty, both inward and outward, is a yearning so deep, that I can’t really imagine my life without it. I’ve read this book many times, this being the first time since becoming a mother. The words in the book still rang true to me, devastatingly so. Yet there was now this new question: why would God create women with a deep desire to display beauty and make them the carers of babies, which seems to remove our beauty so far from us? To be the bearers of both children and beauty seems almost cruel.
Inner beauty may seem like a simple answer for this dilemma I’m presenting. We could ignore completely any desire for outward beauty and believe only in our inward beauty, the beauty of our strength, our sacrifice, our gentleness, our love. These are surely important, and cultivating this kind of beauty is important to me. But I don’t think that we can just brush off a woman’s desire to look and feel beautiful. I don’t think that this desire is wrong or bad or shallow. God values the display of beauty— of this, I am sure. It only makes sense that we would value it too.
If I have learned anything about design, it’s that designers are intentional. It is not a coincidence that mothers are bringers of both life and beauty. A woman’s design was not an accident; there has to be a reason for this, even if these missions seem incompatible. Anyway, God does not seem to be afraid of what we may call contradiction. I don’t know why this struggle exists for mothers. But I am sure there is a reason for it. And I intend to explore it.
I am consistently dazzled by how women find ways to display their beauty, even when mothering makes it difficult. They fasten their long hair in brass clips, out of the way of tiny hands. They buy flowing pants that sway whistfully, with stretching waistbands that can accommodate growing and shrinking bellies. They learn to put on their makeup in less than five minutes, with one hand, while the other wrangles a toddler or cradles a baby. Mothers figure it out. What’s that saying? A mother is a necessity for invention? Something like that. Beauty finds a way.
And then there’s her. Scout Elizabeth, my wild girl, her face caked in dirt and snot, is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen. She shakes everything I believe about what is beautiful and important and worthy of my time. I believe that every ounce of beauty that I have to offer, both inward and outward, benefits her. She has a beautiful mother for a reason.
This morning, after finishing a snack of peanut butter crackers, Scout walked over to where I was lying on the couch, took my face in her messy hands and planted a sloppy, open-mouthed kiss on my lips. These kisses, these treasures, I will never refuse. I know there will be a day when I’ll be able to wear a crisp white shirt around my daughter, with no fear of stains by grubby fingers. The day will come. And there will be no more peanut butter kisses. I won’t wish it come any sooner. That is beautiful, I think.
