Thornback Woman

I am 40 years old.
My tits sag.
Losing weight gets harder each year.
I have grey hairs.
I am unmarried, and childfree.
I have gone beyond "spinster" to "thornback" and while this term used to be derogatory, I think reclaiming it and owning it gives me power.

I have always had a love/hate relationship with my body. I think most women do, since we are indoctrinated and brainwashed at an early age to live up to an ideal, that our bodies are dirty, that we must be thin/pretty/feminine/delicate perfect enough for society to deem us worthy, and even then, we aren't. I've been overweight probably since puberty. I had C-cup breasts at 14 and was fully in a D-cup by the time I was 18. Even now I wear a DD, but it's hard to tell what my actual size is due to recent weight loss. They sag, anyway, and this is one of the recent body image crises I've endured.

Why is loving an accepting your body seen as a sign of radical feminism? Shouldn't it just be... the norm? Shouldn't we just love our saggy bits, jiggly bits, and wrinkly greying bits alongside our smooth and firm bits, muscular bits, and sleek bits? When I hit 40 I thought I just wouldn't care any more, but I honestly do care-- I care that my partner finds me attractive, I care that the world finds me attractive, I care that my body can do things, I care about how my clothes look. It's infinitesimally harder to not care than to care. So what if caring wasn't so bad, and not caring shouldn't be the end goal? Like, my tits may sag but they're healthy, my hair may be greying but it's long and shiny, weight comes off slowly but I have curves and a soft belly that reminds me of ancient artworks. I'm 40 and unmarried but I still go out and do what I want to do.

People worry a lot about me hiking solo but as an animist, I never feel like I am alone. These hikes give me time to reconnect with my spirituality, and reconnect with myself. I often spend my hikes in awe of what my body can accomplish, reveling in the tired muscles that seem to bounce back after a rest to eat and drink to carry me onward. Today, I went on a hike and, for the first time in my entire 40 years of existence, peed outside. I was terribly worried I would get it all over myself, but you know, I didn't. I actually watched the stream of urine and marveled that our bodies are made to do this. We're so disconnected from some of the functions of our bodies by modern convenience-- toilets hide our waste process, sanitary products disconnect us from our menstrual cycle. These things are unclean and not to be marveled at. But, despite being voluntarily sterilized 5 years ago and generally being uncomfortable every 22 days, it is a beautiful, holy process that was once revered for the sacred event it was. I may grumble about my cramps and weight gain each month, but deep down, my menstrual blood makes me feel powerful.

It has been a struggle to love these things about me-- sagging breasts, menstruation, grey hairs-- but more and more as I get older, I do love them, even if the relationship with my body is still difficult, my body is strong and amazing. Women get more powerful as they get older. I am a thornback woman, and I can't wait until I can call myself a crone.

The Story of the Cabbage-- An Allegory for Obsessive Thoughts

Taken from a post I made to my Facebook back in March that I had planned on writing about but forgot to, due to classes/COVID-19/life happening. If you're my friend on Facebook and also read here (and honestly, probably the only ones who read my blog come here from my Facebook), I apologize for the repost:

***

Let me tell you the story of the cabbage, a real-life allegory of obsessive thoughts and how they affect day-to-day life.

As I have mentioned, I am at the end of my first class in my graduate certificate in aging and applied thanatology. I have a paper and a written exam due tonight at midnight. I had started my paper earlier in the week and had been picking away at it. After going to the gym yesterday morning, I worked on it, went to a hair appointment, enjoyed the day a little, and submitted it just before 6pm.

I focus better in the evening, so I figured I'd take a little break and start working on my exam.

Rewind to Friday, when I start planning my grocery shopping for the week. I look at sales flyers, store apps, and cash back apps to get an idea of what to make. And there it was, Shaw's was offering green cabbage at 7 cents a pound through the app. Cabbage is nutritious and I've been on a cabbage kick lately (I love it raw) so I planned to buy one.

I thought, maybe after my hair appointment I'd go buy the cabbage. Nah, I'll just wait until I do my shopping on Sunday to run and get one.

The cabbage dominated my mind yesterday, to the point that I realized I would never be able to focus on my exam if I didn't have it. So I went to Shaw's at 9pm, selected my cabbage, grabbed a couple other things, and went home to work.

