A letter to my belly...

Dear belly,

I am sorry that we have to be on such formal terms and I can't just tell you this face-to-...well, belly.  But our relationship has never been a good one.  You and I both know that.  So I figured it would be good for me to vent my thoughts and feelings in this format.  I hope that, at the end of this, we can start over...or at least move on in re-building our relationship together.

I have so much to apologize to you for, that I really don't know where to start.  First of all, I am sorry for hating you.  Not only did I hate you, I despised you with a passion that was not fit for pure evil incarnate, much less a very real and innocent part of me.  I hated you to such a degree that I practically denied your very existence.  I would skim over you with the quickest and lightest of touches in the shower...but only out of necessity...and that was the only physical contact I ever allowed you to experience.  When lovers would run their fingers over you, I'd quickly brush their hands to "better geography" (or so I thought at the time.)  When friends' hands would touch you, even by accident, in an embrace, my whole body would become tense and reject their affection in an effort to deny your existence.  I covered you up with clothes, even during intimate times, baring my entire body to the eyes of lovers, but not you.  I was less ashamed to show my genitals to other people than I was that they catch a glimpse of you, much less fully realize your true, entire real-estate.  I would constantly "suck you in" and try to make you as invisible and unnoticeable as possible, to the point of stomach cramps and indigestion.  I would envelop you in "control top" everything in my ploy to camouflage and disguise you.  I knew, somehow, deep down, that I would never have children, and so, I wrote you off as useless and embarrassing.  I was so wrong, and I am sorry.

I am sorry that I did not get to know you as well as I did the rest of my body.  I am sorry I did not know of the amazing softness and sensitivity of the skin that covers you, and begs to be kissed.  Of your remarkable messaging system, telling me constantly how my visceral organs are doing on a minute to minute basis.  Of your link to my intuition, how you are sometimes the only part of my body that speaks to me when I know something is off or wrong, deep inside my spirit.

I am sorry that I withheld so much from you.  That I could love every part of me, flaws and all, for the strength and beauty of form that each part held for me...except you.  I am sorry that I would rarely breathe, truly breathe deeply, in fear of increasing and acknowledging your size.

Thank you for teaching me a lesson.  We cannot hate any part of ourselves, and truly love ourselves.  I must love the whole, including all the parts, and not excluding those I do not like.  The body does not function at its best with such rancor inside...directed outward OR inward.  I need you.  I know that now.  Thank you for taking care of me even when I did not take care of you.  Thank you for keeping things contained and not letting illness get out of hand and spread.  Thank you for being so accommodating, that you allowed me to continue living, while you did what you could to make room and minimize damage, even while I denied you help...for a long time.

You are just as much a part of me as my face, or feet, or hands, or heart...and I promise to work on recognizing how truly wonderful you are.  I plan on touching you more.  Allowing myself to look at you more.  Eventually allowing others to look at you, as well, regardless of what condition I have left you in.  I plan on loving your new "decoration" - a testament to your strength and a reminder of this growing bond between us.  I think I may even look into belly-dancing (even though you KNOW how uncoordinated I am - but I will do it FOR us...and for me, as a whole woman.)  I vow to work on embracing you as PART of my sensuality, and not a deterrent from it.  I promise to work on breathing deeply into you, allowing you the same nourishment and spiritual conditioning that I give the rest of my body.  I want to re-connect with you, and I hope, in time, I will grow to love you, and thereby, fully come to love myself. 

Thank you for teaching me, and making me a better person,

Christie

PS: thank you for being able to literally hold a football-sized tumor inside me and not kill or incapacitate me!!!

Middle-of-night musings

So here I am, awake at 4 am (not a usual occurrence, by the way,) completely cognizant and amused. It usually takes me awhile to come around upon awakening, and I normally don't jump out of bed and hop on the computer, but I found this funny in the not-entirely-rational musings of my "night brain."

I woke up because of the amazing storm going on outside (which I love!) But also for a slightly disturbing, if not personally hysterical dream that shot me into wakefulness.  I am taking this time to get this dream down on paper, and using that opportunity to share a bit more about myself. (not to mention, from time to time, I enjoy writing, and am using this chance to allow myself a foray into that treasured medium.)

So my dream...

I walked into my own funeral.  That's right.  Not dead, but not entirely as amused as I am about it right now, either.  Turns out it was a High School reunion of some sort, and, one of my long-lost HS buddies had heard of recent health issues, and thought, since everyone was already together, that it was just easier to go ahead and have a "memorial" before the final verdict was in.  And I walked in on it.  Fun part was playing in the jar of ashes at the front of the conference room while the speaker stood there in disbelief and the "could've heard a pin drop-silence" was over the room packed with attendees/mourners.

