04/11/2025
It’s funny how that question sneaks in, isn’t it?
You can be halfway through an idea — researching a treatment, scrolling through before-and-afters, starting to feel that flicker of excitement — and then your stomach drops.
What will people think?
It’s a quiet fear, but a powerful one.
Maybe it’s your friends. Maybe it’s your partner. Maybe it’s that one colleague who always has an opinion about everything.
You can already hear the comments:
“She doesn’t need that.”
“Oh, she’s one of those women now.”
“Why can’t people just age naturally?”
And even though no one’s said a word, you start defending yourself in your head. You close the tab, scroll past the post, pretend you weren’t interested after all.
People will always have opinions.
And most of them aren’t really about you.
They come from their own insecurities, their own discomfort, their own fear of being judged for
caring. Because it’s easier to criticise someone else than to admit you wish you had the same
courage.
You’re not doing this for them. You’re doing it for you.
To feel lighter. To feel more at ease in your own skin. To wake up and not spend ten minutes hiding from your reflection.
That doesn’t make you shallow. It makes you self-aware. When someone says “i’d never do that”, what they usually mean is, “I wish I could, but I’m scared.”
And maybe they never will. That’s okay. Because your choices don’t need to make sense to anyone else — only you.
You’re allowed to want to feel confident again. You’re allowed to take up space, quietly, without
apology. You don’t have to explain, justify, or shrink to make other people comfortable.
So next time that thought creeps in — What will people think? — try answering it differently.
Maybe they’ll think you look happy.
Maybe they’ll think you look rested.
Maybe they won’t think anything at all.
And maybe, finally, you won’t care.
