My crew in Mexico
This story is not about the beauty of nature, ritual, the spiritual life, or moving to Mexico…or is it? Beneath the surface, what seems a mundane, everyday, woman’s topic, has been percolating for awhile in my thoughts. I am all about symbols and symbolic acts, because there is some expression of truth in them that carries us forward, and beyond. And this is one. Over a lifetime, I have been all over and around this topic, and finally feel I have come to a place in my cronehood of true love for my body, my face, my legs, just the way they are. But I want to start way back at the beginning, working my way through to this present moment (with a few digressions).
As a child I remember sitting on the step outside my parents house, and deciding to sneak in and find a razor to shave my legs. Well, I was a rebellious one, and I knew my Mama had told me that some things needed to “wait until you’re older”, but of course, I was not buying that. Being told a firm “No!” usually made me far more intent on doing something anyway. So in I went, found my sister’s razor and shaved off that fine, soft hair from my legs. It did not take long for me to be found out and scolded. In my memory, I just wanted to be a “grown up girl”, which meant more independent, freer. That’s what I thought, but then I had that stubble that felt weird in my sheets at night, and I did not shave again until I was thirteen. That was when my Mama, told me it was time, and that I should wear a bra too. She went to BC Moore’s and got me a few uncomfortable little bras, a razor, and deodorant. Shave your legs, shave your armpits, remove whatever smell you have. This, in the 1960’s was about as close as it got to a female rite of passage. Gee, what a message. I will add here, that I learned about menstruation from a little book, handed to me about the same time. Embarrassment and shame seemed to be associated with it. I knew it even then. Hide or change who you are when you leave childhood and become a woman..
Right here, I will state that I am still as flat chested as I was at thirteen. People could be cruel about it, so as a teenager I wore “falsies” inside my bra and bathing suit top. I felt such shame about not being a “real” girl with shapely teenage breasts. Yet, I got rid of the bras at 18, when I went to college, but I continued to shave beneath my arms and legs. My freshman year, Gloria Steinem, and Flo Kennedy spoke at my women’s college in Virginia. Having always been a questioner, their words lit me up about my place in the world as a young woman. Feminism was a natural fit. I wanted to personally challenge all the unconscious stuff a male biased culture placed on women. Yet, I also wanted to be accepted. I wanted a boyfriend. Although I recall considering not shaving a revolutionary act of self acceptance, I kept on believing my value to others required me to choose certain norms of “beauty”. Smooth legs were considered feminine, and already I felt lacking in that department by society’s standards.
There are so many directions this narrative might go from here, but the most direct path is that I married my senior year sweetheart the summer after graduation. We were more of the hippie type couple at the time, and I went on to my first stabs at career. Making choices to “fit in” in the working world, I just fell asleep to the “feminist within” and moved on. I hated shaving my legs, but just like washing my hair, I continued on with it as part of what you “have to do”. Around five years into marriage I began to explore “women’s studies” again, how American culture sold us a bill of goods. It is easy to go online now and find a of history of women’s hair removal and the results, some horrifying. I read somewhere that women spend over $10,000 over a lifetime, and over $23,000 if they also wax to be hairless.. Without going deeply into it, briefly, it was the influence of Darwin’s 1871 Ascent of Man that shifted how we felt about masculine and feminine ideals, including hair and hairlessness. Science became obsessed with hair. Companies saw a way to cash in on it. According to Wikipedia, although the first safety razor was introduced in the 1880’s, it was Gillette in the 1900’s that began pushing into the women’s market, first targeting the armpits, advertising that now women could raise their arms, “without embarrassment”. In the 1920’s hemlines went up, and legs became the next focus of marketing/advertising. Beyond embarrassment, women would be considered manly or unclean if they did not shave their legs… and now, 99% of women remove their natural body hair.
Now back to the story. When I got pregnant, something really came forward within me, I felt the holy power of womanhood. It was 1979, and around the same time I was beginning a deeper exploration into spirituality as a woman. Starhawk’s The Spiral Dance was out and I had found Merlin Stone’s When God was a Woman. After my first son was born, I was certainly letting my hairy freak flag legs and armpits fly. I felt the need to put it out there and be seen, perhaps normalize another way of being for women. Recently, revisiting photos of myself on the beach with my toddler, furry all over, I just felt such great love for that confident young woman. We made a financial sacrifice so I could be home with my children for five full years. Also committed to the homebirth and breastfeeding movement, motherhood was a beautiful time for me. The 80’s brought more and more history, archeology, supporting the women’s spirituality movement, revealing our unique connection to the divine feminine, and each other. Reading Riane Eisler, Marija Gimbutas, Diane Stein, and many others solidified what I had felt was missing as a child, in church, and later when I held feminism as only a political issue in my mind. Now activism appeared to become a more a sacred response to living a life of spirit, directed by a feminine perspective…getting signatures door to door against nuclear power plants, marching and taking action for women’s rights, gay rights, social justice, and environmental issues. A foundational body of work was out there now, supporting our departure from the limited, sanitized life women were expected to pursue and live. We could be revolutionary, rather than secondary, make personal and political choices against standards created by a patriarchal culture and its expectations. Body hair and all, freedom beckoned. Having a voice mattered. Sisterhood. It was empowering!
