I was today years old when I learnt that the part of the body we affectionately refer to as a pouch has a proper scientific name.
Ladies and gentleman, introducing the panniculus, “an apron of skin and fat that sags below the navel, particularly after pregnancy or weight loss”.
While I won’t be adding panniculus to my baby names list, I do think we should show it a little more love. Because despite what you might see on social media, having a pouch, or a panniculus on a Sunday, is entirely natural and normal. And to prove it, I refer you to the drawing attached.
This piece of art was created in 23,000 BCE, on the walls of a cave in what we now call France. Opinions vary as to whether it represents a woman in childbirth, or an appreciative ode to the female form, but either way her pouch is clearly visible, and she was important enough and interesting enough and beautiful enough to commit to rock for eternity.
It can be hard to feel good about our bodies after pregnancy and birth, and there’s no denying that we have been forever changed by the experience inside and out, but it’s even harder when we try to live up to unattainable and constantly shifting beauty standards.
That’s why this piece of art brings me such joy, the figure is undeniably and unashamedly female, lumps and bumps and all. And if a woman 25,000 years ago, whose life was undoubtedly much harder than mine, can handle this jelly, then so can I.
https://www.facebook.com/TheNaturalParentMagazine?mibextid=LQQJ4d
The other day, a young person asked me: What did it feel like to be old?
I was very surprised by the question, since I did not consider myself old. When he saw my reaction, he was immediately embarrassed, but I explained that it was an interesting question. And after reflection, I concluded that getting old is a gift.
Sometimes I am surprised at the person who lives in my mirror. But I don’t worry about those things for long. I wouldn’t trade everything I have for a few less gray hairs and a flat stomach. I don’t scold myself for not making the bed, or for eating a few extra “little things.” I am within my rights to be a little messy, to be extravagant, and to spend hours staring at my flowers.
I have seen some dear friends leave this world, before they had enjoyed the freedom that comes with growing old.
Who cares if I choose to read or play on the computer until 4 in the morning and then sleep until who knows what time?
I will dance with me to the rhythm of the 50’s and 60’s. And if later I want to cry for some lost love…I will!
I’ll walk down the beach in a swimsuit that stretches over my plump body and dive into the waves letting myself go, despite the pitying looks of the bikini-wearers. They’ll get old too, if they’re lucky…
It is true that through the years my heart has ached for the loss of a loved one, for the pain of a child, or for seeing a pet die. But it is suffering that gives us strength and makes us grow. An unbroken heart is sterile and will never know the happiness of being imperfect.
I am proud to have lived long enough for my hair to turn gray and to retain the smile of my youth, before the deep furrows appeared on my face.
Now, to answer the question honestly, I can say: I like being old, because old age makes me wiser, freer!
I know I’m not going to live forever, but while I’m here, I’m going to live by my own laws, those of my heart.
I’m not going to regret what wasn’t, nor worry about what will be.
The time that remains, I will simply love life as I did until today, the rest I leave to God.
~ Author Unknown
When she was a little girl they told her she was beautiful but it had no meaning in her world of bicycles and pigtails and adventures in make-believe.
Later, she hoped she was beautiful as boys started taking notice of her friends and phones rang for Saturday night dates.
She felt beautiful on her wedding day, hopeful with her new life partner by her side but, later, when her children called her beautiful, she was often exhausted, her hair messily tied back, no make up, wide in the waist where it used to be narrow; she just couldn’t take it in.
Over the years, as she tried, in fits and starts, to look beautiful, she found other things to take priority, like bills and meals, as she and her life partner worked hard to make a family, to make ends meet, to make children into adult, to make a life.
Now, she sat.
Alone.
Her children grown,
her partner flown,
and she couldn’t remember the last time she was called beautiful.
But she was.
It was in every line on her face, in the strength of her arthritic hands, the ampleness that had a million hugs imprinted on its very skin, and in the jiggly thighs and thickened ankles that had run her race for her.
She had lived her life with a loving and generous heart, had wrapped her arms around so many to give them comfort and peace.
Her ears had heard both terrible news and lovely songs, and her eyes had brimmed with, oh, so many tears.
They were now bright even as they dimmed.
She had lived and she was.
And because she was, she was made beautiful.
~ Suzanne Reynolds, © 2019
Photo credit: Nina Djerff
Model: Marit Rannveig Haslestad
“A rose by any other name is still a rose.”
She’s in between worlds right now.
A part of her is leaving.
But it’s not like before.
She’s holding space this time.
Not sweating it,
but breathing beyond her skin.
She’s good.
She’s even shape-shifting.
The raven.
The owl.
She’s unafraid of the bird’s-eye view,
and unlike all those other times,
she isn’t scared of the unknown.
She’s present and neither timid nor bold.
