One morning, as I was stepping out of the shower and getting dressed for work, my right eye began to itch. It was an irritant that interrupted my morning routine and if I didn’t remedy it, it would drive me crazy. A stray hair had found sanctuary in my eye.

I stood in front of the mirror, getting so close that my breath began to fog on the reflective surface. I began to turn this way and that, peering intently at the eyes staring back at me as I searched for the elusive intruder that caused me to tear up involuntarily. Two minutes and one very red and irritated eye later, I stepped back from the mirror and, for the first time in a long while, I looked at myself. I mean I really looked at the inner workings of myself – past the earthy brown epidermis, beyond the soft pink flesh, past the taut muscle and straight into my entire being.

I don’t do that often. Scrutinize myself, I mean. However, on that morning, I felt the universe giving me a tiny nudge and whispering in my ear, “Appreciate yourself.”

The thing about self-appreciation is this: you can’t expect others to appreciate you, to value you, to recognize you, to acknowledge you if you don’t honor yourself in the same way. Why do we, as midlife women, diffuse our light so that others may shine? Why do we diminish ourselves and the myriad of wonderful qualities that we possess in favor of taking on the role of The Invisible Woman?

We’re spoon-fed antiquated notions about who we’re supposed to be and how we’re expected to perform (and I use the word ‘perform’ deliberately; when we’re not living our true selves, we’re merely acting at the behest of others) and we chew on that mess like filthy shards of glass and swallow it whole – straight, no chaser – even as it rips and tears at our very being.

I peered at my reflection that morning and I came to the realization that I was losing a little bit of myself. It wasn’t something that was noticeable to the naked eye, but given the time, space and freedom to grow, sooner or later it would be perceptible to those around me. I would become a stranger to my own self, living and doing in a way that wasn’t true and natural to the woman that I was or the woman that I wanted to be.

I blame the curse of routine. It was a chasm into which I had stumbled and fallen and every day I was sinking deeper and deeper, microinch by microinch. Somewhere along the line I’d flipped the switch to autopilot and was operating in a mechanical sense, doing things without really giving much thought to the process.

Day 1: Get up, get dressed, go to work, come home, eat dinner, go to bed.
Day 17: Get up, get dressed, go to work, come home, eat dinner, go to bed.
Day 38: Get up, get dressed, go to work, come home, eat dinner, go to bed.
Day 65: Get up, get dressed, go to work, come home, eat dinner, go to bed.

In between the monotonous lines, I filled the spaces with my husband, my dog, my podcast, my writing…yet it all felt so beige. So predictable. So creature-of-habit-esque.

Don’t get me wrong; I have a good life. I like my life. Hell, I love my life, and I guess in the grand scheme of things I have little to complain about. But still…there was this thing…that belief that I was allowing life to slowly suck me under. Life was dictating my every move. Somehow, I had to reclaim some semblance of control, to reach out for my power and fill myself up with the energy that makes me feel whole.

And then I realized . . .

It’s the little things, you know? A few kind words from a stranger in an elevator when you’re feeling low. Your manager complimenting you on the wonderful job you’re doing. Your dog giving you a full-on lick on the lips when you weren’t expecting it. Or a husband that simply says, “I love you, baby.”

This is me. I found my way back…and I appreciate myself.

It’s the little things that helped me get back to me. To appreciate not just myself but the ones who filled the tiny cracks of my life with their love, their understanding, their appreciation. I discovered I wasn’t losing myself, I was merely taking a journey on an unplanned path, one that wasn’t going to leave me stranded, alone or afraid. I was simply on a detour that led me back to me.

I never did get that hair out of my eye. Eventually, throughout the day, it worked itself out. Life has a way of doing that, too, don’t you think?