But that's not even the "good" part of the dream...that comes later.  As dreams are so prone to do, the place and situation completely changes (and makes perfect sense as well, of course.)  Now I'm in a conference of some sort, and having to do the meet-n-greet-mingle with complete strangers (not at all my forte for this socially-awkward wall princess.)  But I'm giving it my all, actually walking up to and making myself part of groups currently in conversation.  Of course, I walk up to the group led by Mr. Yummy, himself.  I'm talking late 40s George Clooney looker, combined with muscles that would be at home on the TruBlood television series, added to a nice, healthy freshly-ridden biker aroma, mixed with the allure/intrigue of a personal crush of mine..."the most interesting man in the world."  He is engaged in telling some personal, cute, "on dit" of the day; however, stops mid-sentence, turns towards me, and directly engages.  I don't remember what he said to draw me in, but I remember the gist of it was a smooth, complementary comment...

And I didn't bomb!  I didn't brush it off, or deflect, or hand the spotlight to my neighbor, but instead, I ran with it!  I used the attention to flirt and attempt to create a bond with my own Mc-Dreamy.  "Best moment of the day," I challenged him, both fingers (and barrels) locked and loaded and pointing at him with one eyebrow raised and a half-smirk on my lips.

He returns fire with some equally flirtatious, completely witty story that has all of us in tears of laughter.

And then it is my turn..."So I walk into my own funeral this morning..."

I win!  Not only that, I have him completely wrapped around my finger, and I’m one big smile, ready to pull my catch out of the crowd and go have my nasty sweaty way with him, as I’ve obviously just earned.

Fun dream.  Feels good.

And it gives me a nice transition into “share time.”  Believe it or not, (I chuckle, knowing this will come as no surprise to you all,) I am completely and utterly socially awkward, and have been all of my life.  I’m working on it, hard, but ‘tis no easy task, and one filled with hours of observation that I don’t yet have.  I was the kid/teenager with my nose buried in a book.  Not just occasionally, but ALL THE TIME.  At home, camping, vacations, family gatherings, holiday weekends at the lake, etc…even around other kids my age.  They would be playing, and I would be reading.  So I did not have to interact with my peers…and thereby, and more importantly,   I did not learn HOW to do so.  Conversations were mostly held with grown-ups.   At the time, I thought it was “obviously” because I was so much more mature and “fit” for adult conversation than “the other kids.”  But looking back with a better grasp of reality, I know it was the adults that saw the “poor, lonely” Christie with her nose buried in a book and assumed this was indication of an outcast.  They attempted to combat the trauma it must be doing to my soul by using their own grasp of social interactions to engage with me, pulling me into conversations so subtly and completely, that I believed it must be because of the maturity and innate “special” nature of my shiningly unique personality and fascinating intellect.  They were excellent conversationalists with techniques to which I wish I had paid closer attention.

It was only upon becoming a “grown-up” that I realized I was not the brilliantly witty conversationalist that I had been led to believe I was.

Which leads me into the story of the beginning of Mike and I…

We met at an orgy. 

(How’s that for an opener?)

No, but really…we did.  We were both at a local swingers’ party (not participating, as is the custom of both of us, in all honesty,) each noticing the attractive persona of the other, but neither having the skill (or possibly, the inclination) to do anything about it.

Jump forward several months, we start to see each other regularly within the same group’s weekly karaoke outing.  Somehow, after weeks of  “noticing” each other, I manage to get his phone number.  Not to call and talk, mind you…but to text…and email…and chat online for several weeks/months before progressing to a “group date” at a group campout. 

We do fine, better than that even, as words on a computer screen, picking each other’s brains and flirting and escalating our budding relationship.  In person, it is a different story.  We remain close to each other throughout the day/evening, sitting on the same benches, joining the same groups of conversation, but not actually speaking to each other.  A pre-arranged “lure” of a movie in his sleeping quarters (the back of his pickup) draws us into private time together…still without the need to speak with one another, and we watch the movie in blissful equally-“crush”ing silence…legs, feet, and hands brushing against each other, heightening the anticipation.  After the movie, we smoothly and gracefully flow into our first coitus session, without the need for words (okay, it was probably extremely awkward, but somehow, we got through it.)  Luckily, we “clicked” there, you might say, passing the ENTIRE night fucking, only stopping when we noticed the sun coming up and people starting to stir. 

