The Medicine Cabinet Diaries

by Richard Valdez - www.RichardValdezRE.com

I woke up the other morning—again—with a sinus headache. Not exactly the glamorous way I imagined starting my day, but there it was, throbbing away before the coffee had even brewed. Like clockwork, I padded over to the bathroom, swung open my medicine cabinet, and reached for the pills.

And that’s when it hit me.

My medicine cabinet looks like a CVS. Not the chic, neatly organized, influencer-approved kind of CVS. No, mine is a fully stocked, slightly chaotic pharmacy. Aspirin? Check. Bengay? Double check. Cough drops, antihistamines, lotions, potions—if you can name it, I’ve got it. At this point, if my neighbor knocked on my door and asked to borrow aspirin—or Bengay, for that matter—instead of sugar or eggs, I could deliver like Instacart.

But standing there in my pajamas, staring at the shelves, I realized: this cabinet isn’t just clutter. It’s a timeline.

In my 20s and 30s, my cabinet was a minimalist’s dream: toothpaste, toothbrush, mouthwash, maybe a lonely bottle of Tylenol. Fast forward to my 40s and 50s, and suddenly it was less medicine, more maintenance. Weight-loss pills, pre-workout energy boosters, an army of moisturizers, and enough SPF to make Michael Jackson proud. Looking back, it was less about health and more about chasing youth—one expensive jar at a time.

Now, at 61, my shelves tell a different story. They’re not about vanity; they’re about survival. I don’t just pop pills for me—I stay healthy for my husband, for our dogs, for the life we’ve built. My cabinet is no longer about looking good for the world—it’s about staying here for the people who love me.

So as I shut the mirrored door that morning, headache pills in hand, I had a thought: maybe the real reflection in the mirror isn’t the face looking back, but the life those bottles represent.

And I couldn’t help but wonder—when did my medicine cabinet stop being about being pretty… and start being about being present?