I know it's silly and irrational. I laugh at it myself, but obsessive thoughts are just one more facet of my disease. I've had much, much worse obsessive thoughts that have been bad enough to damage relationships, but thankfully those are rare.

For those that are wondering, my cabbage only cost 25 cents and it feels like a financial victory. And the obsessive thought is gone.

***

I can't remember if I suffered from obsessive thoughts back when I first started this blog. Maybe they're a newer manifestation of my mental illness, or one I just wasn't aware of. They don't happen super often, and they're almost always (okay probably always) completely irrational, like the obsessive thoughts about the cabbage. The cabbage was fairly innocuous, but it was still all-consuming and disruptive to my daily activities until I could satisfy the though. They're not all so innocuous or easy to quell, and one obsessive thought I had after my trip to Illinois had the potential to severely damage my relationship because my mind took a situation and spiraled so out of control that I even made myself physically ill from it. Even more recently, as I have written about the reopening of the state, I was fueled into a panic attack at work by obsessive thoughts. I even took something I love and have a goal set for-- hiking, specifically hiking 100 miles this year-- and had obsessive thoughts over, when I found myself sitting on the couch on a day off and not in the woods getting miles. I obsessed over it, fell into a shame spiral, and eventually went for a local hike (which turned out nice, and relaxing, but ultimately the hike was due to obsessive thoughts).

I don't know what my point is. I started this blog to bring transparency and honesty to people who suffer from mental illness. I think irrational, obsessive thoughts are something that is largely not discussed in general, because it's something incredibly internal, and sometimes ridiculous, like my obsession with the cabbage. So here it is, I occasionally have obsessive thoughts that can be intrusive, but recognizing the thought when it starts and using healthy coping mechanisms (going for a walk, writing about it, etc.) helps me manage them when they arise. 

Black Lives Matter

This has been a very heavy week. With the murder of George Floyd, things have been overwhelming in the world, but it's not a new occurrence and I've written about the murder of an innocent black man at the hands of the police before, and since that post, I've grown more and thought more about racial injustice in this country. I fully support the protests that are happening everywhere because shit has got to change in this country. This country was built on the genocide of indigenous people, the back of Africans that were stolen from their homes, the railroads built by Asian immigrants that were treated no better than slaves. We have a dirty, bloody history of violence and subjugation of nonwhites that is shameful. I've also taken the time to learn more about performative allyship and really stopped to think about what it means to be actively anti-racist. As a white, middle-class woman, I have no place to tell the black community how to feel, protest, mourn, or express themselves. All I can do is shut up and listen and take direction. To educate myself (because it is not on black people, or even my black friends to do that for me). It is my job as to use my nonmarginalized, privileged status to help others. I've also stopped caring about white feelings and have been plucking people off my friends list that use coded, racist language ("thugs"), respond with "all lives matter/police lives matter," or actively praise that shitbag in the White House.

During #BlackoutTuesday, I found myself disappointed. I went to graduate school in part to fight for social justice, especially after my own struggles with poverty and healthcare inequity. To see so many of my former classmates post their black square and then... nothing was, to say the least, disappointing. I did not post a square, but instead I took the time to look at the different charity funds that were set up, to read about performative allyship, to donate, and also to listen to the experiences of black people on social media. I reported hate speech on social media, including anyone who used "alllivesmatter" as a response to the Black Lives Matter movement. I read pieces written by journalists who had been shot at and gassed by the police and subsequently arrested. I also watched clip after clip of unchecked police brutality on peaceful demonstrators. It made me sick, it made me angry, and it made me frustrated with people who constantly respond with "nOt aLL cOpS!" Yes all cops. Because for every cop that beats, murders, or rapes a black person, hispanic person, indigenous person, there are the members of the force that turned a blind eye, who were complicit by doing absolutely nothing to make change. No amount of pro-cop propaganda (look at these cops dancing with kids on the sidewalk! look at these cops kneeling with the protesters!) will make me think that the police force in America is anything but a deeply corrupt institution that needs to be defunded, deconstructed, and replaced with social services that help support communities, to be healthy, safe, with access to equal educational opportunities, access to healthy food, mental health and substance use services, and healthcare, especially predominantly poor communities.

