What is a real Woman?

Am I a real Woman?

“Real women have curves.” You hear this from many different places. As “plus size” women do we try to over compensate by declaring ourselves better for having curves? Are we fighting against what has made us feel rejected for so long?

By saying real women have curves we are enacting the same “us, them” attitude that has gotten us into this mess in the first place.

Real women come in all shapes, sizes, sexual orientations, races, talents, likes, dislikes. In fact, I would really like to take out the word “Real” all together. It implies that the opposite is somehow fake in some way. I have many friends without curves and I’m pretty sure they are real and I’m pretty sure they are “real” women.

Am I being too serious? Can’t we joke? Yeah, I mean believe it or not I am a jokester. But, as a society we have taken appearance and telling people what is or is not good wayyyyyyy beyond where it needs to go. But this is a serious issue in society and people do end up with eating disorders as a result of societal judgements. What role could humor serve though? Could making this issue more lighthearted among friends relieve some of the tense energy around it? I would say…maybe…and know your crowd.

I joke around with my friends all of the time in fact. We joke about our bodies, and everything really. But, to make wide-spread judgements and campaigns about what a real woman is or is not isn’t too funny to me.

So don’t worry ¬†anymore, get out there. Be a woman. Do your thing. Owning your “woman-ness” has nothing to do with curves or not.

Trusting the River/the Path

I heard in the distance/deep within a whisper.
Calling to me, reminding me.
My path saved me.
When I could not see it/I felt it.
The path knew more than I knew, but it stayed present, because it was fixed.
I crawled on my knees in the dirt and I looked dirty.
I felt dirty. I felt weighted down, by the boulders and the bricks.
I wore them on my back, not just mine, but everyone else’s.
I would gladly take your boulders and your weight and put in on my back.
It was too hard for me to see you carry it.
But then, I took it, and you replaced it with a different brick, and I became heavier.
I sank into the mud. My mud and your mud swirled together and neither of us could breathe.
I still heard the whisper and i put my hand up out of the mud with all of my strength.
I grasped the path and I flopped myself onto it. No strength yet to do anything on it.
All I could do was lay on it/lay in it and let it guide me.
Like a river flowing I hung on to a raft any raft a long as it was mine.
It was hard because I had so many bricks and boulders with me.
I looked down in the river to see that there were other boulders and bricks lining the river bed.
These bricks seemed to be glistening, to be transformed somehow by the water.
What if I could let go of some of these bricks I thought?
My rocks, your rocks, what is the water needed them too?
Slowly, I began to let go of them. I placed them/or let them plop into the water.
I knew not how they would land, or if they would just be swept away.
But I let go of my need to know and control where they would go.
Knowing the river/my path would know what to do.
As time went on, the boulders and the river worked together to form an amazing waterfall.
Things were picking up speed now, and I felt lighter. I felt like things were falling into place.
Other people came to see their rocks in the water. To see the power of resiliency.
Suddenly, we all felt lighter. We didn’t know how much time had passed, just that at this moment we felt free.