Love Your Body

The Love Your Body Campaign is an integral part of the NOW Foundation. It is so very important for all women to Love Their Bodies. So many do not.

It has taken me a very long time to love my own body. God blessed me with a pretty decent model and early on I had some knowledge of how attractive I was to others. I didn't appreciate the strength in having that knowledge, in fact it irritated me. I thought it a shallow quality, one I was gifted and hadn't earned. I was more about substance and intelligence than physical attributes. I wanted to be taken seriously and not patronized. How easy that notion is to embrace when one is nice looking and suffers no poor images of ones own body.

I watch my stunningly beautiful daughter struggle with hers. She's twenty five years old, educated, professionally successful and drop dead gorgeous. She's reed thin, she has waist length silky blonde hair and a 100 watt smile. She's funny, she's sweet and she can tell you off in the blink of an eye. I can't believe I gave birth to this wondrous creature. It pains me to watch her displeasure with herself...but I know, like me, she will get to that place where she loves her body in time.

The place I am now.

I love my body. I know it better than anyone. I know what it can and can't do. It's been explored, pleasantly, sensually and in depth . I have been among the explorers. I look in a mirror and am met with instant recognition. I look at my face, unlined and unwrinkled and thank heaven for Grandma Irene's good genes. I look at my scars, trace them with my fingers and remember the reasons life carved itself onto my body. I look at my breasts, once so pitifully small compared to what I saw in movies and television, now lush, beautifully formed and a truly individual mark of my own womanhood. I see the "pooch" left behind from the last c-section and let vanity pervade my sensibility and wish I had money to have it removed. I look at softened planes once taut, I look at curves more generous than they once were. I look at creases and crevices, hills and valleys, folds, mounds and special places....my personal topography. I love my body ...every last inch of it....pooch and all.

So it is for my daughter, for your daughters and for any woman at odds with her physical form that I say this. Love your body. If you find something you want to alter then do so if it makes you happy, if it makes you healthy, but never do it to make someone else happy. Don't discount it's form because of something you might see in a print add, in a film or on television. Computers enhance images and they are unrecognizable even to the subject themselves sometimes.

Love the vessel that was given you to traverse this lifetime. Honor it, respect it and revere it. It is you in the truest sense and there is not another just like yours on the entire planet.

That in itself is cause for celebration!

Indeed.

Memorial Day

A few weeks ago I happened upon a box of old photographs. I was looking for a specific photo of my mother and me when I came across this treasure trove. The photos belonged to my grandmother's sister and came to me when she passed on. My aunt, and her husband, were childless and I was her godchild.

The photos were old, taken a very long time ago and long before I was born. They were photos taken during the time my uncle served in the Air Force during WWII. Serving in the military was not uncommon among the males in my family. My dad served in the Navy, his brothers in the Marines and the Air Force. Lots of my friends had fathers and uncles who served as well. What was uncommon was talking about their service. Other than the occasional humor filled story about a "buddy", these men didn't discuss their service much. I never even knew my uncle spent any time in the Pacific during WWII until I saw the photographs. In fact neither my father nor his brothers discussed this time in their lives.

My Uncle Mickey was a quiet, gentle man. The only job I ever knew him to have was one in the library of a college in our town. He was sweet, a good cook and especially liked to bake. He tended a vegetable garden each year and was manic over doing crossword puzzles. He was dependable and full of good advice. He and my aunt lived a quiet, happy life together.

These photos made me wonder about him, wonder about the time he spent so far from home. It was obvious from their content that he saw action. The photos were of barracks and planes and of young men making the best of the situation. Fresh faces that did not reveal the turmoil surrounding their world. Fresh faces serving their country in a way that most of us will never understand. I am proud of my Uncle Mickey. Proud of what he did as service to his country, proud and grateful for his sacrifice. I wish he had talked about it to me, wish I knew something of what he experienced. I wish I could tell him what I feel about his service, tell him that I am grateful that he and all of those other young men in the photos had the courage to serve their country.

