Keeping up with the Hollywood glam sometimes means defying age with the help of procedures and plastic surgeries. It’s not a secret that many celebrities opt to go under the knife for the sake of the good and youthful looks and the opportunities that looks brings.
However, not everyone who is part of the film industry is willing to follow this trend, and actress Sally Field is one of them.
Having been part of films such as Smokey and the Bandit, Norma Rae, Mrs. Doubtfire, and Forrest Gump, and having received plenty of awards for her acting, including Two Academy Awards, two BAFTA Film Award nominations, three Primetime Emmy Awards, two Golden Globe Awards, two SAG Awards, and most recently the Life Achievement Award, it’s safe to say Field has a career she can brag about.
Regardless of her age, 76, she still looks as stunning as ever and accepts her natural appearance. During her speech for the SAG Achievement Award she wore a magnificent black gown and embraced her naturally grey hair.
“I felt guarded, reserved, and out of the spotlight. But I was never sure what I’d say or do on stage. I would astonish myself,” the actress said. “I wasn’t hoping for praise or attention, though it’s excellent.”
She continued: “Acting has always been about preserving those priceless moments when I feel whole, thoroughly, and occasionally dangerously alive. Finding a path there has always been a challenge.
“They allowed me to open up and let me know things about myself that I never would have known otherwise. I’ve been working all my life. She continued for almost 60 years; there hasn’t been a day when I haven’t been genuinely happy to identify as an actor.”
Back in 2016, she was asked how she felt about playing an elderly, eccentric woman, Doris Miller.
“It’s okay that I’m an old woman; 70 is old. My years have given me strength; I have earned the right to have them, and I have owned them. And even if I dislike my neck and many other things, it’s alright,” Field told NPR.
And when it comes the natural process of aging, Field opts to stay true to herself despite the fact that the fight against ageism in Hollywood is a real one. “’Oh, I wish that weren’t happening to my neck,’ I think when I watch myself on television. Additionally, your eyes are bulging, and your face is collapsing. Then, though, I come across some of the women (who have undergone plastic surgery) who I once thought were stunning. Oh no, I’m feeling right now. Avoid doing it! And that would seem disrespectful to who they are right now,” she once said.
Field was married two times and went through two divorces. In 1986, she married Steven Craig with whom she welcomed two sons. The couple untied the knot in 1975.
She then dated Burt Reynolds before she married film producer Alan Greisman. Field and Greisman share a son together.
Eventually, she decided to commit all her time to her career but it was when she became a grandmother that her life took on a new dimension.
She embraced the new role and loves spending time with her grandchildren at her wonderful beach house with ocean views.
We love Sally Field.
I Discovered My Husband Mocks Me in Front of His Friends & I Taught Him a Lesson He’ll Never Forget
I’m a full-time mom. About a year ago, I left my job to take care of our three-year-old daughter, who is autistic and requires a lot of support. Lately, I’ve noticed that my usually feminist husband has been criticizing me in a group chat.
Transitioning into the role of a stay-at-home mom (SAHM) wasn’t something I had envisioned for myself. I used to thrive in the fast-paced world of marketing, surrounded by campaigns and fueled by brainstorming sessions over coffee. But all that changed a little over a year ago when my husband, Jake, and I made a significant decision. Our daughter, Lily, who is three and autistic, needed more attention than what her daycare could provide. Her needs are complex, requiring constant care and support, and it became clear that one of us had to be with her full-time.
I won’t sugarcoat it — leaving my career behind was one of the toughest decisions I’ve ever made. I miss the freedom of earning my own income and the satisfaction of a job well done. But here I am now, spending my days planning meals, cooking, and baking. I’ve found joy in these tasks, and experimenting in the kitchen has become my new creative outlet.
Our backyard has turned into a small garden oasis under my care, and I take care of most of the household chores. Jake does his fair share too; he’s actively involved in chores and parenting whenever he’s at home. We’ve always considered ourselves equals, rejecting traditional gender roles, or so I thought until last week.
It was a regular Thursday, and I was tidying up Jake’s home office while he was at work. It’s filled with tech gadgets and piles of paperwork, typical for someone in software development. His computer screen caught my eye — it was still on, casting a soft glow in the dim room. He usually left it on by accident, but what I saw next wasn’t accidental at all.
