I Used to Get Botox: Why I'm Questioning My Need to Look Younger

I've been thinking about getting Botox lately. Again.

I say "again" because I used to get it. I still have a skincare routine. My hair has gone gray naturally. I'm not here to perform some perfect journey of natural beauty: that would be just another unrealistic standard. But something has shifted in me, and I can't stop thinking about why I'm even considering it. It's not in a casual "maybe I'll try it" way. It's that specific, anxiety-tinged feeling where you catch your reflection at the wrong angle and feel a small jolt of panic. Where you zoom in on your forehead lines during video calls. Where "11s" and "crow's feet" have become part of your vocabulary in a way they weren't five years ago.

As a psilocybin facilitator and women's coach, I sit with women who are doing deep work around radical self-acceptance. This theme comes up constantly—the internalized belief that we're not enough as we are. That our bodies, our faces, our very existence needs editing before we're worthy of love, success, or visibility. And here I am, doing this work with others, while still feeling the pull of that same conditioning. But here's what's interesting: the more I sit with this impulse, the more I started asking myself why. Why do I look at these lines—this physical evidence of decades of laughing, concentrating, living—and feel like they're something to fix?

A friend/wise woman told me recently that's I've been sitting with: "Whenever I change something on the outside, I've noticed that nothing actually changes on the inside." That hit me hard. Because isn't that what we're really chasing? Some internal shift, some sense of worthiness or peace that we hope will come from erasing a few lines?

But here's what kills me: I've already experienced shift. It came with age and a ton of self work. The wisdom to trust my instincts. The sovereignty over my own life. The confidence to take up space without apologizing. The clarity about what matters and what doesn't. The power that comes from decades of learning, failing, growing, and becoming. This is what aging gave me. This is what my face reflects. And yet, I've been taught to see these lines as flaws instead of evidence of everything I've earned.

The Marketing of Fear

The anti-aging industry is worth over $60 billion globally, and that's not an accident. We've been sold a very specific story: that aging, particularly for women, is a problem that needs solving. That youth equals value. That the natural process of our faces changing over time is something to prevent, reverse, or at the very least, apologize for. Think about the language we use: "anti-aging," "age-defying," "turning back the clock." Even the word "anti" frames aging as an enemy. We don't say "anti-childhood" or "anti-youth." But aging? That's something to fight against. And it's not just the beauty industry. It's the fact that women over 40 become nearly invisible in media. It's the way older male actors are paired with women half their age. It's the compliment "you look so young!" being considered the ultimate praise, as if looking your actual age is an insult.

The System That Keeps Us Small

Here's the uncomfortable truth: our obsession with youth and shallow beauty doesn't exist in a vacuum. It's a distraction. A brilliant one. Because while we're spending our mental energy worrying about forehead lines, we're not stepping into the power that aging actually gives us. We're not organizing. We're not demanding equal pay. We're not taking up space in boardrooms or running for office. We're too busy trying to look 25 to claim the wisdom, confidence, and sovereignty that only comes with being 35, 45, 55.

The real beauty of aging- the kind that's actually transformative- is invisible in a selfie. It's the way you can read a room now. The way you trust yourself. The way you've stopped performing and started being. The way you know your worth isn't up for debate. But if the beauty industry convinced us that THAT'S what's valuable, how would they sell us $60 billion worth of products?

So instead, they sell us the opposite story. They made the evidence of our growth: our faces, our bodies, our years, into problems that need solving. I'm not saying everyone who gets Botox is unconsciously participating in their own oppression- that's reductive and unhelpful. But I am saying it's worth examining why the pressure to look young falls so disproportionately on women. Why we're told to erase the very thing that reflects our power.

The Neutrality of Aging

Here's what I keep coming back to: aging is neutral. It's not inherently good or bad. It just is. But if we're being honest? The gifts it brings are anything but neutral. They're incredible.

Every year I age, I become more myself. More confident. More clear. More powerful. I know what I want. I know what I don't. I can spot manipulation a mile away. I trust my intuition. I take up space without asking permission. I've earned the kind of wisdom you can't get from a book or a TED talk, only from living.

My wrinkles aren't a moral failing. They're not even neutral, really. They're evidence. Evidence of laughter, concentration, grief, joy, late nights with my daughter, early mornings watching sunrises. This face has been with me through becoming who I am. And who I am now? She's someone I actually like. Someone with sovereignty. Someone with power. But somewhere along the way, I internalized that this face, this evidence of everything I've earned, was something to be ashamed of. That's what I'm unpacking now. Not whether to get Botox or not (that's a personal choice and neither option is wrong), but why I've been taught to see my growth as a flaw.

If You're Feeling This Too

If you've ever looked in the mirror and felt that pang of anxiety, you're not alone. If you've ever caught yourself apologizing for your age or felt the need to qualify your appearance, you're not broken or shallow. You're responding to decades of messaging designed to make you feel this way. There's no judgment here. Whether you choose Botox, fillers, surgery, or nothing at all. What matters is that the choice feels like yours, not a response to fear or shame or the desperate need to remain "acceptable" in a world that has impossibly narrow standards for women.

Tools for Unpacking

If you're ready to examine this conditioning, here are some practices that have helped me: Mirror meditation: Spend time looking at your face without judgment. Not to criticize, not to fix, just to see. Notice when critical thoughts arise and let them pass without attaching to them.

Reframe the narrative: Instead of "crow's feet," try "laugh lines." Instead of "aging," try "living." Language shapes how we see ourselves.

Curate your feed: Follow women of all ages who aren't editing their faces into smoothness. Representation matters, and the more diverse ages we see, the more we normalize the reality of aging.

Ask the deeper question: When you want to change something about your appearance, ask yourself: "Is this what I want, or is this what I've been told to want?"

• Affirmations for the Journey My face tells the story of my life, and that story is worth seeing.

• I love this face that carries the wisdom I've earned

• Every year I age, I become more powerful, more clear, more myself

• My face is proof of a life fully lived I am so grateful for the confidence that only age could give me

• The real beauty of aging is invisible in a mirror. It's in how I show up in the world I trust myself more now than I ever have, and my face reflects that journey

The Both/And

I might still get Botox. I might not. I might decide to color my hair again. I still have my skincare routine. But here's what's changed: I'm on a mission to fully love myself because I'm worthy. Not because I've earned it through perfect skin or a certain number on the scale or conforming to every beauty standard. Just because I exist.

And more than that: I'm on a mission to stop trading my power for beauty standards that have been thrust upon me. To stop being distracted by the shallow beauty we're sold so I can claim the real beauty I've earned: wisdom, sovereignty, confidence, clarity. The kind of beauty that actually changes lives. The kind that makes me dangerous to systems that need me small.

If I choose Botox now, it'll be from a place of choice rather than fear. From a place of wanting rather than needing. And that shift, from shame to agency, from distraction to power, matters.

We can honor women's choices to modify their appearance while also questioning the systems that make those modifications feel mandatory. We can get Botox AND dismantle the patriarchy. We can love our aging faces AND still feel the pull of cultural conditioning. This isn't about having the right answer. It's about asking the right questions. And maybe, just maybe, creating a little more space for all of us to exist exactly as we are: lines, wrinkles, years, wisdom, power, and all.