THANKFUL FRIDAY

Last week, Micheal had some sort of a cold, but I kind of ignored it. He didn’t really act sick except for that one morning when he said “I don’t feel good.” But still, I blew it off which I have apologized for because now I’m the one with the cold. Not too long ago I saw some joke meme tweet thing of a conversation between the brain and the body. The body was saying “We need more fluids!” and the brain replied “I just gave you tons of fluids! What are you doing with all of the fluids?! Are you making mucous?” Then the body doesn’t respond because that is exactly what it’s doing with all of the fluids. I have never found anything more relatable than this. I wouldn’t be so mad about it all if I hadn’t just gotten over the cough and funk that I had before Christmas. This has been a week of cold medicine and neti pots and lots of Kleenex. Then, I threw in some red light therapy for good luck.

Last Saturday, I stepped on a scale for the first time in over six months and for the first time ever, I didn’t give a flip about the number that appeared. My uncaring of the number did not come from a depressed state. I just didn’t care. I was standing on the scale purely for reference since it was also my birthday. If I kept a lab notebook on myself, this would be important data to add, but I don’t. So, I filed the info in my mental lab notebook. My weight is a reflection of my current state of activity level, which always decreases as I go into hibernation mode. In the Spring time, I know I will emerge from semi-hibernation to dog walks and bicycle rides. The season will shift from rich lasagnas to tomato salad and the number on the scale will still just be a number. This is the thing that forty eight year old Cindy would like to pass onto seventeen year old Cindy: The scale numbers are a social construct.

Pear, apple, hourglass, etc are all social constructs for the shape of a woman’s body.

Each year, I gain a new perspective and a little bit more wisdom about this body that my soul inhabits. Each year, I gain a new perspective and a bit more wisdom about my soul and living each day with loving kindness. The only disappointing thing about my birthday this year was that I was too busy and isolated to take time to thank each person individually for their Happy Birthday wishes left on my Facebook timeline. I took the Facebook app off of my phone years ago and only have access to it when I’m on my computer or iPad in a wifi area. So I came home from a day of absorbing yoga knowledge to a timeline filled with love and joy. Which is the only reason for social media.

This body and soul is not large enough and can not contain the amount of gratitude that I have for each of you and for those who make the choice to use these platforms for good.

I'M NAKED

It was a typical Saturday morning. I was at Heirloom, eating a biscuit sandwich and writing in my Fortune Cookie journal, and I watched as a young family came in, a mom, dad and a little girl who was maybe three. She was carrying her baby doll while Mom carried a basket of Shopkins. They settled in at a table in my eyesight and I watched as the mom peeled the child’s sweater off, hearing the crackling of static as it came over the kid’s head. The little one’s hair stood out, charged with electricity and she yelled out “I’m naked!” The mom chuckled and then calmly responded “You are not naked. You have on a t-shirt.” But the little one insisted. “I’m naked!” She proceeded to randomly let all of us know that she was naked as she colored and stuffed bits of cinnamon roll into her little mouth.

Now that I think about it, I’m pretty sure that doll she came in with was also naked but then I started to really relate to this kid.

“I’m naked” is just another way to say “I feel vulnerable.” I am naked. I feel naked. I can feel my nakedness under these clothes and sometimes, okay … a lot of the time, it makes me want to put on more clothes. Some of this stems from being two months into the year and still not back on my usual moving routine. I can feel my skin actually touching my clothes and have been conditioned to believe that skinny girls do not allow this to happen. I have also been conditioned to believe that I will never be a skinny girl. The “I feel vulnerable” side to all of this is that I have put myself out there for some things that’s a little outside my comfort level. There’s book club where I reveal hidden wishes and an art show that got bumped to September but where I noticed that I am the only photographer in the line up. I continue to wear a shoulder strap that forces my heart to be open. One of my so called ‘bad girl’ wishes is to take some nude pictures of myself and others. I am full into a I hate my body moon phase. Probably because I’m not lifting weights or training for a marathon or doing any of the things this capitalist fitness industry says I should be doing. I refuse to fall for the “Eat this to lose weight!” click bait, but only barely. This is perfect timing for taking off all of my clothes and taking pictures of myself.

