I hear them say to me ” hey gorgeous” or “you’re so beautiful” and I stop to question, well, they must have missed these gray hairs?
Do they see what life has done to my crown? It has exposed me. Made me odd and old and riddled me with this self-judgment.
How could they have missed them? There’re so many. Surely when they see them, they’ll reassess my status of beauty, status of presence. I will become invisible once they see that I am not what they thought I was.
Why do I do that?
Even when I was 32 and only one day after I won a body building contest– ripped and leaner than I’d been in my entire life– I pondered whether to wear my cut-off shorts and tomato red heels to the Village for lunch.
You know, because I thought maybe my legs showed cellulite, too much water-weight on the back.
I had just won a bodybuilding show and still thought “they’re gonna find out I WAS fat just 3 months ago.”
Geezo, even with less than 10% bodyfat I felt like an imposter.
And I look at women all around the city; so many gorgeous, luscious women, and I can’t help but hope they realize their pretty is profound. So profound. So unique. Stunning.
The Woman with dark brown skin, pure and unblemished. Glowing gorgeousness. A chocolate face that shines. Does she see how My breath slows when I look at her face? Maybe, she doesn’t know how exquisite she is, just as she is.
The round Woman with hips like ruby rose petals bursting in May . I think they are paintable and sculptable and climbable.
She may not know that she radiates like a maternal goddess, that she reminds me that we’re all mothering someone, even us women without our own child. She is my mirror, and I thank her for letting me see myself that way.
The Lady behind glasses masking the mystery in her knowing eyes; on a face with warrior markings, touched with reds and pinks and greens and black lines of clarity. Reading her library labeled book. A thinker, a lover of words and sounds and silence magnified.
When these women turn and catch my gaze, I let a smile stream between us.
Does she know of her lovely?
I, too, wanna feel beautiful beyond my failed control over the gray that commands my head. I wanna feel beautiful even with the patch of cellulite on the side of my rump, when I am without pink and red powders, while wearing my writing glasses and tapping letters on my iPad, while feeling the flow of tears when I write stuff that really matters to me.
And I wanna let HER know she is– the one I’m smiling at–the lady sitting across from me on the train– the one who keeps staring at me–I want her to know she’s stunning.
who you be?
if the noise inside gets too loud, you’ll never hear
better to write her
scribble her onto an unused napkin and stick her in your purse.
carry her with you everyday.
she needs to be defined.
she needs to be with you every moment
not crumpled in a pile of mess or jumbled under layers of judgment
let her loose.
let the WiLD breathe.
Michelle Bernard: WiLD journaling
to be unleashed January 2018
spend a morning in the wilderness,
your journal can get you there.
where first is revealed
the dense and chaotic terrain
that threatens to lose you to your feelings.
tangled and constricting feelings are vines squeezed between your lips
around your ankles
binding you still
suffocating you quiet.
wild writing upsets the stillness
rattles the quiet
wreaks injurious blows into the familiar.
makes you flail for a gulp of air
for loudness to rush wind through your throat
a burst of bravery
breaking you from your past
the familiar knowledge of the past has controlled you
the familiar past, a protector of harm
has kept you safe from being able to grow wild
so go there
with a pen
and write yourself wild
I’m clicking away at another book.
About journaling. It’s been my morning thing. For years. Through many cities, jobs, dates, lovers, goals–I’ve written it all down in mini capsules. My journals.
The wisest advice has come to me through journaling, because, seriously, there exists some sage that shows up on the page. She directs my hard-head to let go of old sh#t and dares me to step hard right on up to life’s counter to take what I’m worth. She, the voice, also listens to me ruminate over and over and over about the same ole worn-out story, till she can’t take it anymore. What better-a-friend than she?
Have you got one? A journal. Any kind of bound paper thingy will do. Just start. Same time of day or night, 5-7 days a week. Twenty+ minutes.
Write your dreams, your doubts, your highs, your trials, your irritations, your storms, your possibilities, your realness.
After just 30 days of journaling, notice how it rattles your tamed mind, makes you ask wild questions of yourself, tells you what you’ve been dying to know, stirs you to cut the vines away from your throat so you can breathe.
I am a transformational coach and fitness trainer which means I will give clients healthful tools, exercises, and processes that they can use for an eternity.
But here is MY exception: One must be willing and ready to step into one’s strength
with the courage to move past the subconscious limitations.
Strength, power, and courage cannot be given.
It is something we realize.
If you are not ready for the change and improvement that I will help you facilitate,
if you are afraid of moving more than a 5 pound weight at any point in your program,
if you do not wish to see yourself expand, if you complain a LOT, and if you are not ready to look deeper at your personal possibilities and move toward your greatest self, I am not your trainer.
But if you are interested in a steady, safe, and strong progression toward the person you desire to be, and if you have more courage you wish to express,
and if you believe life is worth living to the fullest, I think we are a great match!
And if not, I truly believe you probably will keep feeling exactly how you feel, and you will never be able to have the body or life you desire.
You must BELIEVE and BEHAVE like you’re worth your transformation before it can actually happen.
Thanks Oby for the interview!