I felt people would judge me for getting Botox. Then I realized I was judging myself

I was fabrication plump for on a medical tabularize, my human face cleansed with tiny antiseptic wipes. As the decorative injector, Alex, prepped my crow’s feet to be tightened with the tiny needles that never hurt as much as I expected, we got to talking. 

Mostly about the nature of things here in our community. Specifically, all the secrecy behind Botox. 

“Moose hunting season is our busiest time of the year,” she said. 

In Owen Sound, fish tents and moose and deer hunting are the seasons by which we measure our lives. It's a place where I run into friends at the grocery store while wearing sweatpants and we all pretend to be caught out by our casual wear when really this is our only wear. 

“God, I’m looking old,” we've said to each other. 

“I’ve stopped caring about my face completely,” is another good conversation opener over a charcuterie board.

These are both lies. There are a bunch of us getting Botox. We just don’t want anyone — including our partners who are off hunting — to know.

I am not the type of person who looks like I have got Botox done. I still have laugh lines, crow’s feet and a droopy chin — just scaled back a little. Sometimes when I confess that I’ve got Botox to friends they look disappointed and say, “Oh, I guess the hype is not worth it.” 

Botox is the coat of many colours, and my colours happen to be subtle pastels. 

I decided to try it out after I became a mom. I felt like I had lost 25 years of my own face with the late nights, the worries and the bone-deep exhaustion of motherhood. 

Alex and I have devised a great plan in which I still look like the 53-year-old I am right now. I might not have got those years back with Botox, but at least I don’t feel like I'm looking at a stranger in the mirror anymore. I still recognize myself as an aging version of the girl I’ve always been. 

I tell Alex my budget and she does what she can within that limit.  

Then I go home and say nothing to my partner because the first time I told him I got Botox, he was depressed for three days. I think he was worried my face would be weird all of the sudden — like when Heath Ledger played the Joker or I would turn into a villainess of Cruella de Vil proportions. 

A part of me understood his fear that I would somehow become a different person. A part of me even worried that after the first time I did Botox I would feel like a different person. 

But the largest part of my conscience — the part that is in charge of my face — knew I would still be me. I decided I could just try it out a few more times and not worry about the social judgment about vanity and aging. 

The few moms I know who will admit they’ve had Botox only talk about it within a small circle of trusted pals. A lot of women feel the pressure to stay looking young but not seem like we’re trying to look young. And yet, Botox — which can help attain this — has a reputation as one forbidden step too far.

I also used to see Botox as a big city thing in the same way that wearing heels for no reason feels like a big city thing. Not part of our world here. If I admitted I wanted Botox, would I seem too vapid or vain or silly to stay?

And what if we stay and own our Botox loud and proud? Will we lose our clean girl esthetic qualifier and be laid bare as foolish women who care about preserving something that is a natural part of aging?

Despite these fears, so many of us keep coming back — as evidenced by Alex's busy calendar in the fall, a.k.a. Moose hunting season. 

She tells me clients frequently ask her for reassurance they won’t have any bruising or swelling in case they run into family or friends after an appointment. 

My own friends want to remain anonymous, but tell me about their own clever moments of subterfuge. 

One friend’s husband has noticed her tighter skin and she tells him about her great all-natural facials that appear to be working wonders. She even sweetens the pot by showing a fake 50 per cent off coupon to really impress him. Another carries concealer in her car and gets Botox first thing in the morning to ensure the swelling has gone down by dinnertime. 

Another tells me she just said “it’s a menopause thing” when her partner noticed her face recently. “That shuts down any questions, period,” she says. 

As for me, the truth is, I like getting Botox. This is actually the first time I’ve admitted to it so publicly, but I think I’m just tired of the stigma. Tired of feeling like I’ll be seen as something less or something worse because I wanted a little something more from my face. It’s as simple as that. Motherhood did a real number on my face and I’m just looking to get a tiny bit of it back. I’ve been embarrassed by it for too long. 

I don’t think anyone should feel that way, whether they live in a small town or not. I’m trying to move forward with honesty, but it's a work in progress.

Like when my partner and I ran into Alex recently when we were getting Indian takeaway. 

“Who was that?” he asked after she walked away. 

I said she was a nurse. If pressed, I would have said she was my menopause nurse. Just to stop all the questions.

Next time, I will do better.

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