The Big Reveal

Groucho Marx couldn't even make this look good, and I'm not as funny as him by half.

Remember when I told you I was getting new eyebrows? And then, if you follow me on Facebook*, you know that some people asked me for pictures of said eyebrows and I said no no no and threatened to wear a paper bag over my head for the rest of my life?

The woman who did the eyebrows told me several times (and the Google machine confirmed) that they would be much darker at first than they would be after they healed. My sister reassured me, as did my mom and my husband. My dad was kind enough to say they looked just fine the way they were, but I remained unconvinced.

So I panicked a little and put a ton of makeup on them for a few days and wore the hugest sunglasses you have ever seen, and then I woke up on Saturday and I looked even worse, because the peeling had begun and if you’ve ever had a tattoo you know that part is always gross.

But as the peeling and flaking and general eyebrow-dandruff-on-crack phase progressed, I could see that the color underneath was much softer than it was at first, and I started to breathe a little more and freak out a little less.

Now, it turns out this eyebrow-getting business is a two-step process. I go back 30 days after the initial appointment to have them touched up and adjusted, which is good because (oh, irony, how I love you!) my eyebrows are now a little too light. That’s OK, though. It’s kind of like salting your food: you always want to err on the side of not enough. I want to adjust some things about the shape and etc., etc., etc. Because it’s my face and I guess I can be picky about my face.

But holy crap, can I just tell you that face tattoos hurt like a beast? Oh, man. I didn’t think I would have any trouble. When the cosmetician (is that a word?) left the room after she put all the numbing goop on my face, I told my sister, “This is kind of stupid. I have five tattoos and there’s no way this is going to hurt. This numbing stuff is probably for wimpy old women who paint their poodle’s toenails.”

Yes, I actually said that. Famous last words because by the time we were halfway finished I was practicing my childbirth breathing and giving myself pep talks like, you will look like a complete ass if you leave here with one eyebrow, and begging my mom and sister to rub my feet to distract me from the pain on my face.

It’s been a week now and they’re well on their way to being healed and, while they still need some fixing and they’re a little too light and it will definitely take some time for me to get used to having eyebrows when I get out of the shower, I’m kind of (OK, totally!) in love with them.

I wrote about trichotillomania at Postpartum Progress today, so come on over and say hello! Whether or not we can stop pulling, plucking, or picking, we can lay down our shame. Little by little, I’m learning to forgive myself and if you have trichotillomania or dermatillomania or another body focused repetitive disorder, I want that for you. It’s not your fault and you’re not alone.

*If you don’t follow me on FB, you can. No Points for Style has its own page, or you can follow me, the actual person. The awesomest, of course, is if you follow both.

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