On Becoming a Crone

 

aging is not stealthy, like some ninja warrior

sneaking up and nunchucking me from behind

new lines and wrinkles appear in the mirror daily

whether I choose to acknowledge them or remain in denial,

I am surprised when I bend down to pick up something I’ve dropped again

to feel a new twinge or stab catch my breath

and when that happens I say, “oh I feel you now”.

 

aging is not beautiful; the silver framing my face may be precious

but only as a reward for all the courage I’ve revealed

the soft curves of my body are not a sign of vulnerability,

but symbolize the great expanse of my soul,

today I treasure really looking people in the eye,

saying aloud, “I like your smile, your sweater, your care”

and when that happens I sigh, “I hope I made a difference.”

 

aging is not inevitable; we are blessed with each bonus day,

another moment to tell a loved one they are beloved.

I try to halt the peevishness I feel towards the flesh hanging from my arms

by assuring myself that I now have angels wings and then,

I laugh at myself because crones aren’t always angels,

sometimes we transform into bitches, refueling our wrath

and when that happens, I whisper, “can you see me now?”

 

aging is not in the mind where I will always remain 30,

while my body changes and prepares for the next transition

I forgive myself for the days when I wheeze like an organ needing repair

for truly I am an oak tree with strong roots, able to dance in the wind,

yet curious, wilely and wild enough to

March on Washington while proudly shouldering a rainbow flag a little higher

and when that happens can you hear me roar?

 

silver power is not for the faint hearted,

look us in the eyes if you dare, discount us at your peril

you will see tigers baring their teeth, or what remains of them,

listen closely, you will hear us growl, we are becoming crones,

we care more for serenity and less for what others think

with less to lose we are reckless and daring

and when that happens, will you miss us sneaking up behind you?

© Mari Selby, August 6, 2017

Beauty is Not Determined by Our Pants Size!

1950’s Ideal Woman’s Body

Who says a size 12 is Fat! Who decides that generous curves are not beautiful. I grew up believing that a size 12 was an marvelous size for a woman, and that this model was sexy and gorgeous. A woman had a soft belly, flesh on her arms, and hips that she could swing. Mae West allegedly once said: “Cultivate your curves they may be dangerous but they won’t be avoided.” Did Mae West or this model worry that she wouldn’t be loved or liked because of how she looked? There is definitely beauty in a smile, in sparkling eyes, and open arms In the next few blogs I want to explore what Beauty means to all of us now. We can use words to hurt ourselves or use those same words to build our self-esteem.

Today I am a size 12 and I have to stop myself constantly comparing myself to the size 2 woman and thinking I am enormous. I have quite a few more scars than this model, but we are not shaped so differently. I am decades older than she is in the photo, and my belly bulges a bit more than hers and there’s extra flesh on my arms that swings. My ass maybe a little more generous, and my thighs rub when I sweat. But how am I not still beautiful?  My negative self-talk says that my beauty is only on the surface. My self-esteem says what matters most is literally seeing the beauty in myself and other people.

I did a casual survey on FB on what people thought was beautiful. All ten women who responded said that beauty was in the eyes, the soul, and the heart. One woman said that developing and holding onto a moral integrity was beautiful. Another woman said that being pretty was very different from being beautiful. One woman said “I may look and feel like an arse, but my hubbie, and children make me feel beautiful.” Everyone of them made a distinction between outward appearances and how we feel inside, or how others love makes us feel. How do you define beauty? When do you feel beautiful?

 “Pretty women wonder where my secret lies.
I’m not cute or built to suit a fashion model’s size
But when I start to tell them,
They think I’m telling lies.
I say,
It’s in the reach of my arms
The span of my hips,
The stride of my step,
The curl of my lips.
I’m a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That’s me.”

excerpt from “Phenomenal Woman” by Maya Angelou

You and I are Not Damaged Goods

How we can cultivate the courage, compassion, and connection to go to bed at night thinking, ‘Yes, I am sometimes afraid, but I am also brave. And, yes, I am imperfect, but that doesn’t change the truth that I am enough, and worthy of love. I am enough! What a concept! Would I rather think I am enough than think I am damaged goods? You bet. Would you rather feel worthy and loveable? I am sure. What stops us from feeling whole, brave and accepting all of who we are? What will help us to realize that we are not damaged, or that there are no mistakes? What are the tools we have or can create to change those beliefs?

This message of being damaged goods is pervasive and insidious. It can also be a self-fulfilling prophecy. We may say to ourselves, “I think I am damaged therefore I act like I am damaged. And if I act like I am damaged then I don’t have to act out of self-respect let alone self-esteem.” Thinking we are damaged may be at the root of casual violence, drug use, or any form of self abuse. The thought that we are damaged is wholly based in shame. When we create awareness of how we carry shame in our lives we take our first steps towards freedom. I am, and hopefully you are, ready to change that message.

Do we carry shame like some kind of emotional genetic code? Does our parents shame becomes our shame? Maybe it doesn’t look exactly the same. My mother was ashamed of her immigrant mother, my father was ashamed of his hillbilly father. My shame  comes out in second guessing and berating myself for apparent mistakes. Are we carrying shame around as if it is the sweetest smelling nosegay when actually it is a “hot mess” as the teens are saying these days?

Awareness of these messages of shame is the first step. Maybe the second is the realization that shame is carried forward through our families. My mother was ashamed so therefore she shamed me. If I can let her off the proverbial hook, then maybe I can do the same for myself. And only THEN we can create a tool that addresses these beliefs at the unconscious level. To simply notice something may or may not change it…however, when we interrupt the negative pattern and consciously reprogram the unconscious change is more likely to occur.

Most of us ‘try’ to change our idea of being damaged goods at the level of willpower. As in “I won’t think that way anymore…I will not think that way anymore…I will not think…oh shoot! I am back there again.” If we are still doing the same thing, can we continue to be surprised when we get the same results?

I had a conversation with a mentor the other day. We were talking about the pattern I still have after all these years of therapy and recovery of being upset by little things that did not go as planned. I used to call them mistakes and grind them into me like a broken record. She and I were talking on the porch of a grocery store, and just inside the door was a large sign that said, “Thank you!” And I realized that I could say thank you, when I have turned left instead of right. Thank you when I did not have the answer to a clients question. By saying thank you I am acknowledging that there might have been a reason for the left turn, or for saying “I don’t know”. I can be grateful that each time these alleged mistakes happened they  provided me with a chance to do something different. The first time I said thank you rather than berating myself the feeling of freedom and internal space was sublime.

You may already know that you are not damaged. You may already realize that you are worthy and loveable. What do you do to change your beliefs around shame, being damaged or making mistakes? What do you do to claim that you are indeed “Enough”?