Embracing--Not Erasing--Your Flaws

Earlier this month, reality television nightmare Heidi Montag once again polluted the airwaves with yet another desperate plea for attention when she announced that she recently underwent ten different plastic surgeries in one day in order to "look more like Britney Spears."

Frankly, I think that's an insult to Spears. I can't believe I'm about to defend her, but I'm pretty sure even the Pop Princess Gone Wrong liked herself enough to keep everything as is--unless, of course, you count the time she shaved her head.

Like many who got wind of this story, I was left wondering, "What on earth was she thinking?"

Simply put, I think Montag's brain has been overrun by collagen.

This is Montag's second round of plastic surgery, and if she gets her way, she claims it won't be her last.

I expected to feel a mixture of amusement and disgust when I picked up her recent People cover, but to be honest, by the time I was done reading I couldn't help but pity the 23-year old reality star.

While I'm (thankfully) not a psychologist, I think it's pretty clear Montag suffers from serious self-esteem and insecurity issues that probably stem from the pressures of Hollywood, fear of not being desired by her husband, Spencer Pratt, and whatever issues may lie in her past.

But my problem with Montag's surgery isn't her individual choice. It's the message she's sending to millions of teenage girls who idolize The Hills and religiously follow the lives of the cast. These same girls are reading Montag's tweets about her painful recovery and advice to "take your bandages off in the shower when you get a nose job."

Montag is basically sending a message that flaws aren't acceptable and hold you back from being your "true self", as stated in her People article.

Your "true self?" Heidi, dear, I think you lost that three years and 12 surgeries ago.

In my opinion, flaws are what makes a woman unique. Every wanted--and unwanted--curve, contour and laugh line is supposed to symbolize the journey each woman has taken--and the wisdom they've collected along the way.

But it seems there is no room for flaws in the increasingly vain 21st century.

In a world where celebrities, news anchors (yes, Katie Couric, I'm talking to you) and the girl-next-door types have foreheads that seemingly don't move, eyebrows that mysteriously arch a little too perfectly and wrinkles that magically disappear overnight, women are no longer encouraged to embrace their flaws--they're getting a strong message to erase them.

Personally, I'm a strong advocate of maintenance, not surgical alteration. You don't like your hair? Throw in a few highlights. Nails are broken down and brittle? Get french tips. Laugh lines are getting the best of you? Apply an expensive anti-wrinkle cream.

As a woman who is far from flawless, I frequently indulge in maintenance luxuries to add a little spring to my step. In fact, most women do. Most women love to feel beautiful and confident. It's part of the privilege of being a woman. It's why we all get pedicures and spend hours at salons and search endlessly for that perfect mascara that plays up our eyes.

When Montag looked in the mirror, she didn't think all the money her reality millions could afford on products and maintenance was enough. She saw too much fat in her thighs, too much bend in her nose, not enough arch in her eyebrows--and that's just starting the laundry list of self-image issues she named in her article.

Heidi, welcome to being a woman. Critique and comparison is all part of the territory. What woman can't find a few things she wouldn't like to change about herself? The difference between the female masses and Montag is that we aren't going under the knife ten times in one day to change them. We're making the best of what we have.

Much like Heidi, my nose bends a little too much at the top for my liking. I have one eyebrow that arches less than the other. I have worry lines on my forehead; probably the result of years of being a Mountaineer football fan. I have blatantly noticeable, misplaced dimples in my shoulders. My upper lip nearly disappears when I smile, and I always grimace when I catch a long glimpse of my hips.

But to be honest, I embrace all those flaws. They've been with me since the beginning, and if I'm lucky, they'll stick with me through every laugh, tear and smile I encounter for the rest of my life. And I believe no matter what path life takes me down, those I choose to surround myself with will embrace them as much as I do.

My flaws are part of who I am. And who I am is a woman who is comfortable in my own skin--wrinkles, dimples, and all.

Thirty-itis

This week, it was announced via Facebook the St. Clairsville High School Class of 2000 will be celebrating our 10-year reunion in June.

This announcement comes as I'm a month shy of my twenty-eighth birthday. I feel a wrinkle coming on.

In my opinion, 10-year reunions signal the beginning of a slippery slope. It's the first pit stop on the road to--dare I say it?--thirty.

First, there's the reunion. Shortly after, we turn 29 and develop the onset of an illness commonly known as "Thirty-itis." We then spend the next 12 months of our lives battling the alternating symptoms of panic and depression as we approach this dreaded milestone.

Finally, we turn thirty and life as we know it comes to an end.

Okay, maybe I'm being a bit dramatic. But as I descend through my late twenties, I can't help but dread this milestone. I think it's because while I have always been one to embrace the unknown, a part of me also fears it.

I know plenty of people who came, saw and conquered their thirtieth birthday and lived to tell about it. In fact, many of those same people tell me their thirties have been the best decade of their lives.

So while I know I'll probably join the ranks of survivors and live to tell about it too, I can't help but wonder what it all means. Am I supposed to act differently? Dress differently? Buy more sensible shoes, perhaps?

Maybe it's because society paints a picture of familial blissdom for thirty-somethings. You turn thirty, and suddenly, you're supposed to trade in your daiquiris for refined wines, your rent check for a mortgage, and your Kate Spade purse for a diaper bag.

Although I'm still 24 months and three weeks away from this moment (not that I'm counting), I can say with a great deal of assurance that there will probably be a mortgage, there will definitely be refined wines, but there will most certainly not be a diaper bag. For now, I like my Kate Spade bag just fine.

Single thirty-somethings are a dying breed. Many people spend their twenties always in a hurry to get to the next step. Instead, I've tried to buck the trend and spend this glorious decade of my life enjoying them right where I'm at. And I think I've succeeded.

Maybe I'll spend my thirties paying the price for the independence and trials-and-errors of my twenties. I'll probably put a lot of money into products that promise to erase the damage of all that tanning I just had to do in college. I might have to start looking into reparative foot surgery for my endless days of trekking around every city on the east coast in four-inch heels. I may even have to sell all those little black dresses I spent the last decade collecting to build the retirement fund I've spent at J.Crew.

While I don't know what unexpected events my thirties may hold, there's good news and there's bad news. The good news is that I have two years to prepare for them. The bad news is that like it or not, they're coming--probably faster than I realize.

And once we arrive at that much-dreaded milestone, may we all handle it with grace--and plenty of anti-wrinkle cream.

The girls and I celebrating my twenty-fifth birthday, a few years before the onset of "Thirty-itis" kicked in.

Armed and Wordy

Have you ever found yourself speechless and been encouraged by others to "Use your words"?

Somewhere along the line, I took that advice a bit too literally.

My name is Heather, and using my words is how I pay the bills.

I'm a freelance writer who recently decided to trade in a corporate lifestyle of stable income and designer shoes to live on Easy Mac and dreams.

In fact, I even launched my own freelance writing business, Heather Ink, with the goal of providing contract writing services to businesses and publications throughout the United States.

Risky? Yes. Crazy? Perhaps. But truth be told, there's nothing else I'd rather be doing.

George Burns once said, "Do what you love, and you'll never work a day in your life."

Lately, I've been living that mantra.

And those who know me can be certain as I continue on this journey that I'll be living it with laughter, love and a quite a few nonfat cappuccinos.

Welcome to my world. Stay tuned as I take it on--one word at a time.