I know it’s not fashionable to say, but I’m doing OK. Prompted to talk to the woman inside, I found her to be the one you see…not different, not hiding, not struggling, just being.
Me.
This woman that I present to the world is all there is. She has spent sixty years working her way into the world and she is here now, alone now, with no-one to protect, no-one to impress, no longer any reason to be who someone else wants her to be.
If I am ever to bloom, this is what my blooming looks like. It looks strangely like getting old. And that is OK too. I say nothing in circle because it’s not the done thing to say I am doing OK – I like who I am. I am not struggling; I am not hiding. There is nothing wilting unnurtured, untended, within me. There is only the woman you see. And she is doing OK.
OK is enough. OK is content. OK is abundant.
This woman has grown into womanhood. Only now does she see how many of the people who needed her to be somebody else were men…and she went along with it. The struggle, the frustration, the anger of all those years wasn’t only about the state of the world – though that too – it
was about how everyone else wanted her to be in the world. It was a long time before she resisted.
Now I resist. Now I walk away from what does not serve. Now I finally am.
Whoever you are, I don’t expect you to love, like or respect me. Of course I would prefer it if you did, but I do not expect it. I want you to be you, and you cannot like everyone. You are free to walk away. I will not change for you. If you cannot love, like and/or respect me, here as I am, do please leave. There are those who will serve you better, go find them, they are out there.
And if you catch me trying to change you…ask me what right I think I have. There is none. I have no right to try to change you into someone I could love more easily, so do not let me do so. Do not become who you think I want you to be. I want you to be you. And I may love you anyway, even if it is less easy.
In the circle of women, so many of them are wanting and wanting and wanting.
So many women in the world wanting and wanting and wanting.
Who taught us this, to be always striving and wanting? To strive – to be in strife. No more. I have spent sixty-odd years unlearning to be always wanting. I have spent sixty-odd years learning to be in life. Abundant, succulent, life.
You cannot eat a juicy peach without making a mess, getting sticky fingers and dribbles down your chin – and why would you want to? Isn’t that joy of juice? Life is messy, but let’s eat it anyway. Let’s savour.
One speaks of the medicine in words. And sometimes that is true and nurturing. But my words are not meant as medicine, for that would imply you are in need of being medicated. That you are un-whole, in need of healing. Perhaps you are, I have no doubt that many are, but I wonder how many are buying into the false belief. I wonder how many women are unbelievably, amazingly, abundantly well and do not know it. Wanting and wanting and wanting.
Today if I were asked who or what I want to be, I would be bold enough to say “me”. Just me. All of me. Abundant, beautiful, wise, poetic me. Romantic me. Excitable me. Beach bum me and rock chic me. The me that wears shorts and walks barefoot. The me that wears jeans and boots. The me that likes a pretty skirt. The me that keeps coming back to the page with nothing to say and says it anyway.
I want to be this woman who dances. The one who swims. The bold one who travels alone. The one who is not searching nor seeking nor wanting and wanting and wanting. The powerful one. The playful one. The sometimes prayerful one.
This woman is doing OK. This woman is already in the world, whispering her magic spells, healing, hoping, helping. This woman has learned who she is and how to become her. This woman continues to grow, but she is already blooming. Roses do not hide away; they do not pretend to be unbeautiful. They honour their thorns as well as their petals. They flaunt their dark green leaves and red-brown stems. Why were we taught to be different? A lesson unlearned. She has leaves and thorns and stems and petals, this woman. She is blooming and growing. Growing and blooming. This woman.
Alive. Visible. Hopeful. Content. This woman. Now.
Yes, if I were asked today who or what I want to be, I would be bold enough to say “me”.
The image is of David Wynne's statue of Gaia in the Abbey Gardens on Tresco.
