When I was little my aunts and grandmothers told me that red nails were not for little girls, they were for grown women. I suppose I took red make-up in general to then be synonymous of womanhood. Like once a girl was ready to embrace being a W-O-M-A-N than then she could wear the color red. Maybe its why on days, like today, when I feel whole and womanly I reach for lipstick in the reddest red.
I’ve always thought the sexiest outfits a woman can wear are one of two things: a fitted white tee-shirt and blue jeans, or a knee-length little black dress. Simple. Classic. And in many ways, are not about the outfits themselves at all. On my sassy days, I’d pair the outfit with red lips, as I did today, and feel complete. It wasn’t until today that I realized some of the meaning that might be held in my favorite things.
I’ve made it no secret, my desire for love. I was watching Iyanla, Fix My Life and she was speaking about weight. She said we put it on when we are protecting ourselves from something. Nothing new. But something repetitive as I’d read the sentiment in an instagram post a friend made about women holding weight in our midsections to protect our most precious treasures; our reproductive parts. When I heard Iyanla speak I remembered this and it dawned on me that as I’d just eaten McDonald’s for the 2nd time this week that there was something I needed to hear. Then she said, you are using other people to make you feel good about you…you can’t do that!
I do that. In a lot of ways, in the past it’d been far more destructive more…needy. I can see it now…here. For as much as I don’t write for comments in the comments section or likes on facebook…posting “selfies” and smiling when my number of “double taps” exceeds 30…I’d be lying if I said it didn’t feel good. Damn good. And I think that makes me nervous. Because the taste of it is intoxicating and I can see myself reaching for it as I used to reach for….well many things that weren’t good for me or to me.
I went to a coaching session today and was asked, “And what if you are abandoned? Do you believe in you enough?” I answered that I better. But that word, abandoned. It felt like opening the door on a freezing cold morning. My breath escaped me completely. And in my heart of hearts, really in the core of me…which rests in that midsection I’ve protected so well (haha) I knew I did. Because even when I let go of people, I do so holding on to something else far greater than myself. I may get left, and I may feel lonely…but I am never alone. And I recalled that in the moments when I’m trusting, I never even feel alone. I feel full. And whole. And like a woman. Like a mother.
I can’t wait to have a daughter. To share with her all the power she holds as a woman. The power I, for many years, believed existed solely in my physical being. Red nails, red lips, slim waist and a voluptuous body…my womanhood is not limited to those things. And I have arrived at the place where I can say I love women. I love the company of women, I love being a woman, I believe us to be beautiful, magical, strong, and courageous beings. The things that make us us…well I was, honestly, being dated and chauvanistic. Physical beauty or the elements thereof is not where my womanhood begins and it certainly is not where it ends. It is about creation. Innovation. Listening to intuition and trusting yourself. It is about dancing and movement and connection. It is about sensuality and sexuality braided together with an unshakable knowledge of self. That’s red. That’s womanhood. Or at least what I know of it to date.