Body talks...

The other day, my journal writing surprised me with a conversation between My Body and Me...as if they were two separate beings.

Here is an excerpt.

Me: Dear body, what can I do for you today?

My Body: Can you please love me just as I am?

Me: Of course, I do love you...but you are right. I keep trying to change you into what this world believes you should look like. I'm sorry.

My Body: It's okay. I'm pretty resilient in case you haven't noticed.

Me: Yes, I see that you are. Thank you for being strong in spite of all I continue to put you through. I've been so ignorant...deaf to your cries for help, but today I will do better. I love you. I don't want to lose you.

These embedded feelings must have been ripe for exposure because after all these years, from puberty through menopause, it's time to admit I have hated my body. I am so ashamed to say this out loud, but if I don't come to terms with my truth, this wound will continue to fester and prevent any healing that needs to occur.

You may wonder how these feelings took root. Growing up, I was a picky eater and a skinny child. Adults would poke fun because one could count my ribs as they were pronounced through my swimsuit. Then as the teen years approached and puberty set in, my body filled out and I became soft and round again like a chubby baby, except now it was no longer adorable...it was unacceptable. I was unacceptable.

I vividly remember my pediatrician's nurse remarking to my mother about me being overweight for a 12-year-old girl. This was the same woman who would also tell me that "boys don't make passes at girls who wear glasses," a quip that still haunts me over 50 years later!

So my self-esteem did not get off to a great start. I watched my mother struggle with her weight too. She and her neighborhood girlfriends counted calories and carbs over coffee talk. From them, I learned all about dieting and why it was important to be slim and attractive...to catch or keep a man. If it wasn't said out loud, it was implied. Advertising and TV talk shows made dieting fashionable and critical to one's self-worth. Was the fact that I was a few pounds overweight the reason I couldn't get a boyfriend? I grew up believing that.

I know I'm not the only woman over 60 who still has a skewed body image. It has occurred to me that maybe our minds are still waiting for our bodies to conform to those outmoded ideas. Perhaps no one ever taught us acceptance or loving what "is" regardless of what it looks like.

As my body continues to experience changes, I do realize that I am not alone in my suffering. One of the women writers I follow is Laurie Wagner. This week she posted a blog and an Instagram live video recalling a workshop she attended where she admitted to herself and everyone there that she hated her body. I cried listening to her brave confession. That video inspired me to "out" myself as well in the hopes that by risking my own vulnerability, others may also feel compelled to do the same.

I admire Laurie for posting that video this week. By risking vulnerability, I believe we not only free ourselves from the prison of shame and blame, but somehow we make room for more compassion and connection to others.

Regardless of what you weigh or how old you are, I am here to encourage you to be kind to your body. With Venus, the planet of love and beauty currently traveling through Libra, the sign of right relationship and peace, I hope you will extend an olive branch to your own body and call a truce. Your body will thank you for it.

Screenshot from my Instagram feed on August 31, 2024.

Today, I choose to let the truth exist somewhere other than inside my body.

On Turning 17

I awaken from the kind of sleep most women dream about..

Especially after kids and menopause.

It's a beautiful delirium...

I dip back into slumber then reemerge to the light

A few more times

When I'm prompted to peek through the blinds of my eyes.

Suddenly a high school friend appears and reintroduces herself

As my recovery room nurse.

"Of course, I remember you,"

I squeak out as the sedation wears thin.

"How long has it been?"

"Were we 17?"

We catch up on years gone by as I become consciously

Aware of groans and beeps nearby.

Fear and hope hang with help on IV poles.

Syncopated sounds of resuscitation then jubilation

Sober me awake.

And now,

Here I am,

Second chance still soldered to my humbled heart.

But I am done talking about cancer.

It's no longer the star of my show.

I see my illness as a wake-up call

Divinely designed to remind me

Of my one precious life.

And I choose to remember it this way.

On August 21st, I celebrate my rebirth-day.

Today, I am 17-years-new,

I Just Moved!

Fun fact: I have moved at least 14 times between 1986 and 2014. Except for a cross-country move to California and back in the mid 90s, most of those moves were relatively easy compared to what I just went through a couple of weeks ago.

The backstory is that my husband and I decided to build a new house, and even though it won't be ready to move into until 2025, our realtor advised us back in May to put our house up for sale right away because the market was hot. Also, in case you haven't noticed, it's an election year and she stressed that the closer we get to election time, potential buyers tend to stay where they are and put their moving plans on hold.

Thankfully, our house sold in less than one week back in mid-May, the closing was set for July 31st and we began the arduous task of packing. Our plan was to put most things into storage until the new house was ready and only move essentials to an available one bedroom apartment we already owned.

If there is an easy part to moving, it's identifying those items you love yet do not need immediately that can readily be placed into moving boxes and saved for next year when you will once again have room for said items. The hard part is realizing that you have accumulated way too much stuff over your entire life and you must trash, donate or somehow find a good reason to keep these other things, most of which you've forgotten about and didn't know you had until you discovered that you still had them.

Some days, I was Pluto incarnate...digging deep, unearthing relics from my past and releasing them to the ethers. Other days, my cup runneth over with abundance of still usable items (mostly clothing and books) and my generous inner Jupiter joyously gave it all away. But then, as the remaining items to be considered revealed themselves, my weary soul surrendered and I couldn't bear to part with one more thing.

And that is how I famously (read: foolishly) thought I easily downsized (albeit temporarily) from a large 3-bedroom house with an equally large basement to a tiny one bedroom apartment with limited storage space and 21 steps straight up to the front door.

While we had professional movers store our furniture and numerous boxes we had packed, a feat that required four able-bodied young men to efficiently stack like Jenga blocks in the moving van, my husband and I moved the rest of our stuff to the apartment ourselves. What were we thinking?!?! We are not 30 years old anymore!

What I thought would be mostly clothing, a few kitchen items, towels and bedding turned into large plastic bins of shoes (mostly mine and rarely worn), a heavy Staub Dutch oven (rarely used), four skillets, 3 hair dryers and an abundance of Pyrex storage containers (we cook a lot). But wait, there's more!

It took us five days to get everything out of the house and moved to the apartment. Fortunately, our buyers are the kindest young couple and gave us the grace of continuing to move out even a few days after the closing.

So here we are 2 weeks out from the move and I'm finally feeling settled. Many things need to be put away yet, but I'll wait for my Venus in Virgo to kick in before attempting any further organization. She (my natal Venus) took charge of the kitchen cabinets and all but alphabetized the spice rack. I can't wait to see what she does with my make-up and hair products.