You'd Feel Her in a Room if You Was Blind

So this is a weird thing for me. I hate that it took 37 years. 43, if you ask my friend, Shotwell. I'm only writing about this because it's really uncomfortable. And that's what we're supposed to do.

Let me just get started with a reminder that sometimes, you remember things differently. This time, it was a correction that was in his favor. Now, I'm not kink-shaming, I'm just kink asking why. It was feet. He was really into feet. Which is fine. But I'm not into feet and I'm a runner. We ain't got great feet. Maybe if my feet were great, I'd be less weird about it. I had to get that out of the way. My best friend reminded me. I wish he hadn't. It's so much better to remember the best of people. Okay, moving on to the meat of this post.

I'm writing this because one of my sweet friends said something to the effect of "of course he calls you 'gorgeous'. Any man who isn't blind would see that." Of course I think of myself through the eyes of a man at that moment. My sister even picked up on it in the song. I suppose one day I'll either hear a woman describe herself like me or write the damn song myself. I guess it's always been up to me to write the song.

So, I was out yesterday with friends. I left my wallet in the car and had to go get it. Y'all, the men who looked at me. And you know what? It was the good kind of look. People have always looked at me I always noticed people looking at me. I always thought it was because something was wrong. Spoiler: news to me that it's not that something is wrong.

I mean, I always wondered if I was pretty. But you go eighteen years and no one tells you straight on that you are arguably gorgeous, it kind of permanently imprints. I'm sure people - women - who are like me and go their whole lives not knowing. I wish I could find every damn one and sit her down and tell her a thousand times and undo the brainwashing that religion built. 

That was a conversation I had recently. Someone who can't understand the level of religious trauma and programming and damage done to us as children in the evangelical culture. Now, I'm not talking about simply being or identifying as evangelical, but being immersed in it. We went to church three times a week and we had a strict dress code. But only the girls. We make the staunchest Baptists look like godless heathens. I prefer the real HeAthens. Those are my people. The wake me up people. Sometimes the people trying to warn me.

So it took me 37 years to  really accept that I'm pretty. Really pretty. There. I said it. I think that was probably a blessing to me. I spent my life making up for my plainness in other ways. I worked hard to be smart and develop grace and style. I read and tried to be as knowledgeable as possible so that I could at least be a good conversationalist. I tried to open my mind and accept all kinds of people as they are. I developed some skills: cooking and cleaning and and how to fix a toilet and change a tire and my oil. I wanted to be self-sufficient and to this day, sometimes I surprise folks with what I can do. I developed a good work ethic and absolutely thew off this idea that women didn't want to use their hands or get dirty. My collar has always been blue, even if the job's is white. I learned to tell my stories. I went to school and got a damn fine career. I held tight to my enthusiasm and my wonder at the world. I grew empathy and went to therapy to sort through my pile of shit. I tried hard to learn to listen. Really listen. I've been told that most women like me (that is to say smart and strong-willed and outspoken) don't let a man get a word in edgewise. But that he liked that about me. That I do. And all I could think to say was "Well, how will I ever learn anything if I don't shut up for a minute?"

So now, as I start to really age, irony of irony, I realize that I am the complete package. And that I do not have to settle for less than that in a partner. Maybe that is the blessing of age. Well, that combined with giving so many fewer fucks about what anyone thinks or believes of me, unless I want to. My tolerance for bullshit from anyone new to me is non-existent. There isn't a single treatment that I have to settle for. If it's not what I want, I can do better than letting it go, I can kick its ass out of my whole life. How fucking liberating. I don't have to do a damn thing that doesn't suit me in relationships of any kind. But I can also work as hard as I want. If I want. Sometimes that looks like finding the voice to say "You said you'd call me back and instead I got a text at 2am." 

I never dream of people in my life. I always dream of them after they go. And we had a guest star last night. A reminder to get my house in order. A reminder to release what cannot possibly serve me. A jolt in the solar plexus at seeing someone unexpected and a trash bag, rather literally in that dream.

So, for the record, I will be rocking my looks right up until I feel like I don't want to anymore. And that will probably be a while, because Botox and sunscreen.