The Nose Ring

Saturday rewind

This is part of Saturday Rewind, where I bring back a reflection from earlier in this Substack. If you are new here, it is a chance to catch stories you may have missed. If you have been reading from the start, I hope you enjoy revisiting these pieces with fresh eyes.

I am Jewish. Not even the slightest bit religious, but I’ve always felt a connection to the culture I was raised in. As it happens, I physically fit the stereotype. I have wild curly hair, frizzy really, and a large, uniquely shaped nose.

Interestingly, despite all my body image dissatisfaction that fed my eating disorder, I’ve always loved my nose. I can’t imagine my face without it.

Since middle adolescence, I’ve looked at people with nose rings with envy. I always wanted one. But it didn’t fit the image I was trying to project. It didn’t fit the image I imagined others wanted me to project.

Also, if I’m being honest, I really don’t like physical pain. You’ve heard of man flu? Men have nothing on me when I’m sick. So even though I wanted a nose ring, I never seriously considered it.

Cut to a year and a half ago. I was forty-five, scrolling through Facebook, as I am embarrassingly prone to do. I came across a photo of a close friend, in a life phase parallel to mine, vacationing in Vegas with her husband. At first, I almost missed it. But when I zoomed in, there it was: a nose piercing.

I texted her immediately, full of exclamation points and question marks. Was it real? Did it hurt? Turns out she went to Vegas, lived her best life, and came home with a nose ring.

Now, I have plenty of friends with piercings. But not many who made that choice at 45.

What may have been impulsive for her sparked something powerful in me. Maybe not a revolution. But definitely an obsessive questioning: Could I do that? Should I do that?

One of my first thoughts was, What would my parents think? They’re in their eighties, both in a cognitive decline. Maybe they would have cared once, but there’s no chance they would care now. They undoubtedly have bigger fish to fry. Still, it struck me that the question even crossed my mind.

I realize now I wasn’t actually wondering what they would think. I was defaulting to something older and deeper. I was worrying what the world would think.

Then came other thoughts: What about my patients? Would I need to explain it?

And what about my teenagers? They were already flirting with tattoos and other symbols of individuality. Would this send them a message I didn’t want to send? Would it embarrass them?

So I did what I do. I sat with it. But I couldn’t stop thinking about it.

Eventually, at forty-six, my friend showed up on my doorstep.

“Let’s go,” she said.

I didn’t need to ask where. I knew. We were going to get my nose pierced. Sharing bravery is a connector.

And I went ahead with it, even though my husband wasn’t sure he liked the look. He didn’t try to stop me, but he wasn’t exactly cheering me on either. My older son was in support, probably just because it helped his case for getting a tattoo on his 18th birthday. My middle son rolled his eyes. The thought of his mom with a nose ring didn’t thrill him.

My friend took a video of the entire 60-second event.

At the time, I was in the middle of recovering from my most recent anorexia relapse. I cringe a little when I see the footage. My body was too thin. But packed inside that body was something powerful: bravery I hadn’t yet recognized.

The video is hilarious. When the technician moved in with the needle, I instinctively tried to swat her hand away. My friend had to hold the camera with one hand and keep my arm down with the other.

It’s a perfect metaphor. I wanted the piercing. I knew I’d be glad later. But in the moment of pain, I fought it. Even though it aligned with my long-term desire.

Just like I’ve been known to do with my feelings.

It’s easy to want to swat discomfort away. But when your goal is integration, sometimes you have to keep your hands at your sides and grit through it. And having a friend by your side, so you don’t have to do it alone, makes all the difference.

Months later, a patient I usually see online came in for an in-person session. She’s perceptive. We share a lot of parallels. She spotted the nose ring right away.

“Is that new?” she asked.

I laughed. “Yeah. My version of a midlife crisis.”

We both smiled.

But now, I know it wasn’t a crisis at all. It was a reckoning. A tiny act of personal revolution.

That piercing was one of the first times I prioritized what I wanted over what I thought others expected. I didn’t do it to look beautiful for my husband. I didn’t do it to preserve a certain image for my patients. I did it even though I knew it might temporarily embarrass my kids.

I did it for me.

That tiny stud is symbolic. Of becoming. Of trusting myself. Of choosing something simply because it brings me joy.

And here’s the kicker: I still love it.

It accentuates my nose. My big, beautiful nose. My husband loves it too. So does my oldest. And my middle son tolerates it just fine. All of this reminds me that when I embrace my own desires, I not only nourish myself.

I draw others closer too.