Pile on the vulnerability!

Recently, I dreamed that my friend Sarah Fox and I bought matching jumpsuits. I was in love this thing. It was high waisted with wide legs and a sexy deep v type of halter top. It was perfect, except for the whole halter top thing. I don’t know how Sarah didn’t have this problem, but my halter top would not stay in place and every time I looked down I’d have a boob peeking out from this way or that way. I was constantly tucking myself back in. We were on some kind of roadtrip and we were on a road that contained epically stunning views at every curve and hill top. At one point, I noticed that Sarah was asleep at the wheel and I said “Hey, Sarah. Wake up.” and then we laughed and laughed about it for miles. Our lives where clearly in danger but we didn’t care. In fact, we found it hilarious.

Every curve and hill, a stunning view.

Exposed and vulnerable and finding it all to be immensely hilarious.

OUR BLOODY HISTORY

I recently had to have a conversation with the Cabbage about menstruation. I don’t want to go into too many details, because that’s their story to tell or not tell. I just made a point to empathize with them and to stress that there is nothing shameful about periods and what is happening to their body. When I told Misti what I said to the Cabbage, she said that she wished she had had someone tell her the same thing and then I started to get really mad. Then I got furious because for far too long there has always been shame associated with what happens with women’s bodies. The natural processes of the female body has been used as a weapon against women since the dawn of time because not only is something men fear, it is something they don’t understand.

I’m about to set that Red Tent on fire.

Michael attempted to empathize with me for having to have that conversation with the Cabbage by saying something about all boys getting a talk about masturbation. Outwardly, I nodded my head and was all “yeah, that must have been difficult.”, but inwardly I was all “WHAT THE FUCK, GIRLS ARE NEVER GIVEN PERMISSION TO TOUCH THEMSELVES!” Even in sex education, the topic of self pleasure did not exist. Masterbuation was never part of the conversation when I was a young woman. Menstruation was never part of the conversation either. I was so ashamed to mention it that I had to sneak a note to my mother about the things I needed and even then, she did not give any instructions. My strong Southern Baptist upbringing taught me to believe all the things mentioned in the bible about a woman’s body. We were unclean and our only value was in the production of babies. Which is exactly what the patriarchy wants you to believe. I have lost track of the number of times I have heard that a woman can not be President of the United States because of menstruation, the most bullshitty, asinine patriarchal excuse ever.

It is all a lie.

The Sexual Revolution may have shined a light on the female orgasm, but it didn’t do all that much for taking the shame and embarrassment out of a monthly period. Bleeding into your pants has been seen as being as bad as peeing your pants. As if the start and stop of your period was something you ever had any control over. I had one friend tell me as I ranted on this topic that she was afraid to ask for the things she needed because she didn’t know if this was something her parents could afford. She is not the only woman or young woman to have this problem. There are too many women in this country that have to choose between buying milk or buying pads or tampons. Pads and tampons might as well be considered a luxury item and not being able to afford them adds yet another level of shame. Those of us raised in the environment that taught us that our female bodies where shameful now have a very serious choice to make. Do we repeat the cycle with this next generation of young women or do we rail against it with all of our might?

I’ve chosen to rail against it. Not just or the Cabbage, but for myself. I am at an age where my body is changing and doing weird things. I recently stopped taking birth control. My periods are random as fuck and I have no idea what to expect to happen to this body. There isn’t even a whole lot scientific research for me to read through because this society does not place any value on the women’s reproductive organs when those organs are no longer being used to produce. One more thing to add to my list of things that causes rage. This is my body. It does some pretty great things, but it also does some pretty gross stuff sometimes. BECAUSE THAT’S WHAT BODIES DO!

And I refuse to have any shame about it.