Be kind to your body: lizards and pigeons included

A few weeks ago a woman posted a question on a social media platform. Apparently she had had a baby a year ago, was eating healthy, running and really trying to lose the baby weight. She had managed to lose most but the fat around her belly. How, she asked, could she get rid of that fat? It was gross and unattractive. I was saddened by this woman's hatred of her post-pregnancy body. I wrote a reply, advising her to be kind to the body that recently gave birth, quite a miracle. Many people agreed with me, advising her to be nice to herself.  Our bodies change as a result of childbirth and menopause. It was pretty soon after however, that I forgot that advice. I was in a yoga class, in Lizard pose, which in itself is not for the weak. Your forearms are on the floor, right next to your calf. I did not commend my body for twisting into this pose, I berated it. Looking at my back leg, all I saw was fat, bulging from my hip. I caught myself soon after, but the damage was done. I, who had just advised a woman to be kind to herself, had forgotten to be kind to myself. I was picking apart my body, and looking at its "weakness" rather than its strength. As a culture we are taught to pick apart our bodies. "Get firmer thighs in thirty days," one ad boasts, while another, "for plump lips try our amazing gloss." Not only are we fat, but our fat is in the wrong place. After years of eating healthy and exercising I am not immune. I bemoan the fact that I cannot wear high boots, cannot even get them over my calves. Instead of be grateful that I have the calf muscles of a football player, I grieve the loss of DSW boots. I guess it comes down to treating oneself the same as you would treat others. I would never tell another woman that she had big thighs or her breasts weren't perky enough. But I constantly repeat those messages to myself, to my body, this vehicle that runs 6 miles a day and can do a handstand. Next time I give advice, I need to sit back and ask whether or not I could take the advice I am giving. But for now, I will attempt to love my lizard, large calves and all. 

What's in a Name?

Mother's Day 2011. Happy day to all who are mothers, all who have mothered, and all who wish to do so. Giving birth to a child, an idea, or yourself, these actions, they all seem to blend. I know that labor is painful, I do remember those 20 hours it took on a cold December day, 18 years ago. But I also know that the creation process, whether it be a work of art, thesis, business plan or any other project that uses blood, metaphorical blood, is birth. The expectation, the fear, the excitement leading up to the fact - the pain and  release during birth, and the emptiness one experiences after. I sit here on a beautiful May Mother's day, just having completed three years work of intense undergraduate work, my baby heading off to college in a few short months, and I feel the emptiness, the after birth. Cardinals are singing, the dogs are groaning in their sleep, and I am in the midst of a transition period. A very scary transition period. When you peel away the identities, the names, the labels, mother, student, employee etc, who do you become? When the job of raising a child is over, when the work is completed, when you are left in front of the computer screen, who are you? I think this, can you call it, existential crisis, has me befuddled.

I am about to become officially divorced, and for the last year have been going back and forth about my name. Am I my husband's name, I was married for 13 years, it is the name on my child's birth certificate. Or am I the woman I was before marriage? What does a name signify? Who do I become if I take on a different name completely? Who do I become if I earn that degree? Names and Labels. What is in a name? My last name and my graduation, in the same post. Are they connected in some way? I trust that they are, just as I trust that I will know the answers to all the above questions, when I am ready and open to receive those answers. Right now I am questioning, I am thinking my way through when it might just be ok to sit back and watch the birds. They, after all, don't seem to be upset with their names. Crows and Ravens never quabble, and Great Blue Herons seem to take it in stride. So maybe for today I will be grateful, grateful for my mother, grateful to be a mother (it really was the best Christmas present ever) and grateful to be sitting here, in front of the computer screen, listening to the birds and pondering my name.