I’ve been a home body for the past year. When I was in my last romantic relationship, I spent my weekends at home to be with him. I rushed home after work to be with him. I wasn’t hiking or going to museums. I wasn’t taking myself out to dinner. I was sitting in the car for hours at the peak of traffic and sitting at my desk for hours at work. I got home and hustled through night time routines and jumped into bed. I was content in my massive ass expansion as I ate and didn’t move, and my clothes grew tighter. My ex-boyfriend would often hold me close and tell me I was soft. His smile and warmth as he held me and praised my curves felt amazing and I was okay with becoming softer. I was happy with the slower pace and easing back into focusing on home life.
Single life means I get to shift back into exploring Los Angeles and hiking for beautiful views. It means I’m taking my time on my way home when I don’t have my kids. I’m stopping when strangers talk to me, unafraid that I might be doing something wrong. I’ve learned with jealous men to worry I might be doing something normal to me, that is disrespectful to them. I’ve been offering to snap family pictures when I’m in a tourist trap. I forgot how good it feels to give. It’s getting used to again being happy single and confident in who I am. It’s face time with old friends and learning through workshops. It’s amazing how many free classes are available.
This weekend I decided to explore and ticked Brand Park in Glendale off of my list. I had been there once before. This time I was alone and took my time exploring the library, Japanese Garden and Doctors House. Then I decided I wanted to hike up the mountain. I started on the Miss America Green Cross Trail, not paying attention to the easier route starting right behind the library. I started where I was standing and figured I could handle the loop. It didn’t look much worse than Runyon Canyon. I snapped a picture of the map at the trail head and started my way up.
After a short and easy walk, the hike became a steep incline up the mountain. At times I was using my hands to steady myself as I carefully placed my feet. A few times I worried I might fall backward. I looked up from time to time, but never as I was walking. I focused on each step and only at the ground right in front of me. Being inactive for so long, my heart was pounding, and I was huffing and puffing. My body ached with the strain of it, and my legs trembled. At this point and again after a short climb higher, I sat down for a while. I reminded myself that I could take my time and there was no one around to rush me. It was the excuse I used to stick with my protections of being a Lone Wolf. It was the excuse I used to not take anyone with me. I could listen to my body, rest when I wanted to and go at my own pace. But I wanted to keep going.
I don’t remember how long I sat, but looking over the city all I had was my thoughts and they shouted at me because my body was only able to sit still and tremble and breathe. A few months ago, a friend asked me about my relationships and certain things fully clicked into place. I looked ahead and tried to convince myself that it was not that much farther to the top. If I kept going, the way down looked like a much easier walk. My phone app let me know I hadn’t even made it half way. I sat and immediately wanted to fall into a moment of self-beat up before I remembered that I did a lot. For someone that hadn’t been active in a really long time, I walked up 42 flights. I sat and gave myself the rest I needed. I looked over Burbank and Glendale and even recognized Long Beach.
A workshop I went to a few weeks ago taught me about my relationship to failure and it was interesting to me but every single failure I could think of was tied to a relationship of some kind. Prompted by a friend, I wanted to really explore how I felt about my relationships around my sexuality.
Relationship to Men
In all of my romantic relationships, I fell into this pattern of following. It was how I was raised. My Dad was often telling us that children should be seen and not heard. I saw my Mom do as my Dad wanted. She is strong and smart and financially responsible, and she was submissive to him until she wasn’t, and that was when the marriage ended. I’m hard wired to follow, even if I don’t agree, and even if I don’t want to. And that doesn’t align with who I am when I’m single. But I’m aware of it. I’m hyper aware of it. And I get to figure out how to change it.
A couple of years ago I was in line at a Rite Aid and I was totally triggered by ice cream. There was a small family ahead of me and this little girl was trying to figure out what she wanted. Her mom began to tell her to pick Vanilla. The little girl wanted to sample the flavors and choose the best one for her, and she was told what she should pick and rushed. I actually turned around in a moment of outright hostility. I explained (as calmly as I could) that they want their daughter to choose what she wants. They want her to be able to speak up for herself. If you teach her that her wants and needs are valuable, she won’t believe the immature boys that will try to convince her that he matters more than she does.
Fast forward to this past year and asserting my wants felt like rebellion. Choosing what was best for me became something I was hiding.
