Arizona
In the past almost month that I have been in Arizona, I've been trying to steer a sea change in myself. There's a cascade of events that need to happen in order for me to happy, healthy, and whole for the rest of my life. And I've been trying to gently kick start them.
That sounds a lot more orderly and structured than it really is. I have a vague idea of what is wrong with me (well, of what is holding me down and stopping me from many things), and a vague idea of what is needed to make it all better.
The jumping off point has been judgment. I have stopped judging myself while out here. Mostly. This is a hard one to break. But I have given myself permission to let go of the need to regulate through judgement. And by god, it is freeing. The constant fear I have lived with for most of my life mysteriously disappeared within the first week of being here. I sleep well, when I eat well. Which isn't always. But that's ok, because I am stripping away my judgment of self around food, and finding that under the surface, I make the decisions of a fearful child. Under the judgment is an incredibly strong ID forcing itself to be heard through terrible decisions. I'm torn between crooning to my bratty inner child and spanking it. Haha! Just kidding, inner child...
< < > >
Ok. So, fear is slipping away. Another aspect of self that I have let go of judging is physical. This has manifested in walking around mostly naked most of the time. And it. Is. WONDERFUL. I lie around in the sun wearing not much, my skin is getting brown, and the fat isn't going anywhere because I'm mostly just lying around. It doesn't matter. Being naked, being unselfconsciously naked, is a very effective way to learn to love your body. Your eyes catch glimpses constantly, and become familiar with this new shape, no longer hidden by structure. Familiarity breeds affection. You start to look fondly down at your arms and legs, at your breasts and butt. You remember that they are YOURS, and yours alone. This is the machine you have to circumnavigate this world, and it is beautiful one. I look down at my brown feet, and I find them adorable. There is a part of me that says "Adorable, in spite of the fact that they haven't done anything useful lately.". But this other, magically opened part of me just smiles and says "Yet.", in absolute confidence that they will.
I have started to see signs of aging in myself, while out here. It's impossible to avoid noticing when you're half naked much of the time. My skin has grown a touch more brittle. No, brittle isn't the right word. Crepey. It has lost some elasticity. Every part of me, every external inch, is covered in this impossible to hide canvas, and it is aging. I did not realize how judgmental I was of that till I let myself let it all go. Under the surface of my anger at my skin is the memories of other peoples anger at aging. And underneath that is a sweet, loving acceptance of the fact that I am getting older. I am losing physical aspects of self even as I gain aspects of self. I don't know that it's a process I agree with. It would be quite nice to gain the benefits of age without the losing the benefits of youth. But, all in all, I love the benefits of age. I love who I am becoming, from my skin in.
Something I've been doing a ridiculous amount of while here is taking selfies. I constantly take selfies. I find them fascinating. I stare at myself in the screen of my phone, and I am fascinated. I notice the wrinkles around my eyes, the sagging skin around my breasts, the bulge of my belly. I notice the luminous quality of my self when I am happy, the ridge of my cheekbones, the curve of my lips. I notice the sadness in my eyes, the seriousness I am no longer capable of hiding behind a mask of Don't Care. Selfies are these captured mirror moments, and I love them. I've been sharing a lot of them lately on social media, and it's got me thinking about what I choose to share vs what I keep for myself. It forces me to acknowledge my own slavery to the "male gaze" (I put male gaze in scare quotes because it is comprised of the eyes of men and women alike, and is only male by nature of the need to please men through physical proof of youth and beauty. I assure you, if I had an only female audience, I would still try and post nothing but flattering pics), my need to please. There is a Margaret Atwood quote I love, because it is me. Oh, it is me.
"Male fantasies, male fantasies, is everything run by male fantasies? Up on a pedestal or down on your knees, it’s all a male fantasy: that you’re strong enough to take what they dish out, or else too weak to do anything about it. Even pretending you aren’t catering to male fantasies is a male fantasy: pretending you’re unseen, pretending you have a life of your own, that you can wash your feet and comb your hair unconscious of the ever-present watcher peering through the keyhole, peering through the keyhole in your own head, if nowhere else. You are a woman with a man inside watching a woman. You are your own voyeur."
I am not self conscious, I am other conscious. I took the belief that God is always watching, and I internalized it into EVERYONE is always watching. And when I fell under the heavy gaze of men, it became men who were watching, and men who must be pleased. I think of how I treated sex, how it was an opportunity and a NEED to affirm the male gaze, to be desired for what their eyes saw, because I could not be desired for what my own eyes saw. I love sex. God, I love sex. And when it's right, when I am in it and lost, it is wonderful. But I have never lost the knowledge of being watched, and the fear of being judged. The most overwhelming orgasms in the world are accompanied by the knowledge that your cries and writhing and liquid squirting are turning men on. And that's more important. More important than what, I don't know.
So, yes. I am lolling around in decadent abandon, fat and lazy and comfortable in my own skin. I am letting sunlight and bird calls and beautiful hills help me, but I am also aggressively pursuing (quietly, and gently, but still aggressively) an internal shift that will let me heal. Heal from a thousand tiny wounds, inflicted by loving, trusted hands, including my own.
It is raining right now, and I am on the covered patio. The water heavy wind (so much better than moist wind. GAH!) is caressing my skin, the birds are frantically happy, and heavy clouds are clambering up the hills in front of me, panting and reaching for the sky. It is... very beautiful. It smells amazing, like a garden and a classroom and a rock on your tongue. I am happy. I am not thinking about what I am going to do to stay happy, whether this is what I need to always be happy, whether I deserve to be happy... I am just happy.
