Jul 18, 2019
For whatever it is worth, our lives have a lot to do with visuals. Our design careers are visual and aesthetic, not unlike our home and many other aspects of our life. We like creating beauty in daily life and adventure. We long for nature’s beauty, and we celebrate art and craft.
I’m a person of aesthetics and I once had beautiful breasts. My breasts were perfect in their small pear-drop-shaped fullness. “Youthful and dense,” the Dr’s would always comment. Wow, I thought! Large brown nipples, just a bit out of proportion, but distinct more than they were awkward. They were part of me, those breasts. It took me most of my twenties to know their greatness. At the time, I didn’t understand that the uniqueness of individual bodies is what makes them beautiful. I worried about fitting only into the box that meant perfect/sexy, and I didn’t know that perfect is what we can’t see when we are wanting to be some other version of beautiful. Perfect is just our nature. But, most of us can’t see that in ourselves. I’m thankful for the season I felt their perfection. Life and beauty, just below my nose, those tits brought me the same comfort that breasts bring to all, and now that comfort is gone, I am more than aware of it.
I am a person of aesthetics and now my chest holds the marks of unbeauty. Last week I wore a shirt to keep my chest from being inappropriate and attractive(?), and this week it’s shirts to prevent an offense of fright. My scars are tidy but it’s a scary scene. If seen by a child, there would be terror filled tears. Baby that I am, why the surprise, I’ve reacted like this too.
My chest is marked with unbeauty, pain, and terror- my own- the feeling of facing your life. My chest is marked with suffering, with survival. It’s marked by a painful season that came as a surprise- a season more than it seemed. My chest is marked with strength, resilience, and steadfastness. My chest is marked with healing. My chest is marked.
I’ve found myself with a familiar reflex over the past few days wanting to I’ve found myself with a familiar reflex over the past few days wanting to sugar my honesty. I want to perform acrobatics and point out the rainbows, and make plans and promises to the glowing horizon. I want to do this for myself and for others. It wouldn’t be totally dishonest to do so, but it also wouldn’t be the whole picture.
There is that other familiar reflex that says no- no sunshine, no rainbows. The reflex here says why make promises on a horizon that might not always look inviting. Fear can take the quirkinesses of the sour of life and turn it to pure acid if you aren’t careful. I know my future is a lot brighter than it’s ever been before, but the stakes is high, and never been higher! I’m now, more than ever, more aware of risk. In the face of this risk, I personally feel there can be no other choice but to still go all in on this pony.
There once was beauty where there is now pain. I’d like to rationalize my scars to feel positively about them, and I do, but right now I also can’t deny I miss what is gone. I miss my body... I miss those perfect ladies, and they are gone! I miss myself aesthetically, physically, emotionally, in confusion, and most of all in a way I can’t really express.
My physical pain has yet to resolve, and I will also admit that my emotional pain is, too, unresolved. I don’t know why I feel shame or resistance to admitting that I’m in a new place emotionally, an in-between, or maybe I’m at a finish line.
I am caught in the mix and even though none of us share the same path, I bet we are all sorta caught there. I’m in pain and I’m hurting and I’m sad. I’m trying to be comfortable while in a great deal of discomfort. I’m working to accept the unacceptable. I am strong and beautiful, and I am also devastated and at a loss. I’m not sure how long I’ll keep feeling a mix, but I’m betting it might be forever.