We have just passed the “marker” of February: Valentine’s Day (appropriately, to me, coupled in some regions with a version of Family Day). In true “Universe” style, not so subtle hints were sent my way via reading material, client comments, social media feeds, and colleague-friends by what they were posting. The loud-and-clear message: time to focus on self-love. Let me clarify that self-love is different from selfishness. A person can participate in self-love and be obnoxious about it. It can also be what undergirds quiet confidence. Selfishness is total disregard for others. Few of us who struggle with self-love, and its companion self-care, can claim total disregard for others. More often than not, we are over-focused on others and under appreciate our Selves.
Hence why I like to replace tainted buzz words like self-love and self-esteem with self-regard or self-appreciation. This I can understand in that I am prone to give little regard to my Self (or my body) and/or not appreciate my Self (and my body). I wish my conditioning wasn’t so difficult to break in this area. Sadly, it is challenging for all of us, particularly women, who have been bombarded with messages of “not good enough” our entire lives. It is very insidious and pervasive. Like a disease run rampant and unchecked.
I noticed a significant difference when I began filtering out social media advertisements for weight loss. A person thinks they can ignore subtle messages by scrolling past; but somehow it makes its way into the psyche, burrowing into nooks and crannies, lying undetected until a heaviness settles sets in that one can’t seem to define. Like a dense fog that doesn’t lift. Where’s the sunshine to burn away the laden clouds?
How this ties in with Valentine’s Day was the reminder that this occasion was an opportunity to practice loving oneself (not just those we care about). I have come a long way in caring for my psyche, my mental health, and overall sense of well being. Where I struggle is in loving my body. My body which has never done a thing in its existence to harm me. Rather the opposite. My body takes very good care of me. To quote Susan Moses in The Art of Dressing Curves:
“Through it all, your body has been there for you. It has never stopped breathing. It has picked you up when you have fallen. It healed when you were hurt or ill. It accepted your strengths and weaknesses and carried you no matter the numbers on the scale. It’s time to respect your body for all the incredible things it does for you every day without hesitation. It’s time to be able to walk by a mirror and look at your body with pride and speak to it with love and kindness…Your body deserves to be loved in the way it has loved you unquestionably all of your life…Too often the ways of the world make it difficult to appreciate your unique attributes, especially your curves. But in reality, the world has nothing to do with it. It’s time to stand tall, look in the mirror, and acknowledge your beauty, value, and humanity with pride.”
Susan Moses, “The Art of Dressing Curves,” 2016, p. 26.
That was from the chapter entitled Body Talk. And I have recommitted myself to what I am coining, Body Love. I love my body (no, that was not easy to type, still a work in progress). It does all sorts of things for me, most notably, keep me alive. My body is more committed to well-being than I am. I tend to focus on the “practical” side of well-being (taking medications and supplements, pacing my energy, monitoring mood and thought patterns); but I am new to the practice of Body Love. So far, I must say, the positive results have been surprising.
My body size and shape remain what they are. No miracle cure for muffin top, love handles, back fat, stomach overhang, bodacious booty, or bustling bust. I am still concerned about those things from both a vanity angle and physical well being (where do these “extra” body bits come from?). But I am attempting to do so from the mindfulness approach of nonjudgemental acceptance.
Those are extra bits of body I never had before (except for the bodacious booty; that’s always haunted my backside). However they came to be (hush health fanatics and judgmental thoughts, diet and exercise and self-discipline are not the culprits), I must accept their existence. I can’t wish them away. Nor can I obsessively/compulsively starve myself or exercise myself to death. I have tried both those things. Probably why I have the extra bits I do. My body lovingly thought I needed “extra” to get me through famine, pestilence, and a plague of angry beasts chasing me down.
The point is: my body serves me well. I, on the other hand, do not serve it well. Other than I try to eat with wellness in mind and move it around on a regular basis—usually with dogs in fresh air (or the physicality required to renovate an old fixer-upper house). I throw a lot of shade at my body (hopefully using that colloquialism correctly) which it doesn’t deserve. By practicing Body Love, I am becoming comfortable in my own skin (and dare I say it, generous covering of fatty tissue) which creates new neuronal pathways in my brain leading to increased mental health. My overall sense of wellness improves with Body Love.
