The skin on my face has been sloooowly heading south, like melting ice-cream atop a cone while my jowls have wandered aimlessly towards my neck that mimics a fruit leather or a molting deer antler.  While leaning forward, my skin follows suit, as if it is water settling on top of a tent into soggy reservoirs that can be manipulated by the slightest touch or flick of a finger. I feel like a stranger inside of someone’s used onesie and I want out.

I would like to say that I have been accepting this drooping gracefully, however, I am straight up telling you that it has been bothering the fuck out of me. I’ve been feeling betrayed by my body and wondering why it ignored all my efforts of healthy eating, using SPF every day and drinking tons of water? 

After many days of self-examination and realignment, my vain anger morphed into being pissed at myself for thinking my body did something wrong. I mean, REALLY? I should be praising it for taking me this far after beating cancer, breaking 7 bones, having 8 surgeries, and being hit by a car 3 times. I am an official asshat.

Body of mine, you are one good shit and I am sorry for having a momentarily lapse in judgement.

Why in the hell is it so difficult to simply accept aging and the natural process our bodies go through? 

Did I finally succumb to the shallowness of what we/I “should” look like via media, Photoshop, and statements that are shoved into our faces and ears at seemingly all hours of the waking day? 

I’d like to say no, but sometimes I do. 

There are a bazillion and one jacked up reasons that make us freak out about getting older, and I think a big one is because we have no control or say how ageing happens to us. Yes, we can take supplements, get tests, be active, have procedures done, etc., etc., but there is NO WAY to outsmart the inevitable process of ageing, it’s going to happen whether you want it to or not.

All our life we have the freedom to pick and choose how we present ourselves to the world. We choose our hairstyles, hair color, body weight, clothes, make up, facial hair, get tattoos, false eyelashes or bleach our teeth, but when it comes to aging, you get no real vote on what happens next.

The visuals of aging are so frustrating because so many of us take really good care of ourselves and feel mighty fine, when suddenly, you see yourself in a reflection and wonder “who in the hell is that? I look like a full-on adult, that could retire.”

 I have also realized that I’ve reached the age when no one under 30 really notices me, unless I am in the way. 

Fuck off to that load of bullshit and the barge it came in on. From here on out, I am shifting my brain to shut negativity down to celebrate my body’s perseverance and how completely awesome it really IS, not by judging it and finding fault. 

What’s messed up, is that It’s harder to do than it sounds and requires some serious mental diligence. I’m giving it my best shot, starting NOW.

My feet, legs and thighs have not let me down for almost 47 fucking years. They brought me on mind blowing adventures some people only dream about, danced to music that made me sore for days, kicked some serious ass in sports, helped me to literally outrun stupid choices, and are always up for a challenge.

My ass has been rubbed for good luck, slapped by some dreamy people, shook at many events, and has yet to let me down.

My belly has consumed more food and drink than most, loving every single minute of it. It is strong as steel while deflecting body checks, cleats, pucks, shoves and elbows. It keeps me standing proud and ready for anything that comes its way, but prefers butterflies induced by a breathtaking moment or human. 

My breasts have fought many battles and have the scars to prove it. They are beautiful and are fucking warriors, trust and believe.

My arms have protected me, helped me up, flailed with glee, held the weak, comforted many, provided strength and exchanged so much love it is unfathomable.

My mouth shares stories that one cannot make up, creates sounds that replace vocabulary and morphs into shapes that inflict painful, goofy and sideways smiles. It laughs loudly, is unabashed and relishes in a thoughtful kiss.

My eyes try their best to see the beauty in everything and everyone. They squint at the radiance of the sunshine, crinkle trying to find the truth, tear up for all sorts of reasons, blast open when surprised or delighted and squash closed while having a hysterical laughing fit. 

My hair is good, healthy hair, even the ones on my chin. After losing it to chemo, I am lucky to have hair.  It has been losing pigment since my 30’s and I prefer it not being grey and silver, so I dye it. My goal is to be self-assured and embrace my natural color someday, whatever the hell that is, or at least not be so bothered by it.  I am unable to embrace the grey; I fully admit it. Sue me.

This body may be slower than it used to be and at times it generates audible crackles and groans, but I would place a small wager that I could still win another bar fight if it came down to it (dear universe, don’t listen to that “back in my day” gloat, just smile and nod). Things could be better; things could be worse. The future is unknown, but I am certain that I can run like a cheetah after an ice cream truck while also pushing kids out of my way without throwing my back out.....just a hunch.

Recently I was having dinner with 4 incredible women to discuss an upcoming event we would be taking part in for Passion Collective. Some of us had never met and were sharing our personal stories, tossing around ideas for future events, or asking questions pertaining to the event. Each of us were asked to give our "elevator speech" and while listening to the other guests, I heard myself state various times how much I wanted to do a certain something, or what I admired in others. It dawned on me how many things I still wanted to conquer on my Fear List and squash the yuck. 

Somehow I managed to chat about the many things that make me vomit in my mouth, and I referred to my Fear List, which included taking a burlesque class. Personally, taking a burlesque class would push me so far out of my comfort zone I would need a plane flight back, so of course I ignore it at all costs. The women that do burlesque are completely and utterly amazing to me on so many different levels. It baffles me to no end how people have the confidence to get up in front of others to rock their femininity, celebrate their beautiful body, and radiate strength. 

This got me thinking on a deeper level regarding my own fear of femininity and my Inner Bully. The grisly inner dialogue so many women have going on inside their head regarding their bodies and of themselves as a whole is overwhelming.

