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In a little less than a month, I will hit a milestone birthday. Most who don’t know me wouldn’t think that I would be crossing the threshold into my 60’s on October 13th. Good genes, (my parents lived into their middle 80’s and I had an aunt who died at 103) and relatively clean living; I don’t drink alcohol or coffee, don’t use drugs and don’t smoke, are contributing factors. I work out several times a week at the gym and hang out with people of all ages. My oldest friend just turned 85 and rocks tattoos and wants to sit astride a motorcycle decked out in leather to celebrate. I love being with children too and learn so much from the tiny humans to whom I teach mindfulness and yoga in daycare centers. My five-year-old great-niece is one of my favorite teachers as she ponders the state of the world and just knows stuff, old soul that she is.
In the past nearly five years, this skin-suit that totes around my mind, heart, and soul has experienced a series of health crises that include: shingles, kidney stones, heart attack, pneumonia and adrenal fatigue. My memory seems at times to go the way of all winds. It is increasingly frustrating, and I am planning on turning to supplements to boost my brain. In my line of work as a therapist, writer and speaker, it is essential for me be sharp and there is a sense of embarrassment that accompanies it. Learning to go with the flow.
One area that has been even more a stretch is the aforementioned skin suit. In my 20’s, it was an itsy bitsy tight and toned swimmer’s physique since I had spent hours upon hours in the pool as a competitive swimmer from ages 11-18 and then worked as a lifeguard, swim instructor and coach for three summers after that. My prom gown was a size 7. By the time I got married, my wedding gown was a size 10. Still felt svelte. In 1992, I had an ectopic pregnancy and that changed the landscape dramatically since the lower abdominal muscle was cut and no matter how much I have exercised over the years, or weight I have shed, the rounded belly remains, and I wear clothes ranging from 10-14, depending on the cut.
Sometimes, I shrug and surrender to the belief that this is the Goddess body I have. Since being widowed in 1998, I have had numerous lovers, and none has complained about the package. Apparently, I am the only one who casts aspersions on my bod. I judge my belly harshly and wish it would shrink. At the gym, I admire my strong legs and hips, and my toned arms that would do Michelle Obama proud. I have been using an affirmation that feels good as I sweat it out at Planet Fitness, ironically known as The Judgement Free Zone. “I am healthier and stronger, slimmer and trimmer, lighter and thinner every day.” I am feeding my body with emotional nourishment.
Today, on the Fall Equinox, I was at a holistic expo where I taught Laughter Yoga and meandered about through the vendor area. My friend Karen DeHaven was bedecking people with henna tattoos. I am a pain wimp and would never have an ink infused and needle imprinted version, so mehndi it was. I perused the books with design ideas. I asked Karen about something with a feather, in part, since I am a clown and my character’s name is Feather. She said, “How about a peacock feather?” She had a friend look up the meaning of that bird and it turns out that it is about beauty and self-expression, something I was clearly needing at the time.
While we sat on the colorful blanket, legs draped over each other’s, I closed my eyes and breathed the last winds of Summer as it ruffled through my hair. It felt like a meditation. Karen knows that I have difficulty slowing down and am always on the go, so this was a healing experience. She commented that the touch part of the process was beneficial as well and I agreed completely. Observing that the muscle on my upper left arm onto which she was calligraphing the feather was twitching, she laughed that even in repose, my body was still moving.
On my way home from the event, I stopped to do some grocery shopping. As I was standing in the check out line, a man in front of me noticed the tank top I was wearing that has a message inscribed on it that reads: EAT, SLEEP, HUG, KISS, DANCE, CHANGE THE WORLD, REPEAT. I told him that one of my activities is offering FREE Hugs and I asked if he wanted a hug. He smiled and told me that he loved hugs and “especially from a pretty lady.” I felt myself blushing and then he asked about the tattoo and he commented on the word, ‘beauty’ scripted at the bottom of the feather. It felt good to receive the compliment, and I didn’t hear myself discounting it in my head. There are some days when I feel passingly attractive, a few when I feel stunningly gorgeous and many when I look in the mirror and my eyes immediately go to what I perceive as the flawed part of me. My friends are varying sizes and shapes, some love their bodies, some disparage them.
Beth Nolan and I co-facilitate a class called “Love the Skin You’re In: A Body Positive Journey.” It is a clothing optional workshop for folks of all gender identity and sexual preference/lifestyle. My favorite aspect is an exercise called fishbowl (a fly on the wall eavesdropping) during which the male self- identified people sit in the middle while the female self-identified people sit on the outside and observe the conversation as my co-facilitator and I ask these questions:
- What did you learn about your body as you were growing up?
- What did you learn about being male in the culture in which you were raised?
- What did you learn about sex?
Once their conversation was complete, we would switch positions. I am astounded each time at the vulnerability shared along with the descriptions of their education on these topics. Most were not given loving messages about their bodies. Most learned to hide who they were from the world. Many carry a whole bunch of shame about sex and gender roles. Many feared being truly seen. It is a stretch for me, since I too have body image issues.
Ironically, I have no trouble saying that I can be a sexy seasoned woman at 60.
I do wish I could say that as I approach the big 6-0, I have grown beyond my self -imposed body shame and see it the way those who have loved on it over the years, do. I wish I could see the beauty that it exudes. Maybe that will be what I ask for when I blow out my candles.
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Photo credit: Pixabay