I want to be clear, thete is no judgement whatsoever of any other woman, and the choices she makes for herself. For me, it is one of those symbolic things, and this is my story. When I went back to work I made some choices to conform in certain ways. The marriage had ended, and not just slightly because of reclaiming some of my lost power as a woman. My ex told my children, I was crazy and that is why he left me. In all honesty, I was. I could not stay sane within the confines of it. Soon after, the warrior archetype in me found expression, as I began bodybuilding. Having been an athlete, and physically strong, it was a natural outlet. It got me through the hardest times around the divorce. But just like men in the sport, women shaved everything down so our beautiful muscles could be seen more easily. Sadly I was advised to continue my success in competition, I should consider breast implants, calf implants and/or take some drugs. I quit competing. Another message from “power” that I was not fine the way I was. About that time I began working for a corporation that offered some relief from a pretty challenging life…good pay, benefits, vacation time…. and friends. So I stayed pretty quiet about who I was.The training I received would become my career for the next twenty five years. I shaved, to present a certain image, but still found myself called into human resources for not wearing a bra, and for playing “odd chanting music” to my little ones during nap. Shut down. Forced to fit in, once more.
But with perfect timing, I found women that were also on their own quest of connecting with the divine feminine, and seeking other likeminded souls with whom to gather and share. For years we met, created and practiced ritual, honored the moon, the holydays, the Goddess with her many names and faces. We taught and learned from one another, all in the safe container of our circle. This was a deeply formative time. But life moves on, and eventually I left North Carolina, heading back to Virginia for a new position.
As single breadwinner for the family, it was important to be professional in the eyes of the board and administrations. I moved carefully determining how much was safe to show about myself. The 90’s brought Women Who Run with the Wolves, and The Dance of the Dissident Daughter. Much was being written in support of the awakened woman, and feminine spirituality. Women were offered and claiming a new and clearer vision of other possibilities, and the culture in my new town around me seemed pleasantly open, curious and accepting. I was at ease.These were good years.
Love and desire showed up. Marriage followed, and I found myself although sincerely wanting relationship, losing myself again, giving myself away, really. The pressure of changing myself in exchange for full acceptance and love presented itself often.Too many strong hurtful opinions were said out loud. The pain of anger and the anxiety caused by silence of displeasure did damage. I have written a little about this before, and it is different story. Just say, the choice to survive by denying myself brought on a certain level of depression, an emptiness. I was resentful. Why should I have to choose between being myself and being loved? Didn’t I deserve both? How many women have asked themselves these questions?
A new position followed. I was hopeful it would provide a new start, but one does not escape problems by relocating.This school had a religious affiliation. I hesitated, but made clear to the headmaster I was not Christian, though I was raised in and respected the church.That seemed fine with him. It seemed okay to me, a new life might shift things, the marriage might evolve. But I went underground yet again in both my personal and professional life, presenting an outer image that seldom matched the inner reality. There were many things I could put my energy into and enjoy, and I did. I found ways to light up my life, doing the work I loved, bringing spirit to the classroom in small ways, creating joys and beauty in projects at home, as well. Optimism, fuelled by occasional mutual effort, at times felt worth the emotional effort of sticking in there. Enough hope was generated to continue on. I fit myself into roles at work and home that seemed outwardly so good, yet kept me distracted from a deeper pain. There are no villains or victims here, but two people wanting love and struggling through their own personal and cultural trauma. Eventually, I made a few true soul friends. Our commitment and support sustained me during demanding years.
Around the time I was moving toward, and living in retirement, and celebrating my croning, again, something big changed inside me. I declared to stop apologizing for who I was, and what I wanted and needed. Presenting myself in wholeness to the world felt freeing. This soon led to meaningful and healing work, connected to and honoring my spiritual path. Inner doors flew open, letting in more, often unexpected, guidance. I decided to travel, make joyful choices, free myself of conditions or expectations put on me by others, and release those parts within that felt like a hard shell of protection and self sacrifice. Another reclaiming was at hand. My unhappiness had made me into someone I really didn’t know or like very much, and she needed to go. Forgiveness and compassion were meant for me, too. My heart, that had become a tight, painful knot in my chest, so much of the time now, started to release. I finally began to breathe deep again. The outside wants to match the inside. A few years earlier, I had quit shaving my armpits or waxing a bikini line in the summer, and as time passed, I wanted to once and for all, love my furry female body, fully, and embrace it all, without shame…because I could, finally.
Today, in another country, I rub my hands up and down my hairy legs, view my wrinkled skin in a mirror, feel my little soft belly, acknowledge my sun damage, and I smile. I call out to the elements, the directions, my allies and guides, and the Goddess each day. I ask for guidance. Ritual is my prayer. I beat the drum, chant, and walk the earth. I talk with the stones, plants and animals. I laugh big from my center and weep out loud. For so many years I could hardly cry at all. Healing myself by simply letting me be me, loving whatever appears on my path, and balancing what comes with the wisdom of knowing. I am grateful for all that’s been, all that is, and whatever come. Continuing on this earth journey, I embrace connection to spirit. I happily explore the gifts we are given…having a body, living through the senses, allowing feelings and emotions to inhabit their rightful places, in other words live as a full-hearted woman from the belly of knowing.
This story started about body hair. The wild woman archetype in her full animal magnificence does not need to change how she comes into this world, and makes no excuses for how she evolves. She is not groomed to please a man, a society, a culture based on falseness, the subtle and not so subtle controllers of female energy, or the fearful labels forcing her it into lesser, secondary roles. She has a voice. Listen. She has Power. Speak.
Not separate from, but fully part of. Never less than. Equal in all things. A big Amen to the end of patriarchal dogma as truth.
Maidenhood, Motherhood, Cronehood.
Sensuality, Sexuality, and Creativity.
Receptive. Active. Loving. Spontaneous.
Realized. Actualized. Autonomous.
Earth My Body, Water My Blood, Air My Breath, and Fire My Spirit.
She changes everything she touches, and everything She touches, changes.
Addendum: Twenty five years ago I read The Dance of the Dissident Daughter, and I am now re-reading it. The experience has been a homecoming, a remembering, a deep reflection. Before I left the States, I quickly put it on my kindle. What a wise thought I momentarily had during a busy and emotional time. Amazed and happy I followed through on it.
Morning at my desk