I squeeze my body in between the dilapidated structure that collects rainwater off the roof and a 50-gallon barrel of yesterday’s laundry water.
I am also terrified of that gold sparkly minidress. It is crazy short, it doesn’t hide my tummy, and my right tit wants to pop out., I tell myself. I don’t care if someone thinks I’m old and ugly. I must believe in myself even if no one else will.“Welcome to random bleep in my bleep bleep garden,” I begin. I introduce my system for collecting laundry water and pull Emily over to the bucket. It’s slimy and gross. We laugh.
I force myself to drink water and feed the dog, then I climb into bed and resolve to do nothing other than look at TikTok. I scroll comments and ponder a lifetime of insecurity around my appearance. One young woman writes, “you’ve inspired me so much, gardening isn’t as complicated as I imagined.” Another says, “I’ve been a better community member because of you.” People ask questions about plants and seeds and soil. They discuss flowers and nontoxic detergents. Sometimes they tell me I’m pretty.
The following morning, instead of judging, I see a confident woman with a nice figure in the bathroom mirror. On date night, I don’t fuss over my outfit. And when Emily sends a new video for review, I’m kind to myself.At 59, I never would have expected that just six months of interaction with the TikTok generation could impact the way I see myself so profoundly. And while I understand that posting on TikTok isn’t for everyone, for me, it helped heal years of insecurity about my appearance.