When the post break up glow up comes calling
The dark side of plastic surgery nobody talks about
Hello you
I had some lovely comments about a recent outfit of the day video I shared on Instagram recently. They were different to the usual ‘love this skirt’ kind. They referred to the way I’d pushed my hair back over my shoulders and away from my face.
I used to wear my hair up a lot, in a bun on the top of my head. This was true in private life and in photos or vlogs I’d post on social media. It was an easy practical style I thought suited me and I liked the upswept look I thought it gave, plus a little extra height.
Then something changed.
When I went for a consultation about my nose surgery I wasn’t in a good place mentally. I was perhaps at my most vulnerable. My marriage had recently ended. I was also coming out the other side of malignant narcissistic abuse where my looks had been used to control and manipulate me through a push pull method of praise and critique. If this state had a smell it would be that of ash. The fire was out but embers still burned and I was left amongst the rubble, lost - not knowing which way to turn.
One thing I knew for sure, was that I wasn’t going to lay down and wither. Not me. I had hope in my heart, was hungry to heal and rise. The pain I’d suffered was begging to be be channeled into taking action and building a new life. Reinvent. Reinvigorate. When we no longer have a romantic partner to love, when we no longer feel responsible for someone else’s happiness we have an abundance of unspent energy to shine on ourselves. This is how we get over someone. This is how we ‘glow up’.
Over my dead body was I about to become poor 30 something unloved Jess. What I wouldn’t realise until later, was the power of this determination needed to be handled carefully because of the distortion that comes with a mental breakdown as well as the pain and anger that lies underneath.
During my consultation, after the nose chat was over, out of curiosity I asked the surgeon what else he’d suggest. I’d been researching a lot about conventional beauty at the time and looking at celebrities online, something I never used to do. I’d found my surgeon via Cosmopolitan magazine. He was recommended as the guy to go to for a nose job and resided on Harley Street so I thought I was in good hands. Studying my face with no emotion, he pulled out his marker pen and began to draw. I felt butchered. He seemed confident he was doing his job, which he was. I’d asked the question.
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