Relationship to My Body
I wasn’t being gentle with myself. On this hike, I expected my body to be the amazing powerhouse I have known it to be. I’ll be 40 next month, so osteoarthritis makes it hard to move some mornings. In spite of that, I love my body because it’s mine. I love it for what it has done and what it can do.
Sometimes I overestimate what my body can do. I believe that has a lot to do with why it was so hard to be gentle with myself when I know I had done enough on that mountain. I’ve carried seven babies that are now individual people thriving in this life. I’ve known what it feels like when I treat myself like I love myself. I feel powerful and confident. I know how important self-care is. I love the way my body feels. I love the way it looks and I’m excited about what it will do in the next decade.
It’s hard to imagine that my body is less capable than it’s proven to be in the past. A couple of years ago I had a conversation with a man that felt like I needed him to point out that he liked “thick girls.” First, I’m a woman. Second, it never occurred to me to be thick, or thin. I’m me. Glorious, beautiful me. Strong or soft, I turn heads (even if they’re not the ones turning mine) on a regular basis. I bet most people are noticed and appreciated by strangers, especially when it's not mutual. I know what they’re looking at. I get to look at myself in the mirror every day, and even when I don’t look like I have put effort into what I present to the world, I accept who I am and love myself. Unconditionally. I’m beautiful because I decide what beauty is to me.
Relationship to Power
I see it. I want it. I often feel like having power means I need to be a Lone Wolf. If I keep to myself, no one can take my power. I don’t need to make myself small to keep someone else bigger than me. I don’t always feel I have power but you can see it in my walk. Over the last year I let go of my Mom Walk. I stopped strutting confidently. I became busy and all of the things I “get to do” became things I “need to do.” The stress of it was in my shoulders and in my gait. It was in my lack of eye contact. I wasn’t trying to attract attention so I was shrinking. I was in a committed relationship and I didn’t want to do something to hurt the man I loved.
I’m slowly finding it again, but I’m shifting it. The power I felt in my walk was part of being a Lone Wolf. It was a very masculine authority in which I lived my life. I had this definite belief that as a single mom, I was both Mom and Dad. I spent the year next to a man that was very strong and intensely dominant. I learned that I don’t have to be. I can be feminine and hold attention. I can be assertive and respected. I’m shifting my walk intentionally into a more feminine walk. I felt it when he first left and I started walking the way I used to. After being so connected to his energy, mine felt false. My walk was leading with my shoulders rounded to minimize my breasts. It was a walk that said, “take me seriously and don’t look at my boobs.” Rather than leading with my shoulders, I’m relaxing them and leading with my hips. There’s less intensity in it and when I walk like that, I feel a calm power that flows rather than forces a path in my wake. I feel taller and my posture is better. It’s subtle but it’s a shift I felt I needed to make.
The shift in my walk is an embodied feeling and reminder that I don’t need to follow anyone. I don’t need to be both male and female. The boys have their Dad when I don’t have them, and I don’t need to fill those masculine shoes. I can lead in the authority of my own power. I don’t need to fear power or shrink in the face of it. I can be myself and there is power in that.
Relationship to Confidence
In the workshop on failure I mentioned previously, I went through the process and identified my failings. I discovered my perceived failings were all about relationships. Romantic relationships. My relationship as a mom, daughter and sibling. My relationship with money. In all these things, where my fear of failure was strongest I felt my confidence was integrally tied to my perceived failure. As I really looked at the things I felt I failed in, I realized I was very disconnected from these things. I felt the weight of what I thought I should feel, and in the end, I didn’t feel these things. I felt what I thought I should feel. As I released these perceived failures, I felt a shift in my confidence level. I know I’ve written it many times, but I’m not my failures and my failures teach me where I get to grow, but I was in a space where I forgot this. I’m in a space where I’m reminding myself of this.
I took a few final deep breaths and decided I could try again another day. I decided that I could be kind to myself and accept that getting ¾ of the way up the mountain was enough. I’m not sure how I would have gotten down if I had made it to the top. I slowly made my way back down the mountain. My phone tells me I climbed 42 flights and walked 4 miles that day. By the time I got to my car, my legs were trembling, my fingers were slightly swollen. My palms were scraped and dry. I was sweating and elated. I did so much. It wasn’t everything but it was enough. I am enough and it’s enough that I can see who I am in relationships. It’s enough to focus out and away from my need to be a Lone Wolf. I don’t need to push others away to protect myself. I can hold my own power in being vulnerable enough to share who I am. With actual people I share the same air with.