The humiliation of being an adult with orthodontia

Teeth move as humans age. It’s a fact that I learned fairly recently, after my dentist recommended orthodontia.

The reasons teeth shift as we grow older vary, but can include changes in jaw shape, pressure from eating and talking, teeth grinding, gum disease, and teeth being little jerks that try to return to their natural position after having been properly disciplined with braces.

If I had to guess, the changes in my mouth over time are a result of eating (which I enjoy very much), talking (which I enjoy very much) and teeth grinding (which I do not enjoy at all but apparently do quite often).

It’s not because my teeth tried to return to their natural position; I never had braces as a preteen. That’s not me bragging because 1) what a stupid thing to brag about and 2) I actually felt left out by not having braces. All my friends had bright, fun, rubber bands decorating their teeth and would talk with each other about their latest orthodontic procedures. They were part of an exclusive club to which I did not belong because I had relatively straight teeth. Then, after a year or two, my friends would return from their final orthodontist visit with bright, beautiful smiles, looking like the “after” result of one of those very popular and very problematic makeover shows that were big in the early aughts. I never got one of those big reveal moments. My after photo was the same as my before.

But then, as I aged, my teeth began to move, every so slightly over many years, until one day I woke up with a crooked smile. And some problems outside of my vanity, like gum recession and bruxism, the $10 word for teeth grinding. But it was primarily vanity that led me to an orthodontist consultation. And it was primarily vanity that led me to sign on the dotted line for an Invisalign payment plan.

As for the results of the orthodontia, I could not be happier, and I’m not even halfway through. My mouth looks better and feels better, despite the initial pain of changing aligner trays and the annoyance of having to remove them every time I eat, which again, is my favorite thing to do so I do it quite often.

I really have no complaints about the process, other than that by choosing to get orthodontia as an adult, I have flung myself into a world and system built for people much, much younger than myself. And it’s humiliating.

The orthodontist office I go to is usually playing either a Pixar movie or one of the live-action Disney remakes on the screens above patient chairs, which are all in one large common area. Don’t get me wrong, I love Pixar as much as the next culture writer, but those films are not targeted to people of my demographic.

There’s a sign by the reception desks that explains that while the receptionists will do their best to work with students’ schedules, there are only so many after-school appointments available. Which is just not really an issue for me. The other patients tell the dental hygienists about their part-time summer jobs and which electives they’re taking this fall. I can tell the hygienists don’t know what to ask me, or how to engage with me at all, which is not their fault. I wouldn’t know what to ask me either if I was half my age and used to working on kids in junior high.

But what’s really the most humiliating part of my journey to a dazzling smile is the row of moms who are there with their children, waiting patiently for their children to get brackets replaced or bands installed. They’ve never so much as looked at me with a raised eyebrow, but I know they’re wondering why I’m in a patient chair, not sitting on the chaperone bench.

There are times when I sit among them, because in some sort of terrible and very expensive alignment of the dental stars, two of my children needed orthodontic care at the same time. And when I take my children for their appointments, I get to be on the chaperone bench where I belong, smiling knowingly at the other moms.

Sometimes, though, our visits line up for the same time on the same day, and I am of two worlds in one hour — patient and patient’s mom. One world I know well and feel like I belong in; the other world, I’m three decades late to. The shift between the two happens the moment they call my name and I have to march to my designated chair in front of all the other moms.

But, like many hardships, this time in orthodontic identity limbo has made me grateful for what I lacked as a preteen and what I’ll have soon again as an adult — inclusion in a club of my peers. A spot on the chaperone bench where I can stay. And then I’ll be able to grin knowingly at the other moms, with my new perfect smile I paid for — not only with my hard-earned money, but the many moments of humiliation along the way.