That sounds a lot more orderly and structured than it really is. I have a vague idea of what is wrong with me (well, of what is holding me down and stopping me from many things), and a vague idea of what is needed to make it all better.
The jumping off point has been judgment. I have stopped judging myself while out here. Mostly. This is a hard one to break. But I have given myself permission to let go of the need to regulate through judgement. And by god, it is freeing. The constant fear I have lived with for most of my life mysteriously disappeared within the first week of being here. I sleep well, when I eat well. Which isn't always. But that's ok, because I am stripping away my judgment of self around food, and finding that under the surface, I make the decisions of a fearful child. Under the judgment is an incredibly strong ID forcing itself to be heard through terrible decisions. I'm torn between crooning to my bratty inner child and spanking it. Haha! Just kidding, inner child...
< < > >
Ok. So, fear is slipping away. Another aspect of self that I have let go of judging is physical. This has manifested in walking around mostly naked most of the time. And it. Is. WONDERFUL. I lie around in the sun wearing not much, my skin is getting brown, and the fat isn't going anywhere because I'm mostly just lying around. It doesn't matter. Being naked, being unselfconsciously naked, is a very effective way to learn to love your body. Your eyes catch glimpses constantly, and become familiar with this new shape, no longer hidden by structure. Familiarity breeds affection. You start to look fondly down at your arms and legs, at your breasts and butt. You remember that they are YOURS, and yours alone. This is the machine you have to circumnavigate this world, and it is beautiful one. I look down at my brown feet, and I find them adorable. There is a part of me that says "Adorable, in spite of the fact that they haven't done anything useful lately.". But this other, magically opened part of me just smiles and says "Yet.", in absolute confidence that they will.
I have started to see signs of aging in myself, while out here. It's impossible to avoid noticing when you're half naked much of the time. My skin has grown a touch more brittle. No, brittle isn't the right word. Crepey. It has lost some elasticity. Every part of me, every external inch, is covered in this impossible to hide canvas, and it is aging. I did not realize how judgmental I was of that till I let myself let it all go. Under the surface of my anger at my skin is the memories of other peoples anger at aging. And underneath that is a sweet, loving acceptance of the fact that I am getting older. I am losing physical aspects of self even as I gain aspects of self. I don't know that it's a process I agree with. It would be quite nice to gain the benefits of age without the losing the benefits of youth. But, all in all, I love the benefits of age. I love who I am becoming, from my skin in.
Something I've been doing a ridiculous amount of while here is taking selfies. I constantly take selfies. I find them fascinating. I stare at myself in the screen of my phone, and I am fascinated. I notice the wrinkles around my eyes, the sagging skin around my breasts, the bulge of my belly. I notice the luminous quality of my self when I am happy, the ridge of my cheekbones, the curve of my lips. I notice the sadness in my eyes, the seriousness I am no longer capable of hiding behind a mask of Don't Care. Selfies are these captured mirror moments, and I love them. I've been sharing a lot of them lately on social media, and it's got me thinking about what I choose to share vs what I keep for myself. It forces me to acknowledge my own slavery to the "male gaze" (I put male gaze in scare quotes because it is comprised of the eyes of men and women alike, and is only male by nature of the need to please men through physical proof of youth and beauty. I assure you, if I had an only female audience, I would still try and post nothing but flattering pics), my need to please. There is a Margaret Atwood quote I love, because it is me. Oh, it is me.
"Male fantasies, male fantasies, is everything run by male fantasies? Up on a pedestal or down on your knees, it’s all a male fantasy: that you’re strong enough to take what they dish out, or else too weak to do anything about it. Even pretending you aren’t catering to male fantasies is a male fantasy: pretending you’re unseen, pretending you have a life of your own, that you can wash your feet and comb your hair unconscious of the ever-present watcher peering through the keyhole, peering through the keyhole in your own head, if nowhere else. You are a woman with a man inside watching a woman. You are your own voyeur."
I am not self conscious, I am other conscious. I took the belief that God is always watching, and I internalized it into EVERYONE is always watching. And when I fell under the heavy gaze of men, it became men who were watching, and men who must be pleased. I think of how I treated sex, how it was an opportunity and a NEED to affirm the male gaze, to be desired for what their eyes saw, because I could not be desired for what my own eyes saw. I love sex. God, I love sex. And when it's right, when I am in it and lost, it is wonderful. But I have never lost the knowledge of being watched, and the fear of being judged. The most overwhelming orgasms in the world are accompanied by the knowledge that your cries and writhing and liquid squirting are turning men on. And that's more important. More important than what, I don't know.
So, yes. I am lolling around in decadent abandon, fat and lazy and comfortable in my own skin. I am letting sunlight and bird calls and beautiful hills help me, but I am also aggressively pursuing (quietly, and gently, but still aggressively) an internal shift that will let me heal. Heal from a thousand tiny wounds, inflicted by loving, trusted hands, including my own.
It is raining right now, and I am on the covered patio. The water heavy wind (so much better than moist wind. GAH!) is caressing my skin, the birds are frantically happy, and heavy clouds are clambering up the hills in front of me, panting and reaching for the sky. It is... very beautiful. It smells amazing, like a garden and a classroom and a rock on your tongue. I am happy. I am not thinking about what I am going to do to stay happy, whether this is what I need to always be happy, whether I deserve to be happy... I am just happy.
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