"Where in your body do you feel your sadness?" 

I am sitting in a darkened room in an old victorian house in NW Portland, and my therapist has just asked me a question that I had never before considered. I close my eyes and realize I do feel my sadness, and it is in the lower left quadrant of my torso, and I let her know. 

"Why do you think you put it there?"

For some reason, I know innately, I store it there so I don't have to think about or feel it. I let her know that as well. The conversation goes on, and by the end of that 50 minute session, I have a whole new understanding about my body and how I use it to store my emotional pain. At the end of the session, I leave a bit stunned, and forever changed.

At the age of 22, I endeavored on a life-long journey to unravel the mysteries of my body. At the time, I was on a Macrobiotic diet which consisted of cooked vegetables, whole grains, pickles, sea vegetables, nuts, seeds, and miso. I was on that diet because a year earlier my body stopped digesting food, and I found out I was allergic to sugar, dairy, citrus, wheat, bananas, and apples. My Naturopath suggested a cleansing diet for a year, and I chose Macrobiotics. 

I never considered that my emotional state had anything to do with the way my body digested food, but after that therapy session, I was convinced that it did. 

I had given up on Western medicine. MDs never told me anything about my body, and were never concerned with actually healing it and helping it to function well. It was always about taking a pill or cutting something out. This felt like a violation, so I stopped. Instead, I went to acupuncturists, naturopaths, homeopaths, and chinese medicine doctors, because they all talked to me about my body as if it was important, valuable, and as if it was related to everything around it; the seasons, the region where I lived, where my ancestors lived, and so on. I came to see my body as a map of sorts. I learned a great deal about my body every time I went to one of these doctors, and from that point on, my approach to health care was proactive, rather than reactive.

Twenty-five years later, I am still discovering new things about my body, what I am capable of, and what my limitations are. As I sit here writing this, I am nursing a cold. I know now that my body wanted a break and that I did not read the subtle signs it was sending me, so I got this. It is not so bad, really, though obviously, I would rather be healthy, as would my body.

This is body positivity at its most functional. Realizing that what my body looks like is completely random and almost meaningless in contrast to how it functions, what effects it, and how I can use it to understand my emotional and energetic bodies has been freeing.

I know, from experience, that putting anything in my body that is not food will harm it. I know that eating processed food weakens my immune system. I know that the more vegetables and fruits I eat, the better I feel. I also know that my body is different from everyone else's, and what works for me might not work for everyone. 

Our modern society has a sickness which I reject. It is a hold-over from centuries past, where everything must look perfect in order to be considered healthy, no matter what is going on underneath. Our culture now has not progressed past this, and in fact, I would say it has become worse. It is why women get nose jobs, implants of all kinds, go on crazy and dangerous diets and why people spend hours and hours and hours in the gym. It is why men are raised to be emotionless; homophobia has insured that men are raised to have a tough exterior. This sickness is killing our culture because it is resulting in a society in which everyone must look and act alike.

There are many ways to consider your body, but the worst thing you can do is take society's cue and view your body as an object, or an ornament, or at the very worst, the enemy. The best thing you can do is to determine, on your own, how to relate to your body. Create a relationship with your body based on respect, love and compassion. Do not believe that the "better you look" based on some contrived and unattainable standard is the best way to measure happiness.

This is why I love my body. I have such respect for it. I am in awe of it. And I am grateful for it because I know that when I get symptoms, my body is trying to tell me something, I only need to de-code the message.  I know that beautiful to me is the only beautiful that matters, and if I am honest, feeling good about myself is as beautiful as I could ever hope to be.

This is what body positive means to me. That my body plays a major role in the decisions I make in my life, and that above all, I treat myself and my body with kindness, compassion, and acceptance. I alone make the rules for my body, and I alone live by them. This is what it means to be empowered. This is what it means to be free.

The hair is sticking up on the back of my neck. My upper spine is atingle. I am trying my best to focus, but I can't. I am distracted to the point that I would like a chew toy to calm myself down. 

I know these sensations will pass eventually, I just have to wait, and for now, ride my bike. That is how I handle these attacks of heightened longing; about twenty minutes of hard exercise and sweat. It seems to get me over the hump, give me energy, and perk me up. It also distracts me from my need. Actually, I think need is too tame a word, but I am going to go with it, because today, I have gone five days without sugar.

Why did I decide to quit sugar?

Again?

It is a mixture of many things, really. One, I was starting to see that I was feeling a physical anxiety after I ate it, two, I was starting to eat bad sugar, like cake and cookies made with things other than food, and finally, I have known for over twenty years that sugar is toxic. You can read more about that HERE, HERE, and also HERE. Those links will lead you to how sugar effects your body, mind and spirit. Take a look if you are interested.

Don't get me wrong. This is not a plea to get you or anyone else to stop eating sugar. This is directly related to the topic at hand: HOW TO LOVE YOUR BODY. 

