I was going to do a check in for my word of the year since we’re nearing the end of the first quarter anyway but the universe is twisting in on itself. I’m being tagged on links on Facebook about how sometimes self love is a battle, and you’re going to fight yourself the way that you fight any person you love.
I will say this much-I am not at peace or center, but I’m so much closer than I was in mid-December.
It’s been a matter of cascading situations. I had a wake up call about how much I had hit bottom before the New Year, and have been slowly adding routines back into the swing of taking care of my self. Starting with moisturizing, which led to cosmetics (again) then to de-dreading and rehabbing my hair, to exercise and now I’m drinking water (I hate water).
Here’s the thing though-my self wears a fedora and talks like Bogart. It swaggers like the bad boy in a noir rendition of the Saint Valentine’s Day Massacre. It swears and throws its weight around. It doesn’t want to be fluffy, it doesn’t want to be pretty, and it definitely doesn’t want to be feminine. My self wants to rock my natural Baba Yaga power brows and lip colors you sort of don’t like. It wants to wear mono-color eyeshadow just because you don’t wear mono-color eyeshadows. It wants to dance because fat girls don’t dance, and it wants salads because lettuce just tastes good.
For the first time in close to a decade, it wants to be seen-and that’s a huge, huge deal for a woman who had that desire stolen out from underneath her.
And that’s pretty *&(* good, too, right now, if that’s what’s going to take me closer to certain and something like stability.
My favorite photo of myself right now is one I took randomly at night when Mid plunked a fedora on my head. I’m wearing dregs of the day’s makeup and I’m sneering.
The article that I was tagged to on Facebook used the phrase ‘ganster self love, it’s punk %$#(ing rock self love.’ and that’s actually a pretty $@$$ accurate description of what’s going on right now. We have an agreement, me and my self. There’s nothing wrong with lace and fluff and gradient brows and all the trappings of traditional femininity. We’re just heading in a different direction.
Can Al Capone be a beauty deity? ‘Cuz he sort of is for me right now.