burn it down
Lately, I’ve been starting my mornings by standing naked in front of a full-length mirror.
I feel the warmth and curve of my underarm and see how the overflow of my breasts has found a soft place to nestle. I notice the growing padding between my thighs that brushes and sticks as I move. I examine the pillow behind my chin and watch how it doubles as I laugh and yawn. Taking in this fullness I say, “I love you exactly as you are right now.”
This is me burning the house down.
This is my activism.
I’m gaining weight from sheltering in place. While my mind understands this as a natural outcome of our current reality, another part of me, a more vulnerable part is mighty uncomfortable. She wants to eat less bread. She wants to start running 3 miles a day — not fueled by joy but rather some sense of inner lack.
A wise colleague reminded me, “whatever issues you’ve faced in the past, this pandemic is setting them on fire.” I feel that fire blazing. I feel it in my clients as well. There’s a sense that we should be “better” — more productive, more confident, more successful, more clear about what to do next. The shame, fear, anxiety, and depression are here louder than ever. The stories behind these feels are familiar. We know them inside and out, upside and down. Perhaps we thought we’d moved through them and yet, here they are.
We’re standing with our feet in the fire. The natural tendency is to want to put the flames out — reach for the bucket, stop feeling and start doing. While that may alleviate some pain in the short term, engaging in actions to push away feelings of “less than” is a tool that systems of inequity use to keep internalized structures of oppression intact. Our suffering becomes our fault.
Just as we want to burn down the patriarchy, capitalism, racism, ableism, sexism, homophobia, and all the rest in our world, the pandemic is asking us to confront and burn down those systems inside of us. It is behind those clunky edifices that a more inspired path — a path that’s long been there — emerges.
How do we do it? It is only with love that we can have the gentleness to brave the flames and meet ourselves as we are.
When I’m standing in front of myself naked, I am not alone. Looking at my curves and folds I see them not just as my body but the body of so many womxn. I curl up in their laps and ask for comfort. I let myself be held by the ampleness of their flesh and steadiness of breath. I thank my ancestors for this body inheritance. Loving them helps me love myself as I am. The work of inclusion begins with coming back again and again and again to embracing all of myself.
When we stand in the fire, when we confront the broken places, we are not alone. The wisdom of generations supports us, the vibrancy of our living planet reminds us, a deep knowing from the great beyond guides us.
Our way to the just and equitable future we long for starts in the mirror.