Eleven years ago, on an unremarkable Tuesday afternoon in March, I went into hospital for an operation to remove a benign tumour. In a stroke of bad luck, the surgeon severed my facial nerve, leaving one side of my face paralysed, and the course of my life irreversibly altered.
Many would say you can’t lose beauty; it comes from within. And yes, in the bigger sense it does, but in the smaller sense it doesn’t. With hindsight, I realise how privileged I was to look the way I did – I can see that at 24, the world had lay at my feet. I had always been admired, included in the group, given the benefit of the doubt, without necessarily having any right to it over others. Beauty was a currency that I had traded in, which had so often negated the need for me to prove myself in other ways by being interesting or funny or kind. As one friend noted, ‘Everything had always been so easy for me.’ Then suddenly my crutch was ripped away and I had to learn to live differently, with a little less vanity.
It took time to accept looking different. I struggled to deal with the visible shock of others. People I knew from the past were unable to hide their disbelief at how my face had changed, and then often felt the need to pretend you could hardly notice, or to over-flatter me in an effort to rebalance things. Then there was the feeling that I had to always explain myself: to new friends, to boyfriends, to children who didn’t know they should politely disguise their noticing. There was the perpetual fear that nobody wants a primary school teacher who isn’t smiley and I remember at the end of one job interview, adding ‘I don’t want you to think I’m not a happy person.’ A comment met with the retort, ‘Oh I wouldn’t worry about your face. Have a look at us!’
And have I reached acceptance now? In many ways, yes. Early on, I expended a lot of energy on trying to mend myself physically. I didn’t want to give up until every possibility of recovery had been exhausted – physio, acupuncture, homeopathy, Botox. But I realise now it is more about mending mentally, reaching acceptance that this is my face now, that this will always be my face, that it isn’t what I wanted, but it need not be my defining feature or the great story of my life.
Disclaimer: Please note that views expressed are person’s own and should not be considered a recommendation of particular medical treatments, therapies or surgeries. We would always advise you seek advice from a health professional with experience in facial palsy who can assess your individual needs.