One of the photos in that box was of the First Marine Division Cemetery in Okinawa, Japan. Neat white crosses lined up tell the story. A story I am remembering this Memorial Day. So to all of those fresh faced young men....and women, who served then and who are serving today, I offer my heartfelt gratitude for their sacrifice. I thank them for providing me with a tangible example of duty and honor. I thank them for returning home and continuing to live lives of honor among us. And to those who didn't return, those who gave all in the ultimate sacrifice, I pray for their soul and that they are peacefully at rest.

Thank you....

Indeed

I Wish It Would Rain

I was up early today, walking the dog around 8 this morning. I couldn't believe how heavy the sky seemed. Walking along the air was humid and full of moisture but it just hung there, in suspension, over my head. I kept thinking how I wished the sky would just open up and be done with it already. I wished it would rain, I wished for that heavy sky to let go and release it's burden.

While I walked along I thought about burdens, my burdens. I thought about things that have been hanging over my own head, like that heavy sky, things suspended over me now. Burdens, weights, heavy feelings that hang like low clouds not quite touching me but their presence undeniably felt. Things that are pressing and things that give me pause. Things that cause me worry, things I am powerless to control. Things that seem to just hang there, things I can see every time I look up.

Just like I was wishing the sky to open up, I am wishing for all of these things over me now to just open up. Open up and rain down on me so I can see them, so I can deal with them. Above my head they are foreboding, burdens that I can't measure and can't touch. I want them out in the open where I can see what I am dealing with. I want them released and relieved. I want them gone.

I want it to rain. I want these things to wash over me, flood me, surround me so I can deal with them, If I can deal with them then they will be gone once and for all.

How I wish that it would rain.....

Indeed.

For Monica

The photo you see is one of my mother and me in November of 1958. This was the first photo taken of us as she had just brought me home from the hospital after I was born.

I love looking at this photo, I am held so tenderly, so lovingly and looked upon with such joy. All of my other childhood photos are those of a display, a pose for presentation for relatives to see. Stiff, unnatural and in some a little absence of emotion I think. It's hard for me to miss the feeling, the maternal love and pride at work here.

Rarely do we think of our own mothers this way, at least for me it's rare. I tend to focus on her more matured persona. She was about twenty then and living far, far from home and family. She was a new mother, unsure of so many things and trying to figure them out by herself. I've only really known the version of my mother that she let me see. The strong willed, private, determined, resolute guide. I grew up with her expectations clearly defined.

I never saw this woman, the one in the photo. This wisp of a beauty with glossy black hair pulled back. This delicate creature cradling a child she only just came to know as her own. What a lovely feeling for me to see a soft side of this intensely private woman. So private that she endured three sorrowful miscarriages following my birth, events I was never to know but for an old woman's slip of the tongue in later years.

I see her vulnerable side, I see her hesitant wonder, I see that she really didn't know everything....at least not at this point. Perhaps this photo captures the moment she looked at me and decided that over her dead body would any harm come to me, Perhaps this is when she filled with hope for what I might become...if she was to be a good mother.

Perhaps this is the moment she realized she loved someone more than herself, loved me so much that she would never fail me, let harm touch me or hurt break me. Perhaps this is when she stopped being that wisp of a girl with glossy black hair....and became my strong and fearless mother.

The mother I have become despite repeated recitations that I would never be like her. No matter how I deny it...I used her blueprint, I followed her to my own path to motherhood. I held my children and made the vows she made to me. I looked at them and promised them the moon and stars, I fell in love with them and for as many times as they have broken my heart...I hand it right back to them again because that's what mother's do. That's what my mother did.

So on this Mother's Day I will quietly thank my mother for looking at me that way, for falling in love with a tiny child that she knew nothing of except that I was part of her. For loving me no matter what simply because I was hers....and always would be.

Always would be....

Indeed.

Happy Mother's Day

The Question of Betrayal

I recently answered a questionnaire about Betrayal. The questions prompted some deep thinking.

How does it make you feel?

