The past few days I’ve been really wishing I felt beautiful. I mean like properly beautiful. I used to think there were people that oozed beauty and feminity and womenhood, but just recently I am seeing that actually literally all my friends do this, whether they mean to or not. It’s just what being a woman is. I feel like I’m noticing more and more, the beauty and the femininity and the womenly-ness of those around me. It’s like my eyes are looking at the world a bit differently now. And, it means I am looking at myself a bit differently too. There are just still all the old messy self-loathing patterns that are lingering around too, that I need to wade through and kick the shit outta, because they just stop me feeling beautiful so freakin’ often.
I often just look at women in awe, wishing I could feel as beautiful as they look like they feel. But that’s the fucked up thing, none of us know how the other one feels. And the even more fucked up thing is that so so so many women I know, in fact all of them, don’t bloody know how beautiful they are. At. All.
Reading a beautiful and inspiring and empowering article just leaves me in awe of these women that are living as empowered, beautiful and mega strong kick-ass, women. I want to feel the WOMAN I am. I’m bored of this nonsense of feeling ugly. But it is changing. All this work on myself, all this shit-kicking trauma work (emdr), all the self-care, mindfulness and mind-body connection that’s growing, and all the time I am spending only with myself in all the raw and vulnerable states, is all working towards me embracing my body. And that may be the most beautiful thing I have ever written. I just wish it would hurry up and happen.I want to feel beautiful and glossy and shiny and lush, whether I’m wearing gold hotpants over my leggings and a fake moustache (there are more photographs of me wearing this kind of outfit than ‘normal’ photographs), or whether I’m wearing a ballgown and heels (this isn’t such a common outfit of mine).
I want to say that Chronic Fatigue was the beginning of me being really aware of the relationship I have with my body, because it was. The aware bit – before that I didn’t even know what those words “have a relationship with your body” meant. I would have thought you were talking Ancient Greek at me. I guess this relationship with my body started the moment I was made. The moment I entered the world, it’s just the awareness of it that came later. The moment I began to think, hear, and see all the opinions, facts, theories, judgements, of my lumps and bumps and that of the world and people around me.
I am so much more woman than I was even six months ago, and this just makes me glow with pride inside. And, it makes me know that this will only ever continue happening – this journey into womanhood. I know I’m already a woman, and I know all this lingo is on the verge of becoming a massive cheese-fest, but it’s just where my thinking has been recently. Ask any woman who radiates out woman-ness and I reckon they will have been on one of these journeys themselves. The journey of learning to love and know your body. The knowing bit I think is the most important bit. Yes, the love thing to, but for me I have needed to know what works for my body. I have needed to, and continue to need to, do solely what my body needs and nothing else. I have needed to know and listen to my body’s limits. I need. And then from this comes the love bit.
I was raised by the most fucked woman in terms of her relationship with her body, and I know part of this healing is me finding my own relationship with my own body on my own terms. I can literally feel this moulded thick waxy shell of suppression, self destruct, self sabbotage, ugliness and self hatred, melt beneath the healthy glow of listening, attention, care, nourishment and love I shine upon it, upon my body. Something I never did before, because it was something I never knew how to do.