Ya see, it is all connected. My emotions inform my physical health, and my physical health informs my emotions. When I have anxiety, it usually comes on as a physical sensation before a thought even enters my brain. If I am in touch with my body, I come to realize that my body is fabricating things to worry about in order to justify the physical sensation of anxiety. And sometimes my brain chooses RIDICULOUS things. 

I know all this because I have been studying it, the adult version anyway, since I was about 21, and I have to say, it is truly a fascinating machine, with a mind all its own and a communication system that puts the internet to shame. I have been fascinated, fearful, proud, and angry at my body, on and off for years, depending on what it was doing. I used to freak out when things changed, (puberty was in no way anything I handled well), but now that I have taken on more of a role of witness, my relationship with my body has improved greatly. That is part of how I have come to love my body. I know it, I understand it and, after all of these years, I am still fascinated by it. 

My body is a dynamic, fluid entity. Over the course of several decades, my skin has changed constantly, my moods, my fitness level, and so on. If I think of all the things my body has done, all the ways it has served me, I become overwhelmed at the enormity of it. I feel so lucky to have this body. And it is not because of my pants size, nor my waist measurements. It is not because of the curve of my neck.

I love my body because of the relationship I have cultivated with it. I love my body because over the course of my life, I have come to know it intimately, and have learned non-judgement. 

I have learned it because everything in this world has set me up to be at war with my body. I have been taught, from the time I was little, that I am an ornament. That my body, all of it, is only as good as it looks, and if someone around me looks better, I hold less value as a person. In short, the world has trained me to judge my body, the bodies of others, and when I am in a lucky position to be around lots of other people, compare myself endlessly to them. It is in spite of all this that I have created a relationship with my body that I am most proud of, and that relationship sprang from the trauma of the horrible acne I had as a young adult.

My acne, as painful and horrifying as it was, taught me about the relationship between food, my body, and my emotions. And while I never in a million years thought I would EVER be thankful for my acne, I truly am, because I chose, instead of taking drugs to get rid of the acne, to try and find out why I had it. This, unfortunately, took decades because my body was in a state of flux until I was about 34. But over that time I developed a relationship of respect, trust and compassion that I can say is one of my most valued.

I have a lot of people ask me HOW to love their bodies. My answer is always the same. Develop a relationship with your body. Love it. Care for it. Try and figure it out. The more you know, the more you can discover in a way that is compassionate and caring, the more your body will respond in kind. The great thing about this is that you don't need a template. You already know how to build a strong relationship. All you have to do is focus on building something that is loving. In your way. 

It is not always easy, I know. When you are in pain, or you are having strange symptoms of one form or another, remember that your body does what it does FOR you. It wants to be known. Your body wants a relationship with you. It waits for you to start. All you have to do, at first, is listen. Learn about how your body works. Read different philosophies about how to read the body. Not treat the body, not fix the body, but how to understand it. There is so much written about how to read your body, it is too bad we are not taught this language in school. The only thing I learned about my body in school is that it should be fed when it is hungry. Otherwise, mostly, I learned that people were freaked out by my body. Especially when it changed. 

And that is a trauma most people go through. So go forward knowing that your body is made of blood and bones and sinew, but remember, it is also kind of magical. Remember that it is a vehicle through which you might reach your full potential. Remember that your body is precious, no matter what it looks like, and you should always focus on getting to a place where you like how it feels. 

There is magic in your blood, glory in your bones, rebellion in your heart, and you, sweet soul, have the wisdom to use all of it. 

So start now, wherever you are at. Develop a relationship with your body in your way, and watch your entire life blossom.

"How is Josh doing?"
"Where is Josh?"
"Do you think Josh would want to come?"

From the time my brother left our childhood home, he was a ghost to everyone but me. He had had enough of my parents to last him a lifetime I guess, and enough of our family, to be done with the lot of them. At least that was the way he felt at the time.

He also was not super great at keeping in touch with our high school friends. I don't know if it's genetics or environment, but that dude was very hard to REACH. Not for me, but I also never felt the need to be in constant contact with him. Our bond provided the understanding for us both that we would always be there for each other, no matter what. In that way, I think I have been extremely fortunate.

But being used as a conduit to get to someone else can be aggravating. Everyone, well, most people who knew us both, would use me as a way to get to him. Maybe intentionally, maybe not, but the outcome was always the same. I mean, I knew I was loved and appreciated by these people, but it was challenging, and still is, to be used in order to get to someone else. I guess I didn't realize, though, how painful it is as well. 

I will never forget the week I spent with my brothers in Maine, visiting my father. It was the last week I would see him. But my brothers would not go see him without me, and my father really wanted to see my brothers before he died, so I shared my week with them. I shared my Dad's last week on earth with my brothers. I didn't realize then what I was giving up. I do now, and see that my pain around this type of behavior stems from the grief I felt in losing my father and the resentment I have toward the people who used me as a buffer.

I also see this in my relationship with my fella. Certain women, over time, have befriended me to be be closer to him. It has been a source of great stress for me in my relationship, but I didn't realize why until today when I was talking with a good friend about this topic. I had thought all along that it was a jealousy thing. I was wrong. I am not jealous, I just want nothing to do with someone who is using me to get to someone else. It's a self-respect thing. 

