I see the mother in me raising her head these last few days.
The way I just found myself holding my aching belly, firmly, lovingly. There is a presence in my hands that seems softly familiar.
The way I touch others. How I hold their hands. Touch their backs.
The way I love them deeply, but trust them in their journeys.
The way I feel a burgeoning love for my body. I have felt sad for years that my body was not “perfect.” And now I take the time to admire myself. I leave sadness behind, and begin finding love there. I wrote a page of questioning and answering to myself yesterday ~ “What gifts I have been given in my body.” Guess what? I’m actually incredibly blessed to have uneven breasts. You know why? Because I have grappled with self acceptance for many years. It has been a slippery road uphill. I fought for self love. It has been one of my greatest lessons. I still learn it every day. And that triumph… the triumph of seeing myself in the mirror, and beginning to see only divine beauty… that triumph is all the more tasty for having searched for it for so long. And you know what else? I am the only person in the world who has ever told me I was imperfect, that my breasts were imperfect. My words. My thoughts.
I claim them as my own. And I claim them as being infinitely changeable.
I claim my life and my body as mine. I fall in love with me, gently, gently.
I see the mother in me. I see how she sweeps her hands into my life, and uses my hands to heal others… and myself.