What does body love look like? It’s as simple as sending kind and loving thoughts (words of appreciation) to your body parts as you wash them in the shower/bath or apply lotion. Dress with nonjudgmental acceptance. Look in the mirror and appreciate the female form which comes in all shapes and sizes. Consider how you want to present your whole Self to the world—not just in clothing and accessory options, but also by attitude. Set yourself up for success instead of the usual self-sabotage.
I have noticed an improvement by turning around my pandemic-induced laissez-faire mindset toward Body-Love and Self-Regard. I have to look at myself and live with myself. I can do so in comfort without sacrificing my sense of self, style, and well-being. I deserve to look at someone who takes care of her Self: body, mind, and soul.
I love bees. I have always had an affinity for them. When I was a young child, my father—who was an amateur apiarist at the time—taught me and my older brother to respect and not be scared of bees. I have never been stung; but my brother was once. My father promptly applied a mud pack to draw out the stinger and no harm was done. To my knowledge, no one in my immediate family has an allergy to bee stings. However, there really is only one way to find out—the hard way! But with a little education and respect, it is not difficult to avoid being stung.
After I married, my initials (BZ) came in handy to purposefully embrace identification with bees. I began personalizing handmade cards with my initials and a bee stamp. The obsession, if one can call it that, grew from there. I began collecting bee-themed objects. Now my kitchen is decorated with a bee and daisies motif. Friends and family have begun to get in on the action creating delightful works of art to adorn my kitchen walls. The feature photo is one of a pair of cross stitched projects my sister made for me this last Christmas.
Recently, I finished reading Song of Increase: Listening to the Wisdom of Honeybees for Kinder Beekeeping and a Better World by American beekeeper Jacqueline Freeman. Now I wish I had an acreage on which to start keeping bees! 🙂 My yard is big enough for one hive; but I doubt the neighbours would approve. Nor am I as patient as the author in educating neighbours about healthy bee populations. But I am looking forward to planting bee-friendly flowers in my garden this summer that will certainly be pesticide free.
Beekeeping aside, this book affirmed my affinity for bees. I even joked with a client about bees being my spirit animal. A bit later, photos appeared in a text about bees from a book about spirit animals she owned. Not surprisingly, the spirit animal book focused on the industry and productivity of bees. While I am a task-oriented person that likes to keep busy, my affinity for bees goes much deeper than that after reading about their natures.
Bees are all about loving kindness. They work together for the good of the hive, the local and global community of bees, and the well-being of the planet. Using their stingers has significant purpose for it becomes a suicide mission. Bees cannot live once they have released their stinger as they lose their entire bee-hind. 🙂 It is a conscious decision on the bee’s part to sacrifice its life for the greater good: of the hive, of the beekeeper, of the cosmos.
This genuine concern for others and the greater good is what clarified my affinity for bees as I am a person who is keen on kindness and collaboration. I, too, am genuinely concerned for the well-being of others: be it friends, family, clients, neighbours, acquaintances, strangers, the global village. For me, it is both innate and a conscious choice. So much so, that I have to set boundaries for myself not to get involved at times—to make better decisions about personal sacrifice (figuratively losing my stinger).
While I may not lose my life, per se, sacrifice does cause more harm than good at times (to myself or others). I must refrain from jumping in when leaving well enough alone is the better long-term option. It also means acknowledging my limitations and, at times, accepting powerlessness to affect change. This will be a lifelong challenge for me. I take heart being in the company of such purposeful do-gooders as the bees who will continue to inspire and uplift me.
Next time I encounter a bee, I will be sure to send it loving thoughts with much gratitude for its industry as well as its goodwill. They are, after all, what keeps this planet alive and habitable—even when misunderstood and maligned. We truly cannot live without them. Brava Bees! And a Bravo for the drone bees as well. 😉 Buzz on, my friends.
