The receptionist was professional and welcoming. How are you this morning? Good. And yourself? Busy, but pretty good.
More small talk–
Receptionist: this is your fifth treatment. How is it going?
Me: Meh, okay.
Receptionist: You should be seeing about a 10 percent difference after every treatment.
Me: Nah, no.
Receptionist: I’ll make note of that and we’ll see how we can adjust your treatments.
That was comforting to hear. Not sure that message made it to the technician.
The technician looked at my legs after I sat down. I had to tell her I wasn’t doing any treatment on legs. Up here, I said.
So, the treatment was quick, as usual. The technician was kind, as usual. And this treatment was spicy, as usual.
3 more treatments to go. It’s been painful. It’s confronting. And it’s exactly what I wanted.
My entire childhood, I cursed every hair on my body that wasn’t on my head. I was ashamed of all of it. I felt shame when others saw it. I felt shame when they spoke of its existence. I now have empathy for my younger self.
She didn’t deserve the feelings of shame. She didn’t deserve to feel powerless and not valued in her world of Western beauty ideology. This experience has allowed me to confront the past and allowed me to change my perspective of myself.
If this silly decision of laser hair removal has created a space for me to have empathy for myself, perhaps this is the same door I can access for more empathy for myself in other areas of my life.
Empathy kills shame. Thanks to Brene Brown, I understand that secrecy, silence and judgement gives life to shame.