Hello. My name is Jen, and I suffer from resting bitch face.
I didn’t realize it for a long time. I also didn’t know there was a name for it. I was in my mid-30s when I first heard the phrase—and honestly, it felt both offensive and accurate.
Sure, I could try to soften my look and be more aware of how I come across… but this isn’t just a “me” issue. A lot of people naturally look this way.
A lot of the time, all of my brain power is being used to process what’s in front of me. I have no idea what my face looks like.
It’s not until I speak that people have a better sense of who lives in my body.
I had my first real encounter with this in high school. I was at a friend’s boyfriend’s house—one of those places we went to get high and eat chimichangas. I always had fun, but apparently one of the roommates didn’t think so.
He went off on me in front of everyone, asking why I always looked so mad and why I showed up with a snobby attitude.
I was caught off guard. I had no idea what he was talking about. I either laugh a lot or I’m quiet. I’m engaged—I’m just taking everything in. If anything, I was more aloof than snobby.
Another time was when Matt and I hosted our first Christmas party. I was planning, cooking, and completely locked in. When I’m focused, I don’t like being interrupted—I lose time.
Matt read my energy as closed off, like I was upset. I remember telling him, “I’m not mad. I’m just trying to get everything done.”
At my old church, I volunteered in the lobby holding a sign for the new members class. I smiled, waved, and helped when needed. But there was one moment—just one—where I was people-watching.
A man walked by and told me to smile.
Internally, I told him to screw off. Externally, I smiled.
Half the time, I’m aware of my face and try to soften it—adjusting my eyes, my mouth, making sure I look approachable. The other half of the time, I don’t think about it at all.
That version of me usually ends the day with a tension headache.
If I could, I’d wear a shirt that says:
“The look on my face means I’m processing.”
But again…
why do I need to explain myself?
More Than Shower Thoughts 
Leave a comment