I Surrender

I caught myself in the bathroom mirror this morning, and for just a second, I SAW myself. Half-naked, leaning on crutches, those jowls, lumpy thighs, the scars, evidence of my 41 years written all over. I didn’t hate myself or even judge, I just SAW.

This isn’t some cringe-ass narrative about “learning to love your tiger-stripes.” 🙄. We "like" the post but it's bullshit, and we all know it. It feels like more of a surrender. We’ve been through so much. LORD have mercy, SO MUCH. When do we just surrender?!

I know for sure, it isn’t grandiose. It isn’t a fight or battle or mountain to climb. We fought it. We climbed. It isn’t glorifying something you’ve spent a lifetime cursing, into some sparkling tiger stripe. That’s bullshit, and we all know it. “Glitter on a turd” or "lipstick on a pig", as my dad might say.

And it isn’t shame. It’s isn’t self-loathing. The female collective covered that entire territory twice, and here we are, right back where we started. It isn’t the reward for weightloss, or workouts, or lettuce eating. We did ALL that, and we still look in the mirror and have the audacity to hate.

I think of the little girl who got the confidence beaten out of her before she ever had a chance to learn anything different. She framed her life's vernacular on "too much", "not enough", "loud mouth", "fat ass", "can't you just shut up, sit down, be smaller, do what you're told."

I think of the teenager who tried to find it in boys and drugs. They'll want you if your shorts are tight and you give them what THEY need. She didn't like the feeling of being high, but she puff-puff-passed all the way to a criminal record.

The broken 20-something so desperate for safety, that she wrapped herself in 100 lb security blanket of fat and self-soothed with french-fries and pizza. She's so funny and she has such a pretty face.

I remember the 30-something who traded victimhood for achievement. She spent a decade crushing/climbing/grinding/killing/smashing/losing/running…and she made it look damn good, too. Everyone loves her. What an inspiration. More achievement = more love. She leads the charge and hides the truth. She drowns grief in vodka and pushes harder. Her hips hurt. Her heart hurts. She got a beautiful smile.

The middle-aged queen who alchemized all that trauma into a broken body and couldn’t figure out what she was missing. Talk therapy, trauma therapy, self-help books, crystals, oils, shadow work…why does everything hurt allll the time?! Why am I sad? Why do I always feel like shit? What if the best of life is already gone? Keep trying, keep searching, dig deeper, talk it out - eventually you'll think your way to the solution...right?

I stood in the mirror this morning, utterly exhausted. One week post hip surgery - the gift that 40 gave me, and I think...What if it isn’t WORK at all? What if there isn't anything to be done? What if it’s just surrender? When do we get to just exist? When do we get to feel good? When do we get to accept pleasure? When do we rest? When do we stand naked in the mirror and just see a body? What if it isn't hard at all? What if it's that easy?

I don’t want to do it anymore, friends. This is my body. It’s just a body. This is my life, and I actually love my life! I have everything I ever dared to dream of. Isn’t that enough? Isn’t that the point? Love, joy, gratitude, pleasure.

I surrender.

17m