A very long time ago my Dad taught me to make sure a person earned my trust and for me to not give my trust to another capriciously. He told me that mostly people don’t have our best interests at heart and can’t be counted on to stand with us in all things. He told me that some people can’t be counted on at their word and that their deed would have to tell the tale. In other words…. they had to walk the walk and not just talk it. But he also told me that when I met the person who would stand with me, who would hold my heart in their hands like the precious gift that it is…the smartest thing I could do would be to give them my trust. Because having that person to count on would help me travel the bumpy road through life.

In my trusting I am opening myself, laying myself vulnerable, allowing access to places most everyone else never gets to see. I have given over myself, the sum of all the parts, for you to have. Having that disregarded tells me you care nothing for what I am as a person, care nothing for who I am in your life and certainly care nothing for the investment I have made in you personally. All that said…. betrayal to me is serious business. If I have given my trust and you have betrayed it…I am done with you. Done. Period. I won’t give you a chance to do it again.

Do you feel differently being betrayed by a lover vs. a friend?

No…. trust is trust…but my reaction would be different with a lover. If a friend betrays me, and although it hurts me, I will move on. I don’t care for drama nor will I indulge in yours. I’m firm, I won’t want to rehash the nonsense because frankly…what is there to talk about. Did you betray me? Yes? Goodbye then.

A lover…a lover not only has my trust but the relationship is more complex than a simple friendship. When you love someone beyond the friendship and beyond the trust....your heart has been given. The loss of trust to me, then, is immeasurable and the pain of the betrayal will stay with me for a very long time. I’ll be mad at myself for being so foolish, foolish for having trusted, but I won’t regret giving over my heart to someone I love. I will be mad that I didn’t see it coming but I won’t be sorry for caring, I won’t be sorry I loved. I will be sorry what I had given wasn't appreciated and valued as it should have been. My exit from the relationship will be quiet and composed but the angst will linger on inside. I will carry it and it will serve as a reminder and will make me think twice the next time. I'll make sure the person is worth it.

Are you more likely to take time to organize your thoughts & feelings, or more likely to confront the issue head on?

I look at betrayal in simple terms so there is no need for me to organize thoughts. It’s pretty black and white for me. Did you lie to me? y/n? Did you repeat something I asked you not to? y/n? Did you make a fool out of me? y/n? Did you use me? y/n? Did you disrespect me? Disrespect the friendship? Disrespect my love? y/n? What’s to organize really? These are my limits...and I doubt anyone in my life doesn’t understand them.

Once the betrayal is revealed I don’t need to confront the issue in any way. I’m done. If the offender hasn’t figured out what happened…and let’s face it we mostly know when we screw up…. then I will happily have that conversation. Otherwise…. just walk on by and keep going. I don't need closure....I had it when you betrayed me.

I realize how harsh this sounds, how cold it seems, but I have a more firm resolve than most when it comes to how I deal with such things. Those who have had a relationship with me in friendship and in love will attest to my warmth and soft nature in a personal sense. I have a big, roomy heart, but I am careful who gets in it. Once inside there is nothing I won't do for you, won't give you, My love, friendship and fealty is true and everlasting.

What types of betrayals are you willing to forgive?

I forgive everything…even the unforgivable. Let me just say that I have endured the "mother of all betrayals" at age 20...and while it took me a long time to forgive…I did. I look at it this way...forgiveness is totally under my control. I get to decide when I forgive and on my own terms. It does me no good to hang on to old hurt, carry around bad feelings, wallow in self pity and regret. It's not only unattractive but this behavior holds a person back from moving forward. It's a roadblock to my life to come. So I let go of it and keep on going.

Forgiveness is a release. We really are held prisoner by old hurt. It stunts our growth and our ability to go forward. It's a heavy load to drag around and I'd just as soon not do it. I also think that in forgiving I acknowledge the care and I acknowledge the love I had for the person and I also acknowledge their inability to be a true friend, be a true love to me. Their loss, to me, is far greater than mine is...for they lost the person in their life that would not ever do to them that which was done to me.

Indeed