My name is Bimbylads.... and I am ( not) addicted to Makeup

“Bimby, you look beautiful.” Chinese eyes stopped a few feet behind me and placed a gentle palm on my shoulder. I did not turn back to look at him. I studied his expression from the car window.The confident smile tugging the corners of his lips and eyes twinkling with sincerity and love did nothing to lift the cloud of sadness in my heart.

“But everyone will wonder what happened to me,” I said in an unsteady voice. “I look and feel naked.”
He laughed then. A deep throaty laughter that forced the hint of a smile to my ashen face. “It is all in your mind, Bim,' he said. 'Makeup does not make you look better. You think it does but it doesn’t.”
“but....” I trailed off, tearing my gaze away from the dark circles around my eyes, the blotches of pink rashly skin on my cheeks and my uneven skin. “Never mind.”

How could he ever understand? Had he ever felt the warm flush of awe that floods through me after I apply the last stoke of my eye brow pencil and smack on my coral-hued lipstick ? Did he know what it felt like to sail into a gathering of people with my head tilted, poised for admiration simply because I had slapped on the exact shade of eye shadow to match my patent high heeled shoes?

I don’t do fashion.... but make up??Makeup made me feel like a woman. I felt complete with it on and bizarrely, exposed when bared of it.

And that was why, when God started to nudge my heart over my addiction to makeup, I fought with every ounce of will power in me to silence His constant whispers.
To start with.. I am NOT addicted to makeup.
Addiction is defined as: being abnormally tolerant to and dependent on something that is psychologically or physically habit-forming.
If the definition of addition was a brand of sport, I'd be Nike. I ticked all the boxes: I was abnormally dependent on make up. I could not go out without something artificial on my face.

God continued to warn me: Each time I closed my eyes to draw a line of lead inside my eyelids, I would hear His voice, gentle, coaxing: “I made you in my image. If I thought your eyes needed darkening, I would have added an extra shade of black when I moulded them.”

I tried hard to shut the voice out. You would sometimes see me on the road, shaking my head violently, a feeble attempt to keep the Most High quiet.
I decided to talk to Chinese eyes about it. My husband had always been my biggest supporter when I used to wear a lot of makeup. He would often be my mirror, nodding his approval at the way I matched my colours to the perfect shade. Since God was not an author of confusion... if He wanted me to stop wearing makeup, then He would have to convince my husband first.

 “When you wake up in the morning, do you have make up on?” my husband asked after a long moment of silence after I’d told him.  

I shook my head with a short laugh. “Of course not.”
“That’s when you look the most beautiful.” He winked at me. “Listen to what the Lord has said, Bim. You know He wouldn’t ask you to do something that would be detrimental to your soul.”
My jaw dropped. That’s it? Wasn’t he going to forbid me from stepping out of the house with a face devoid of makeup?  Wasn't he going to ask me to pray again, maybe God would change his mind?Goodness me! My hubby did not even argue with me!

I shuffled out of the bedroom; my head slumped against my chest with disappointment. God had already worked on my husband. I was the one that needed working on. I wasn't addicted to drugs, or alcohol or porn... but  I was addicted to makeup... and worst still. ...I had made attractive tubes of colourful paste a god without knowing.
Yes, I, a self confessed servant of Jesus, child of God was an Idolater. Only I wasn’t bowing my head to carved wood or welded metal. But I trusted my paintbox more than my God when it came to measuring the extent of my beauty.... and it had gotten so bad that I couldn’t even do without it.

It took long hours of deliberation and a lot of courage, but I emptied my makeup bag:

• Mac foundation
• Eye pencil x 4: black, deep black, brown, light brown
• Maybelline shimmering eye shadow, about ten tubs.
• Lip gloss: about 4 tubes, some half empty:
• Black mascara x 2, green mascara x 1, blue mascara x 1
• A host of other bottles of crap that I had grown accustomed to wearing on my face.

I was a walking makeup counter!
So I ditched it all, did a little victory dance, celebrated my freedom.
Three weeks later, I took a trip to the store. I glanced at my reflection in the mirror and my heart dropped to the ceramic floor.

I looked... Plain, boring, drab... and ugly.

Ugly.

My hands trembled as I grabbed a tub of mascara and a stick of eye pencil. I raced to the counter, paid for my precious items and skipped home,giddy with excitement.

This time around, the Spirit of God said nothing to me... and boy, was I glad? God had finally let me be.

That bad huh?” My husband said when he saw me. He stared at my face with an amused smile. “You spend half a minute in a cosmetic store and you start to get withdrawal symptoms?
Withdrawal symptoms... wasn't that a word synonymous with drug addicts?
That was almost a month ago.
I am still working on it.
I have been clean for almost three months, but for a few days when I slipped...( lol.. addiction terminology!)
BUT
I am not going it alone: I am asking God to totally sever my love for false beauty. I am asking Him to help me see myself as that woman he lovingly took time to craft after He had created everything else.
Afterall: I was his last and best creation.
I am WOMAN.  Thats WOnderful MAN.
Fearfully and wonderfully made.
I am Bimbylads. God created me in His image.
And If He doesn’t need makeup.. .

Then neither do I.

So HELP ME GOD.
Inspired by Ezratosh. I Love you sister.

Question for you.... search yourself deeply. What is your addiction?

Catch the next episode of my story in less than Five days....!