I realize that this seems quite obvious, especially as I read it aloud, but sometimes it takes decades to learn a lesson. This lesson, I hope, is not one I will have to keep re-learning.

It is genius, really, how my brother's behavior has shaped me into a facilitator. I have been doing this all my life, for one reason or another, and always felt like it was something I was doing to help people, but the thing about my brother was, he didn't really want relationships with those people, and my fella doesn't really want relationships with these women. But for some reason, I have felt the need to protect these people from the sting of rejection, while in the process allowing myself to be used. 

There are times when personal growth is fantastically painful, when all you want to do is roll up in a ball and cry for hours because you just realized something about yourself that hurts. This is not one of those times. This is one of the times where personal growth feels like a huge VICTORY because with this knowledge, I am now free. And I don't have to care what people will think of me because I am not helping them get close to someone else who wants nothing to do with them. 

I am now realizing that the lesson I was supposed to learn from my brother was how to NOT have relationships with people. I find it quite stunning that I could live my whole life knowing a person and almost miss the real genius of his ways. 

There are certain moments in your life that you always remember. These are the moments which you do not plan to remember, but they just stick with you. For better or worse.

At this particular moment, I was still a teenager, sitting at the dinner table of my boyfriend's family, and he, his brother and his father were making fun of his mother. Teasing her. I sat in disbelief, looking at the full meal she had prepared, remembering the monthly meal planning she did, recalling that she sewed all of his patches on his jeans jacket immediately before she did all of the laundry. And the cleaning.

I was there because in my own house, my mother rarely cooked, and if she did, we just had to grin and bare it because she was not the best cook.I had been doing my laundry since I was nine. Any meal planning happened only around major holidays. In fact, my mom was not home too much because she worked a lot. I would go to my boyfriend's house as often as I was invited, for just as you could smell the inconsistency and tension in my house, you could almost taste the consistent stability in his. 

Now, I am one of those people who chose never to have children, for a myriad of reasons, but I have to say, I have always been in awe of mothers. All mothers. Even the ones, who, like my mom, were not the best at "mothering." When a woman has children, she seems to lose her mind. This craziness comes on and can eventuall leave, or, it can stay forever. This is different from the craziness that all women are taught; to put everyone else's best interest before their own. No, this craziness is different, because you suddenly realize that you are capable of loving another so fiercely that it surprises you. Again, I am not speaking from personal experience, this is what I have been told by almost every mother I have spoken with about this topic.

So what is the point of my story? The one of my boyfriend's mother, who spent her time making sure her family had everything they needed while working a very big full time job of her own? The point is, one day a year is a pittance for what women have contributed to the betterment of the human race, but still, they do it anyway. Even when the "thank you" comes in the form of a single day of the year. Even when you sit at a table full of the food you have just lovingly prepared for your family and get teased by the ones you love the most.

No matter if your mother loved you the wrong way, wasn't there for you when you needed her, whatever, the expectation of all women is that we will take care of shit, and guess what? Generally, we do. I have never held a job where I wasn't in some way making up for my inept male boss, colleague, or customer I was serving. Consistently. Or, conversely, figuring out a polite way to let a co-worker or boss know that I was not interested in fucking him.

Please don't take this as a complaint or an attack. I am better for having experienced all these events. Believe me. But when I step back and see that the world is run by men, I understand completely why all of the money goes to war and corporations and very little of it is saved for children, old people and the environment. 

It is hard to be thankful for one day a year. It is challenging to thank the dudes that awarded women one month a year. On today, the day without a woman, I am very aware of the very real situation for most women; they can't afford to take a day off. Not from their job, or from being a wife, or from being a mother, or from being a community organizer or anything else they do. It just isn't feasible. They do too much. They are too badly needed.

So on this day, The Day Without a Woman, International Women's Day, I am promising myself that I will do even more. I am setting my sights on not giving up. I am going to work until a Women's Day, Women's month, or any other such ridiculous thing, is not necessary. I am working towards a world where everyone, men and women of all colors and flavors will have EVERY DAY in which to celebrate each other. I am working toward a world in which people, and not profit, will be what is valued. I am working toward a world where companies are not measured by the profits they produce for their shareholders, but by the good they do for the societies they serve. 

THAT is what it means to be a mother. To fight the good fight, and care for the people you can care for against all obstacles that are deliberately put there to keep you from doing so. And to keep going. Because you have to. Because you want to. Because people matter to you. Because the people you have brought into the world, who you love fiercely, remind you of all the other people in the world who also deserve that love. 

That is what I learned that day from that amazing woman. That no matter how she was treated, she wouldn't be taking a day off. She would continue to plan out the meals and cook them, clean, wash, and sew all the things, and love her family in every way she could manage it.

Not because she had to, because she wanted to. 

Happy International Women's Day. Don't worry, we won't give up. We don't know how.