Why is it so hard for us to celebrate how completely AMAZING each and every one of our bodies are and what they do for us?!
Why is so hard to say "thank you" ?
Why do we push aside compliments and disregard it as if it's a lie, not to mention acting as if the person delivering it is just being nice or bat shit crazy for even thinking something kind about ourselves?
Why in the hell am I and so many other women so insecure with their femininity and/or bodies?
Is it the media? Past relationships? 
Are we scared of looking weak? Too full of ourselves? Seen as shallow? Stupid? Ugly? Trying too hard?

The thought of trying to be "seductive" myself is just so outlandish to me and just TYPING that makes me cringe a bit.
WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT ABOUT?! 
If someone I knew was telling me this, I would titty punch her right now for even thinking it.

Hell, I train people every day and remind my clients how much they kick ass, how they are their own worse critic and that they should never speak negative to themselves. There is honestly not a day that goes by that I have not admired another woman because of their strength, confidence, beauty or bad assery, yet I'd rather stick a knife in my eye than strut my own ass like I mean it, and I am not alone having those feelings.

I don't remember ever feeling insecure as a young child, but I do vividly remember playing King Of The Hill during recess outside on a winter day in 6th grade. I was gettin' my pushes in, vying for the top of the hill when my classmate Andrew yelled "look out for metro dome."  That fucking comment hit me so hard in the face it could have destroyed a small city, and until last fall, made me cry. That exact moment I stopped being an unblemished child and never felt the same way in my own body. Over 30 years ago and it is still as fresh in my mind as the day it happened, I even remember the winter jacket I wore .

In high school I did the stint that many girls did of starving myself to be thin, and then in my 20's ate in excess or binged to fill "the hole" inside realizing it was due to a shitty boyfriend that belittled me. These situations built an unhealthy relationship with food and my body for most of my life. I always felt like the chubby girl entering a party or room and deflected in all ways to not be seen as feminine (only STRONG!) I would dream about what it would be like to leave the house and not think about my thighs rubbing together, to not worry if my love handles were hanging out or hoping that no one was looking at my butt because they would think it was gross. 
Never mind that I was really great at sports in high school and college, was a talented artist, got to travel, had wonderful friends, met amazing people, had a supportive mother, etc etc. 

Personal attacks were going on inside my head at all times and I am not alone hearing those conversations with a negative Inner Bully.

I thought that other women presenting themselves as feminine or pretty, no matter what genres, were relying on looks to get ahead. In reality I was jealous of their confidence and bad assery to rock the hello outta whatever the heck they wanted to wear, want to be or feel like that day. 
How did they do that?
How can we teach that?

In my 30's I began to feel more comfortable in my body, and contribute that to getting through cancer treatment after enduring surgeries, chemotherapy, radiation and being bald. I could literally see how my body became stronger and healthier after treatment, as well as appreciate the tasks it could perform after such a shit show. Facing my fears of femininity after that time, however, were difficult after acquiring scars on my breasts & chest, becoming pre-menopausal, and just trying to re-acquaint myself with a "regular" life.

When my marriage ended at 40+ years old after being with the same person for a decade or so, it made my insecurities start to boil up again. Who would date a twice divorced, half boobed, cancer survivor?

Thank fucking goodness for being introduced to meditation at that time in my life.
Yes, I mention it a lot, and this was the time in my life that I have referred to as my Holy Shit Moment. It was THEN that I realized that my negative body image/self talk stemmed from those assholes from back in the day and I let them win. Their negative voices became MY voice and that is revolting and exhilarating to realize at the same time. 

What does one do with that serving of What The Fuck?
Take the power back.

I continued to meditate a crap ton, cry while envisioning the beauty I am capable of providing and feeling, and slowly embrace the love I have to share AND receive from others. I surrounded myself with positive friends, spent less time with Energy Suckers, pushed myself out of my comfort zones, reached out to people that I admired, tried out dating, and honestly focused on putting Good Stuff out there every single day. Every day I would have a positive mantra and after a while, positivity and strength became the normal for me. I viewed life as more than a task and could finally SEE the beauty in my surroundings and other humans. That is a shift that feels so effervescent it'll make your goddamn chest explode. I am fucking serious.

You put good stuff out there, it'll come back to you in all sorts of ways.

NO, it is not all fluffy clouds, bunnies and hippie dances. It wasn't easy getting to that mind blowing place inside nor will the work cease in order to settle there. I wish it was that easy to say "I made it!", but keeping my inner voice positive is a perpetual task and will be until the end of time. I face my internal Bully Douche Bag frequently and through meditation, unbelievable friends and a phenomenal dude in my life, I squash the fuck out of that Bully more often than none. 

I am proud to say that I can usually accept a compliment with a thank you. I sometimes rock the hell out of high heels cuz I WANT to and am a strong ass person for presenting myself any way I damn well want to: feminine, masculine, or in a damn Snuggie. For me, it's about being proud as shit when I feel good inside my own skin and appreciate what my body and mind is capable of doing.

Maybe your positive voice has way different & cool things on the agenda to learn, to squash, or to take care of and THAT is why you are a beautiful human. You are a bad ass and don't let anyone or anything tell you different. YOUR true voice should be listened to, celebrated in all forms, and never ignored. The bullies and negative fuck faces are just that. They wish they could have the strength to be themselves, but they gave their power away. Let's break the cycle of negative bullshit inside our head and towards others. Everyone deserves be heard, to be themselves, to feel valued and be loved. Forget about feeding a human Bully back their own bullshit, they don't deserve your energy or time. Ignore the Energy Suckers, or better yet, kill em with kindness, they'll never know what hit 'em.. That internal Bully Douche Bag is another story, kick it's ass to the curb, and show 'em who in the hell you are.


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