It feels beautiful,
like the song of a blackbird,
and frightening,
like the rumble of an avalanche.
Artist: Lucy Campbell
https://www.facebook.com/coastalwomenscounselling?mibextid=LQQJ4d
There she is, that Sovereign Woman.
She with the courageous heart and the wild soul. She who says, “This is me. This is who I am.”
She wasn’t always this way.
For many years she was hidden away. Revealing herself fully only in the words of her journal and in her closest friendships. Showing up in her truth only when she felt safe enough to be vulnerable.
But now she’s changed. From her appearance to her writing, she’s a whole different woman.
SHE’S THE WOMAN WHO WAS WAITING INSIDE OF HER ALL ALONG.
It was not easy for her, this transformation. She didn’t just step into this embodied self the way you would gracefully step up a staircase.
She had to go deep inside of herself to find this version of herself.
She dug and descended.
Explored and excavated.
Re-membered, re-defined and re-birthed.
And now here she stands: Battle weary. Flawed. Tender.
She’s cried countless tears and faced many shadows. But it doesn’t take much to see there’s something different about her.
What is it? Can you feel it?
Yes that’s it…
IT’S NOT SO MUCH HOW SHE LOOKS. IT’S WHAT SHE’S EMANATING.
She’s grounded in her Wisdom.
Firm in her Strength.
And rooted in her Truth.
She may look like she’s been to hell and back, and in many ways she has, but the raging fire only devoured everything about her that was no longer true.
And what was left behind after all the layers of untruths were burned to the ground was her true essence.
She’s rising out of the ashes now, this Phoenix woman. She’s orienting her life to who she has become.
It’s all brand new to her and she’s far from having it all figured out. But little by little, she’s finding out exactly what it means to be a Sovereign Woman.”
~ Layla F. Saad
@laylafsaad
http://laylafsaad.com/poetry-prose/sovereign-woman
Art: Daria Hlazatova
Daria H
Selkies are a variation on the mermaid concept in Scottish, Irish, Icelandic and Faroese folklore. They live in the sea as seals, but can shed their seal hide to become human on land. If their seal skin is hidden or stolen, they are unable to return to the sea.
This 9 ft bronze and stainless steel statue of Kópakonan (The Seal Wife) was created by Hans Pauli Olsen and was installed in the Mikladalur Harbor on Kalsoy, one of the Faroe Islands, on August 1st, 2014. map
Mermaid (Seal Wife) on Faroe Islands
Kopakonan (The Seal Wife) in Mikladalur on Kalsoy, Faroe Islands. Photo © Marita Gulklett.
The statue commemorates myths about selkies and in particular two well known myths about the Seal Wife on the Faroe Islands.
Selkie stories are traditionally romantic tragedies, with the Selkie in most stories returning to the sea after several years as a Seal Wife to a human, leaving behind the husband and children.
One well known story is about a beautiful Selkie trapped by a fisherman on the island of Kalsoy, who hides her seal skin while she is on land one night. Trapped, she becomes his wife and they have 2 children. One day however, he goes fishing and she finds her seal skin hidden in a chest in their home. She escapes back to her Selkie family after ensuring the children are cared for until the fisherman’s return.
She leaves behind a message to not follow her and to not harm her Selkie family. The fishermen however ignore the warning and end up killing both her Selkie husband and Selkie children.
In revenge she curses the men of the island to die in frequent accidents until as many have perished as can link arms around the whole island.
Terre-Mère 🌊🧜♀️. https://www.facebook.com/TWonderfulWorld?mibextid=LQQJ4d
god is a mother
and with that
sentence
the world stops
the world always stops
when woman and
divine
commingle
as if the
feminine
dilutes the
miraculous
when in reality
it embodies it
when jesus turns water
to wine
they clap
but when women turn breasts
to milk
they cringe
a broken man’s body
is celebrated each sunday
while a broken woman’s body
is just hidden away
and it’s no wonder
that mother is a word
used by men
to demonize those
who don’t claim the name
and weaponized to shame
those who step out of line
because
their ideal
woman
plays the role of nurturer
and silencer
in pews
built and led by them
but
when god
becomes mother
she is neither quiet
or compliant
she leads confidently
she questions authority
she commands respect
which might be the problem
for mother god
did not gather us up
carelessly
but took her time with it
she fed us milk
birthed our souls
and broke her body
and the permanence
can be uncomfortable
and to disentangle god
from motherhood
is impossible
but
to disentangle god
from womanhood
is sinful
because seeing god as mother
is one step closer
to seeing god in me
and it’s in that
i am truly
born again
~ Kaitlin Hardy Shetler
Kaitlin Shetler Poetry
www.skeptileptic.blogspot.com/p/poems-for-resistance.html
Art by Harmonia Rosales
Harmony Rosales
www.harmoniarosales.art
opensenseme 