It has arrived: Christmas Eve. For some, tonight and tomorrow will be Christmas as usual with their immediate families living under one roof. For others, it will be a very strange Christmas not to be surrounded by the usual chaos nor anticipating its arrival.
At the start of the Advent season (the four Sundays prior to Christmas Day), I experienced a deep sadness. Some of you will have read what I posted on The Winding Path Facebook page. To give some context, it was prompted by events and postings that minimized the impact of the pandemic, trivializing the pain and suffering of others. And a blatant misuse of privileges perceived as rights to be brandished about with total disregard for others or even “the greater good.” The following two paragraphs are what I posted the last Sunday of November.
My heart aches today. As an empath who thinks and feels deeply, I find I need an outlet for my sadness. I would use my grief to facilitate change. However, therein is much of my sadness: feeling powerless to effect positive change. A blog entry is likely a better venue, but for now, suffice to say the state of inhumanity breaks my heart. Humanity’s inability to overcome pride and privilege. The total lack of kindness, compassion, collaboration, consideration, empathy, sense of greater good. Making other people the enemy rather than the virus. My heart breaks that animals treat their weakest members with more care and concern than humans do. Animals care about their own kind without turning on each other. They are incapable of humankind’s atrocities. I have yet to see evidence of human’s superiority over the animal kingdom. I much prefer the company of animals. Guess I am less evolved than the rest of the world’s occupants. I am okay with that. For now I will do something that feeds my spirit. Maybe decorating the Christmas Tree on the First Sunday of Advent is what I need.
Oh the irony. Just looked up the 4 themes of advent: Hope, Peace, Love, Joy. Today’s theme is Hope which I am dearly lacking today. Hope for what? That humankind will get its collective head out of its arse?? I must find something else to hope for that is within my grasp. I am far too cynical for any religious implications, humanity proving to be what it is. To hope for a better life for myself (read: security and stability — what every trauma survivor craves) sounds selfish. But it is true. I do hope for that. I also hope I continue to add rather than detract from instilling hope in others. I do believe in the healing journey. So here is my hope: that you and those you care about keep on keeping on. That in whatever small measure, you cling to the hope of travelling further along your personal journey to find hope and healing. And whatever we do, may we cause as little harm as possible to others along the way. Which will be tricky for me as I tend to step on toes standing up for those without a voice.
A month later, and I am not as hope-less as I was that day. I have seen evidence of Hope, Peace, Love, and Joy: in my life and in the lives of others. I have also minimized exposure to the inhumanity that makes my spirit cringe. I think it has helped having Christmas Spirit increase over the past four weeks—especially my efforts in that department. I decorated my tree—always a pleasure as my ornaments all have stories to tell and memories attached. And I fulfilled my intention to listen to every Christmas CD I own. I am now on round two of that one. I also baked and iced some of my favourite cookies, sharing as opportunity arose.
Even if fewer people surround me, I have not abandoned what makes this time of year special to me: decorations, music, food, being out in the snow (either walking dogs or x-country skiing). The wonders of technology also make virtual gatherings possible. This will be a new one for my family as we are rather used to living far apart, but gathering (either some or all of us) at Christmas fairly regularly. I have mixed feelings about gathering this year (virtual or otherwise); but that is not the focus of this blog. Not that I know what the focus is!
I am aware that I have received many gifts this year, especially because I am a traumatized introvert who doesn’t need the company of others very often. I sympathize with the extroverts who have felt abandoned and lost. It has been a very trying year learning new ways of being in this world. One thing became clear to me: the Universe does have my back. I remain clothed, sheltered, fed, warm, ambulatory, without loss of sight or sound. And loved. It may not always be shown in ways that I see, desire, or even crave. But I can say without a doubt that I am loved. That in itself is a miracle. The gift of Love. The essence of our very Beings.
May 2021 be welcomed in with more awareness of Love. Particularly our ability to give, not just receive (or feel the lack thereof), the Essence of our Beings. Love is not meant to be hoarded, but to flow freely among all Creation. May we bestow more Love in the coming year. May it be a year of healing for the entire planet.
