Right now is one of Ricki Lake’s “most favorable” times of her life.
A former talk show presenter posted a self-portrait of herself on Instagram on Monday, showcasing her emotions and complexion.
In the picture, 54-year-old Lake is seen smiling and dressed as she relaxes herself in an outdoor Jacuzzi surrounded by towering redwood trees.
“These are the best days of my life,” she firmly declared.
“At fifty-four and a half, still comparatively young!” I’m grateful for everything that had to happen in order for me to get here. “A place defined by complete acceptance and love of oneself,” she remarked.
Lake began her journey towards self-acceptance in 2019, but she didn’t reveal it to the public until 2022.
She revealed a previously unreleased video of herself shaving her head in December 2022.
a 2019 video from this year. Her hair loss was caused by androgenetic alopecia, which she acknowledged having for 30 years in the video’s caption.
Although they had never shared unedited video footage previously, Lake stated in the description that they wished to do it now. They expressed their desire to spread the word to everyone who has followed their path and expressed interest in it. Since I know that some of you have experienced my battle firsthand, I want you to know that I truly understand your sorrow.
You may see me achieve serenity, freedom, and most importantly, self-care and self-approval in this movie.
Lake’s hair grew back after shaving, and she now embraces her “naturally gray and sometimes untamed head of hair.”
May peace and understanding come to everyone who is struggling. Life is far too short.
Even though some find the image insulting, she won’t back down.
“I don’t know why someone feels the need to present themselves in such a way,” said one person, to which another responded, “That’s okay, but why do we have to witness it, just curious.” I think it’s a little weird to post a picture of oneself online where you’re almost completely naked. In my opinion.
She did not seem to be offended by them either, but she also did not reply to any of them. We are free to respect the independence of the artists whose creations we appreciate and to share everything they so want.
What do you think of her post on the internet?
We believe that her primary statement merits particular attention. Spending time worrying about things we can’t control is a waste of time. We must be able to accept and care for our imperfections as well as ourselves!
Tell your friends and family about this post, please!
The Gift of Fido
The silence in my small house had grown louder with each passing year. Old and alone, the days stretched out, often indistinguishable from one another. I thought about getting a dog, a creature that would fill the emptiness, a warm presence against the encroaching quiet.
One chilly afternoon, shuffling through the familiar streets, I saw him. A small, scruffy shape huddled near a bin, dirty and clearly hungry. He looked up as I approached, his eyes wide but without fear. I knelt down slowly, offering a tentative hand. He didn’t flinch. I stroked his matted fur, spoke softly to him. When I stood up to leave, he simply followed, a silent, trusting shadow.
Now, he is my dog. My Fido. I am his human, his owner, though it feels more like we own each other. The silence is gone, replaced by the soft pad of his paws, the occasional sigh, the happy thump of his tail against the floor.
I talk to him constantly, sharing my thoughts, my worries, the mundane details of my day. He answers in his own way – a tilt of the head, a soft whine, or his favorite response, a vigorous wash of my hand with his rough tongue.
“Fido,” I’d told him just the other day, the worry etching lines deeper into my face, “tomorrow we won’t have anything to eat. The retirement money is gone, finished. We’ll have to wait until pension day!” He just licked my hand, as if to say, “We’ll figure it out, together.”
And then that blessed day arrives. I join the queue, a line of fellow retirees, each clutching their worn pension book, shattered by time and use. My own is tight in my hands, a thin lifeline. Fido, tied patiently nearby, shakes himself happily, a little dance of anticipation. He knows this day. He knows that today the bowls will be fuller, the meal a little richer, a little better than the thin gruel of the days before.
Winter arrives, wrapping the house in its cold embrace. Without a fire, the air bites. But Fido is there. Curled tightly against my legs on the worn armchair, or tucked beside me in bed, his small body is a furnace, a constant, reliable source of warmth that chases away the chill. He is more than just a dog; he is my living, breathing blanket against the cold world.
The first hesitant rays of spring find us sitting outside, bathed in the gentle warmth of the returning sun. We sit in comfortable silence, simply existing, together, grateful for the light, for the warmth, for each other. And from deep within my heart, a simple prayer is born, a quiet whisper of profound gratitude: “Thank you, Lord, for creating the dog.” For creating Fido, who found me when I was alone, and filled my life with warmth, conversation, and unwavering companionship.
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