When Did We Learn Our Worth Lived in Our Appearance?

Nobody is born afraid of wrinkles. Nobody comes into the world believing that stretch marks are something to apologise for, or that a softer stomach makes them less worthy of love. This is something we learn.

Sometimes it's a comment from a parent who doesn't realise the weight of their words. Sometimes it's growing up hearing your mum criticise her own body every time she catches her reflection. Or it might be the magazine covers, the films, the adverts, or the endless parade of women whose value seems to rise and fall with how closely they resemble an impossible ideal.

And sometimes, it's much more personal. Sometimes, the only compliment a girl ever really remembers receiving is that she's pretty. At first, it feels harmless. Who doesn't like being told they're beautiful?

But if beauty becomes the thing you're noticed for, praised for, rewarded for, it starts to become something else. It stops being something you have and starts becoming who you are.

Without even realising it, you begin protecting it. You learn that looking desirable earns approval. That ageing is something to fight. That gaining weight is something to apologise for. That every new line on your face needs correcting before anyone else notices it.

Not because you're vain. Because somewhere along the way, your nervous system learned that looking a certain way meant belonging. That's a very different thing.

When women tell me they're worried about looking older, I don’t think they're really talking about ageing. I think they're talking about becoming invisible.

Because our culture doesn't just celebrate youth. It often treats it as though it's a woman's greatest asset. We hear words like "anti-ageing" so often we barely notice them anymore, as though growing older is somehow the enemy. As though the most natural thing our bodies will ever do is also something we're expected to resist.

It's exhausting. And for so many women, it's become so normal that they don't even question it. Instead, they question themselves.

Maybe if I lose a bit more weight...

Maybe if I try that treatment...

Maybe if I finally get rid of these lines...

Maybe then I'll feel better.

Sometimes they do. Sometimes they don't. Because the thing they're trying to fix was never really their face.

This is where shadow work becomes so interesting. The shadow isn't caring about your appearance. There's nothing wrong with enjoying clothes, skincare, make-up, or wanting to feel beautiful. There's nothing inherently wrong with cosmetic treatments either. Those choices are deeply personal, and they're not for anyone else to judge.

The more interesting question is this, what do I believe would happen if I stopped trying?

If I let my hair go grey.

If I looked my age.

If I gained weight.

If I stopped chasing the version of myself I had twenty years ago.

What story immediately comes up? Because that's usually where the shadow lives.

Not in the wrinkles, in the belief underneath them.

Maybe it's...

‘People won't find me attractive anymore.’

‘I'll become invisible.’

‘Nobody will choose me.’

‘I've lost the best part of myself.’

Those beliefs didn't appear overnight, they were learned. Which means they can also be questioned.

One of the most powerful acts of sovereignty isn't deciding whether to colour your hair or have Botox. It's deciding that neither choice gets to determine your worth.

It's looking in the mirror and noticing the voice that says, ‘You're looking old.’

Then asking gently, who taught me that looking older meant becoming less valuable?

That's a very different conversation. Because maybe the goal isn't to love every wrinkle overnight. Maybe the goal is just to realise that your reflection has been carrying stories that don't belong to you. Stories that have been handed down through generations of women who were also taught that their value lived in their appearance.

You don't have to keep carrying them. You can thank them for helping you survive in a world that often judged women by how pleasing they were to look at.

And then, little by little, you can choose something else. You can choose to measure yourself by your kindness. Your creativity. Your wisdom. The way people feel safe around you. The life you've lived. The courage it took to become yourself.

Because none of those things disappear when your face changes. If anything, they deepen.

I think that's what ageing is really asking of us. Not to become less beautiful, but to stop confusing beauty with worth.