Let There Be Light

Happy almost Spring. *Chapter 30*

It’s 7:30 pm and still light outside. Today I set my alarm an hour later than usual but still woke up feeling groggy and confused. I took a three hour nap that started on my couch and at some point migrated to my bed. I did not awaken refreshed but instead like a bridge troll disturbed, “who goes there???” Mouth breathing and missing my pants.

Regardless, a chocolate cake sits in front of me. I filmed myself baking it for my second cooking video coming this Friday. I spilled everything on the floor in the process of making it. Not only did my midday nap render me incapable of motor function, my period is due any second bringing with it extreme monthly clumsiness.

I ate a slice for the video…with whipped cream.

I’m drinking a glass of wine and had cheese and crackers for dinner. Something I haven’t done in ages. After drinking and eating quite literally everything in sight in 2023, my body has decided only to crave broccoli and chicken and yogurt and bananas, anything whole and healthy, it’s all I want. Eating better and drinking less hasn’t felt like a conscious decision. It’s been a completely natural turn towards health and care that I’ve been reveling in and feel amazing as a result of.

I See The Light, by Bonnie Lynn Felton, lynnfelton.com

Alas.

Last night during service a guest (a very old, very leathery woman) asked me, “So, do you know what you’re carrying?” It took me a moment to realize she was asking about the non-existent baby inside me she assumed I was pregnant with. I stared at her in silence with a look on my face that very clearly conveyed, “what the fuck??”

“Oh, your apron is just so tight!” She spewed out in what I assume was an attempt to mend the misconception.

I left her with a firm, “No. Absolutely not,” and a water glass filled only halfway. I heard her mutter to her equally close to death sister, “oh my god, how embarrassing…”

At this point in my life, I am very proud to say that I have no shame about my body. It has taken me a LOT of time, therapy and practice to know that I truly mean that, but… I truly fucking mean that. Would I like to lose a few of the pounds I put on last year? Would I like to feel fit, feed myself good food and know that I am doing everything in my power to maintain good health? Of course. But I don’t feel insecure about how I look.

What made me feel insecure was knowing that these two old windbags were sitting there analyzing my body. She has a lower belly pooch, kind of big boobs and a big ass. She must be with child. I would have been so much better off NOT being forced into the awareness of this analysis. Commenting on a stranger’s body, let alone YOUR SERVER’S body, who then has to use that body to keep serving you, is abhorrent and shameful.

Last Tuesday, I went in for my second mammogram this year. I was assured this is relatively normal if you don’t have previous mammograms to compare results with. I told myself as she squished my nipple so tightly between two panes of plastic that my knees almost buckled, “women bring babies into this world, just breathe,” and I did. And when I was taken without explanation into the ultrasound room and watched as a technician continuously zoomed in and circled one dark oval on the picture of my left breast, I thought, “this will be okay, I know women who have been through this, this will be okay no matter what.”

When the doctor finally came in she hadn’t even closed the door before announcing, “Everything is okay, there is nothing to worry about, it’s a small cyst we just want to keep an eye on.” Tears had been collecting in the corners of my eyes and rolled down my cheeks. “Ya could have said so earlier!” I hissed. She apologized.

That murky in between of knowing and not knowing whether or not your life is about to completely change made me so grateful when I learned that it wasn’t. As far as I know, I am healthy. I’m 40 years old. Still able to move how I please. See things up close and wait tables on my feet for 8 hours at a time. I’m not planning to ever carry a baby and so the mystery of what that journey could look like will likely remain unknown. How dare someone tread into the territory of secrets I share with with my own body.

I’ve shaken last night’s comment off mostly because I don’t wanna carry that rage around in the front of my mind. It already lives permanently at the back of mine and every woman’s wherever we are at any time of day. Am I being judged for how I look? Is someone staring at my body with thoughts of disdain or lust or jealousy or violence? Am I safe? Am I okay?

Ultimately, I don’t know the answer to that all the time. When I am home with my boyfriend, with my friends and my family, I do. I am loved and taken care of. I am safe. When it is me, alone but with myself out in the world, I take solace in knowing that at least I am taking the best care of myself that I can. No busted old lady or drawn out ultrasound can fuck with that.

Women are incredible. What we carry both physically and emotionally is an amount so grand it transcends any language I could try and use to revere us. AND we do it with grace. Don’t ask a woman you don’t know “what she’s carrying” (unless it’s a grocery bag and you intend to help her). The answer is most likely too broad for even an empty journal OF HER OWN to hold and it’s none of your goddamn business.

I am so grateful for my body, for my health, strength and security. We are all aware that we have no idea what tomorrow could bring. We exist in the limbo of, is my life about to change? That is scary. We must do our best to take care of each other and ourselves. Create safety for our fellow humans. Be kind and thoughtful with one another. It’s really not hard.

This chocolate cake that’s been keeping me company while I write to you is an absolute blessing I cannot wait to dig into to.

And…

At the end of this longer day, the light is finally back and I am ready to let it in.

READING

Finally, a book! I’m in the middle of Circe by Madeline Miller and having a blast. Trying my damndest to replace scrolling with reading and this is really helping. I love mythology so this ticks a lot of boxes, definitely recommend.

WATCHING

The Lost Kitchen. This is my comfort show that I put on between when Alan leaves in the morning and I go to work. Erin French’s food is so pretty and I find her attention to detail very inspiring. It’s on Max and Discovery +.

LISTENING

Even the Rich. Here’s the thing, sometimes the humor in this show is a little goobery but the storytelling keeps me engaged. It’s a perfect podcast to zone out to while doing dishes or driving.

What a weird week it’s been. Spring comes early this year, next Tuesday and I gotta say, I am THRILLED. The small act of leaving my house at 7pm to pick up some wine only to return home to a still sunlit sky filled me with emotion. I’m talking hope, nostalgia, excitement, all the good ones.

I hope you take care of yourself and your people and all the strangers you encounter this week. I am sending you so much love and gratitude. Really and truly, thank you for being here.

xoxo.