Both eager to get to another night of sexual acrobatic escapades, and running on the high of our first hook-up, we spend the day together…still utterly silent.  Talking and joking and interacting with others as parts of groups, but not able to actually speak to each other in person.  Seriously!

Well, except for that one time…when I went back to my tent to change clothes.  Mike, being the consummate gentleman, accompanied me, and stood outside of the tent whilst I changed within.  We ended up having a good hour+ conversation with each other THROUGH THE WALL OF THE TENT.  But that was the only time we “talked” the entire weekend…everything else worked “just fine” between us though, luckily.

Some things are just meant to be.

And now it is time to crawl back into bed with him in the pre-dawn hours once more, holding him in our normal, blissful, mutual silence.

Tough epiphany

What a weekend! What a time for introspection and the seeds of change/growth!

WARNING! EXTREMELY DIFFICULT VULNERABILITY AHEAD (proceed at your own risk)

The time for focus on healing is near.  It is amazing to me that the body manifests health issues when there are problems that need to be addressed with the spirit – yet I believe it happens, because I have seen it time and again in my own body.  And I have also had the privilege of seeing the opposite, when a strong and healthy spirit can manifest healing within the body.  We are such fascinating creations!

Baggage time. Ignoring it, unfortunately, does not help it to go away.  My deepest fears lie within and demand attention. I waited too long to leave a toxic relationship…hanging on until the last possible moment…until I really began to fear for my own physical safety.  I should have put more importance in the safety of my spirit, which bore heavy damage long before my body ever showed signs of mistreatment.  I left…broken.  Recognizing in leaving the chance to overhaul and build a better me, I dove headfirst into my own recreation.  I knew I wanted to help people – I knew that was of primary importance to my life’s purpose, and I believe that manifestation lies in helping people heal themselves.  So I filled my life and time with chasing this goal (literally FILLED my time – not much to spare, even for my heart’s desire.)  But this “busy-ness” is also my coping *read – DENIAL* mechanism.  So much easier to DO on the outside than to SEE on the inside. 

My development as an adult and as the woman I want to be was stunted and lay slowly and stagnantly swirling through the years of my misspent trust.  I lost the faith in myself, and more importantly, the faith in mankind in general.  Now is time to reconnect with my true self and to re-build the parts I want to emphasize.  So I surrounded myself with examples of women with qualities I desired to cultivate most, and I was blessed that they welcomed me, literally, into their family.  What better way to create than to see concrete examples of your vision, and watch them…

I am watching unbelievable beauty of spirit in all of them, as well as grace under tremendous pressure, amazing strength IN obedience, compassion, selflessness, sacrifice, fierce protection, a creator of joy, a literal spine of steel, and so many other qualities that seem effortless and innate in these women.  I, honestly, feel like a “baby-woman,” a definite “work-in-progress,” just now “under construction.”  And I am extremely optimistic at the direction their example is providing in my undertaking. 

I am finding myself more and more unsure, hearing more and more the broken record in my head that I desperately want to smash and record over.  Our minds are such suggestible things, grabbing onto words spoken, emotions lending them strength, transforming the words of others into our own thoughts, to become our self-held beliefs.  To break these when they have taken root and spread their poison throughout our souls is no easy task, especially when they have had years to wreak havoc. 

What does it take?  What will it take to change this pattern?  Cutting out the sources of toxicity – check.  Now to re-program.  Repetition…words, over and over and over and over…to replace the words of darkness.  Words of affirmation from trusted inner-circles.  But most importantly, deeds to prove the original programming wrong.  Actions that lend credibility to the new words.  Actions that help establish the new thoughts, that help transform these new repeated words into thoughts, and eventually, into beliefs that strangle every last thread of poison. 

 

I am not worthless, I am priceless.  I am not weak, I have strength beyond measure.  I am not immature, I have held onto my childish innocence.  I am not damaged goods, I am a beautiful, sexual creature.  I am not a lodestone, I am inspiration.  The darkness has created a light that touches others with its purity.  I am not complicated, I am fascinatingly complex. 

I am going to allow myself quiet time each day for this reprogramming…for the repair of my spirit.  I am going to focus on presence and live in the moment, choosing actions that enforce this person that I am strengthening.  I am going to allow myself to reach out to my support system more, and remind myself that “birds of a feather…” and that there is a reason these “birds” welcomed me, even if I cannot yet see the similarity of our feathers.  

Most importantly, I am going to continue to live in love, extending it to everyone that crosses my path.  Looking for its expression in a myriad of ways around me.  And allow myself to extend the same understanding and love that I easily and willingly give others to myself. 

Yikes!