I’ve been procrastinating on this one. Partly planned—I wanted to give myself a full week of post Whole30 observation—and partly plain ol’ chickenshit.
Full disclosure? Two sentences in, and I just spent 30 minutes dawdling on Facebook. Eyes forward! I’m back.
It should come as no surprise that my dominant worldview lens is feminism. It clicked into place when I was still pretty young, but old enough to appreciate its framework. Say, about middle school.
Empowerment, personal successes, perfect pitch responses to thinly veiled misogynistic remarks…feminism cheers for these. And, man do I love praise.
But what about the times I unball my liberation fist for a moment? Am I letting the sisterhood down?
No cheat days, so substitutes, no maple syrup or naturally sweetened-therefore-harmless-right? treats. There are no excuses. You just do it. You practice saying ‘I’m choosing not to eat that right now’ and try to remember your college boyfriend, with whom you spent 3 years. This is called ‘perspective’ and it is your friend. Happy discovery: if I survived his horseshit for more than 1000 days, I can do anything for 30.
“I asked 5 questions in genetics class, and all of them began with ‘sorry’.”
I’ve been able to catch myself mid-unecessary-apology lately, and issue a hasty redactment. No, actually I am *not* sorry. But to admit that, you have to be willing to take up space, right?
Have you noticed how common it is, this tic of female speech? Amazing how often and easily we do it, imperceptibly, the same way we make ourselves smaller, until eventually, sadly, there’s no there, there.
two whole souls
under my skin now and
I have never felt more alone
There is a certainty to keeping something secret. Once you share it, it can take on a life of it’s own. Better to keep it sealed up, cello-wrapped in opaque plastic—preferably in black, you know, if it’s handy—sterilized and safe.