(Image found on Pinterest)
(Image found on Pinterest)
Pretty did not feel available to me. As a kid especially. I knew that I did not fit the mold.
Now, I feel safe because I am unpretty. Invisible to predators. Unwanted by unsavory characters.
I want to teach my daughter that she is valuable and worthy of love whether she is conventionally pretty or not. That make up is not a required facet of femininity, but a choice. That pretty can mean something different to every person in the world. That she can choose what it means to be pretty.
I believe in the radical notion that every being on the planet deserves to love themselves as they are in this moment in time, fat or thin or tall or short or frumpy or fabulous or ‘perfect’ or ‘imperfect.’ Perhaps if we taught our children to love and take care of their bodies instead of chasing a certain body type they would love and take care of each other as well.
RESPECT. KINDNESS. COMPASSION. Needed now more than ever.
This truth has more baggage than I can deal with right now. To be continued…
I was inspired to write this post about my Dad. About my childhood in his home.
But after typing in the title, my hands and brain froze. A navel gazer, after the jump…
It’s hard to relate how disappointing it is to discover that Michelle Obama has chosen to use her platform to combat ‘childhood obesity.’
I’m saddened to realize that Mrs Obama is interested in policing my body; in determing for me what is and is not healthy for my own child; interested in helping to determine who’s body is correct, and who’s is incorrect. And Fat Fat Fatty Fat Fat.
Please go read the open letter from Kate Harding to Mrs. Obama. Long, but worth your time.
It’s hard to talk about death. In some circles.
Where I work, we talk about death and dying all day long. That’s what we do. We help people to die in the comfort of their own home. And we help their family cope with that process.
It’s a little different (I should say) being on the other side.
One of our long time volunteers passed away suddenly, most likely the evening after one of her Thursdays in our office. Cheery and friendly as always, she completed her filing and left without saying goodbye to anyone.
Unusual for her.
In our work, we talk about how sometimes the body knows when the time has come. A patient will suddenly rally, have the best day they’ve had in weeks, and then pass away in the night.
Or, they’ll convince the caregivers to get out and have a good time, only to pass while they’re away.
Or, they’ll complete their filing and quietly slip out of the office.
This volunteer helped us manage our work for seven years. And although I barely knew her, I loved her.
For her kindness, for her high spirit, for always asking ‘how’s our princess?’ (my daughter).
She was always glad to be there, and always glad to gab for a few minutes. Or just say hello and reconnect if I had too much to do.
Her memorial was standing room only. A mother, grammie, sister, friend. An inspiration. A role model.