His Twitter feed was open, and I froze when I saw the hashtag #tradwife attached to a tweet. Confusion washed over me as I read the post. It glorified the joys of having a traditional wife who embraces her domestic duties. Attached was a photo of me, taking a batch of cookies out of the oven, looking every bit like a 1950s housewife. My stomach churned as I scrolled through more posts. There I was again, tending to the garden and reading to Lily, our faces thankfully obscured.
This was Jake’s account, and he had been crafting a whole narrative about our life that was far from reality. He portrayed me as a woman who relished her role as a homemaker, willingly sacrificing her career for aprons and storybooks. The truth of our situation — that this arrangement was a necessity for our daughter’s well-being — was nowhere to be seen.
I felt betrayed. Here was the man I’d loved and trusted for over a decade, sharing our life with strangers under a false pretense that felt foreign to me. It wasn’t just the lies about our relationship dynamics that hurt — it was also the realization that he was using these glimpses of our life to bolster some online persona.
I shut the computer down, my hands trembling with a mix of anger and bewilderment. All day, I grappled with my emotions, trying to comprehend why Jake would do this. Was he dissatisfied with our situation? Did he resent my decision to stay home? Or was it something deeper, a shift in how he perceived me now that I wasn’t contributing financially?
The rest of the day passed in a blur. His posts kept replaying in my mind, and eventually, I couldn’t ignore them any longer. I decided to call him and address everything head-on.
“Jake, we need to talk,” I finally said, trying to keep my voice steady.
He answered, sounding concerned. “What’s wrong?”
I took a deep breath, the weight of my discovery weighing heavily on me. “I saw your Twitter today…”
His expression fell, and he let out a long sigh, indicating he knew exactly what this conversation was about to entail. He started to respond, but I interrupted him.
“Calm down,” he said, dismissing it as “just harmless posting.” That was the final straw. I told him I wanted a divorce, called him out for his deceit, and ended the call.
Jake rushed home immediately. We argued, but with Lily’s strict schedule, I couldn’t let the conflict drag on. He pleaded with me to have a proper conversation after putting Lily to bed. Reluctantly, I agreed. That night, he showed me his phone, revealing that he had deleted the Twitter account. But the damage was already done.
A week passed, and my anger hadn’t subsided. This wasn’t a simple misunderstanding. It was a breach of trust. Jake attempted to explain, claiming it started as a joke, but he got carried away with the attention it garnered. But excuses weren’t enough.
Motivated by a mix of hurt and the need for justice, I decided to expose him. I took screenshots of his tweets and shared them on my Facebook page. I wanted our friends and family to know the truth. My post was straightforward: “Your husband belittles you in front of his friends behind your back. Sound familiar?”
The response was immediate. Our relatives were shocked, and the comments poured in. Jake was inundated with messages and calls. He left work early once more to beg for my forgiveness. He knelt, tears in his eyes, pleading that it was all just a “silly game.”
But I couldn’t let it go. The trust that bound us together was broken. It wasn’t just about a few misguided posts; it was about the respect and understanding we were supposed to have for each other. I told him I needed time and space to think and heal. I moved out with Lily to another apartment.
For six months, Jake begged for forgiveness. He sent messages, left voicemails, and made small gestures to show he was sorry. But sorry wasn’t enough. I told him that if he truly wanted to make amends, we needed to start anew. In my eyes, we were strangers now, and he had to court me like he did years ago when we first met.
So, we began again, slowly. We went on dates, starting with coffee and progressing to dinners. We talked a lot — about everything except the past. It was like rediscovering ourselves individually and as a couple. Jake was patient, perhaps realizing this was his last chance to salvage our once-loving relationship.
As I sit here now, reflecting on the past year, I realize how much I’ve changed. This betrayal forced me to reevaluate not only my marriage but also myself and my needs. I’ve learned that forgiveness isn’t just about accepting an apology; it’s about feeling secure and valued again. It’s a gradual process, one that we’re both committed to, step by step.
What would you have done if you were in my shoes? Share your thoughts on Facebook.
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