Telling the Truth

connecting the dots of my life

Tag: loving and caring for my body

October 21, 2018

A rambling tribute to my feet

A rambling tribute to my feet
and farewell to stubborn internal
voices calling out to entice me
into showing up at all costs –
the sign of honored membership in a
mythical club of the elderly who
never seem to weary or grow faint

Though yesterday’s good girl has
long since faded into the sunset
I’m torn by desire to ‘be there!’ with
a smile on my face and tormented
feet in my shoes faithfully trying
to catch me up or stop me cold
in my tracks before it’s over and done
lost in a confusion of days and years
of showing up now gone forever

Or how about this? I think I’m finally learning to listen to my feet. Not just my heart, gut or kidneys. I emphatically don’t like having to do this. For years I haven’t given more than a passing thought to my feet.

Showing up (on my feet) is something I’ve done habitually most of my life. My feet made sure I was on time and prepared. On time and energized. On time and ready to work hard. On time and ready to push that boulder or climb that trail to the top of the hill.

If there’s an up-side to this, it’s relief that my feet aren’t scolding me. They’re begging me to pay attention to them. Suggesting I might stop and rest after that glorious walk through the meadow, or that trip to the grocery store. Or I might even give them special treatment the way I give Smudge the cat special treatment every day.

Here’s my bottom line: ‘I don’t want to run my feet into the ground before it’s time for me to join them.’

If that sounds morbid, so be it. It’s my informal mantra for this coming week. What’s yours?

© Elouise Renich Fraser, 20 October 2018
Photo taken by DAFraser, February 2018 in the Longwood Gardens Conservatory

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June 11, 2018

Whose body is it anyway?

Several days ago I posted the poem below. It came to mind this week when I thought about the way women’s bodies are shamed and punished. Sometimes to such an extent that we don’t recognize our bodies anymore as gifts. And many of us haven’t learned to be their vociferous, ferocious and loving advocates.

This body
Like my heart
A house of Your creation
Stands ready to greet the stranger
Whose form and visage
Isn’t as expected
Lost
Dust of the earth
Sorrowful yet not without hope
She stands
Waiting

Who is this stranger who stands waiting? I think I’m the stranger. Alienated from my female body even though I call it ‘my’ body. Part of this is a hangover from childhood and youth. The consequences of being directly and indirectly abused in my female body.

It seems my body keeps trying to get my attention,. It’s tired of hanging around waiting to do my bidding, or carrying me here and there no matter how it feels.

Instead, it wants me to stand up for it and stop forcing it to keep going. Or hoping someone else will save the day, like Prince Charming.

Several evenings ago at the end of an unusually busy day, I stood at the kitchen sink slogging through a pile of dirty dishes. It was late. My feet and back were screaming for mercy.

All I wanted to do was lie down and go to sleep. That, or be rescued by a prince who would gallop into the kitchen and do for me what I refused to do for myself—take care of my weary body.

It struck me as odd if not self-defeating that I wanted help from someone else. There I was, supposedly a grown-up woman with a mind of her own, unable to do what I needed to do. Stop. No matter what happened or didn’t happen to the dirty dishes.

My body works and waits every day, hoping against hope. Have I forgotten how to take the initiative? How to sit down and give it a rest, fuss over it in a kindly way, and thank it for the ways it helps me get through each day?

As a child, it sometimes seemed other people owned my body. They did not. God owns it, and has given me the privilege and responsibility of being in charge of it.

It’s as though God said to me,

Here. Take this body. I created it just for you. It’s the only body you’ll have in this life. Treat it as an ever-present stranger you’ll want to get to know at least a thousand times over. Someday I’ll come knocking at your door, eager to see how you’ve treated it and what you’ve learned from its wisdom.

Women’s bodies are demeaned and pushed beyond their limits every day. Sadly, I can’t put an end to all of it. I can, however, actively love and care for my body. Which strikes me as more than enough. Upstairs attic, here I come! Though Crater Lake would be nice, too.

©Elouise Renich Fraser, 11 June 2018
Photo taken by DAFraser at Crater Lake, Oregon, 2015

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