As an ally, it's my place to actively call out racism. It's my place to support and amplify black voices. It's my place to vote out corruption. It's my place to use my privilege as a means to help those that don't have it. I don't say all of this for asspats. I say all of this because as white people, we have never had to fear simply walking down the street, jogging, sleeping in our beds, going to the store, just because of our skin color. Our mothers didn't have to teach us from an early age how to act around police to avoid being assaulted or killed. It breaks my heart when my niece tells me that her best friend says "thank god my son is so light skinned" because fuck that shouldn't even be a concern for a mother with a school-aged child.

Remember, white people, this is not about you, or your feelings. If you go to the protests, remember, you're there to support, so shut up and listen and do as you're told. Have real and frank conversations with your families. Don't brag about donating (I hated to even mention it because I don't like talking about charitable gifts because I don't do it for praise), but don't be silent when it matters the most: when confronting systemic racism in the world around you and when it comes time to vote. Confront your own privilege and make yourself uncomfortable. 

If you are in the position to and want to donate money, here is a huge list to choose from. If you want to step outside of performative allyship and be better, here is an article that can steer you in the right direction. And another list of resources. Don't know how to talk to your kids about what's happening? Here's a resource that may help.

Hiking as Animist

As you may have noticed over the last few posts, my mental health has been up and down and I desperately needed a break, so I used Memorial weekend to give myself a vacation. I took the Friday prior, and then the Tuesday and Wednesday (today) following off, with my main goal of getting the hell out of town and into the woods as much as possible. My mood was immediately lifted as I drove through northern Somerset county to one of my favorite short hikes: Moxie Falls. But even on a Friday morning, it was too peoplely. I wanted someplace remote and to myself. I took a chance and a 67 mile detour (which was a lovely drive, as all of Maine is) to the Maine Huts and Trails trailhead at Flagstaff lake (see photo above, with the view of Bigelow Mountain). It was completely empty. There was one other vehicle in the parking lot, but not a person to be seen or heard. No children. No dogs. Just me, the forest, and the lake.

I am in my spirituality 100% of the time, especially in the forest. I feel an overwhelming gratitude and joy when I am in nature. My phone is filled with pictures of rocks, mushrooms (so many mushrooms!), flowers, trees, water... pictures I take for myself, pictures I can't help taking because I love each and every thing I take a picture of. I apologize to moss when I step on it, I thank the wind for cooling me, ask the trees for support and grounding, ask the rocks to help me ascend or descend. As an animist, these are all beings with spirits, and they are friends. I found myself thanking the water for nurturing the plants and trees, but most of all, I found myself thanking the Mother for all of it. The earth. The progenitor of all life.

Sometimes I share the pictures I take, but to most, they're pretty nature pictures, or weird pictures of rocks and mushrooms. It's hard to truly show someone the world as I view it, because it's a feeling, deep down, of being part of it, of respecting it and treating trees and stones like old friends. The inexplicable pull toward running fresh water. The smell of trees. The smell of sunlight. A photo can't really capture all of that, but when I look back at them, I can remember it, and feel that joy again. It's like looking at pictures of old friends, because they really are old friends to me. Every hike in a new place is an opportunity to meet new friends, and I find myself stopping often to take their pictures and talk to them. I take the opportunity also to be in awe, to feel small in the world, to understand that in the end, I am insignificant, that I am but part of a cycle of life, death, and rebirth, and when I die, my body will feed trees and plants, which will feed animals and insects, and my spirit will go wherever our ancestors go. There is no permanence in death when you're an animist. There is just a cycle.

When I shared a picture of a waterfall on my Instagram yesterday, I wrote "There's something about waterfalls, that makes me want to open up and be swallowed by them, devoured by the powerful water until I don't know where I begin or end, only that I'm part of something unfettered and more ancient than I am" and that is a thought that runs through my mind often. Running water draws me, and I don't have complete thoughts on it yet to write more on. Maybe later when I meditate on it.

Sunday Bread

Every Saturday morning for the past month, I get up, have some sort of breakfast, and put together a no-knead bread dough to set aside. On Sunday morning, I bake. Bread was never a regular part of my diet, but having good bread, that I made by my own hand, has been a comfort. Toast fried in olive oil and rubbed with garlic, topped with fried eggs has been my dinner a few nights. Not all of my loaves have been successful; my first loaf was dense and didn't rise well. My loaf from last week was sloppy, sticky, dense, and also didn't rise well. It was tasty and chewy, but I didn't reach for it. But like all things, success and failure are learning tools. 

A lot of the articles about the recent boom in bread making during quarantine (note: you're not under quarantine) talk about the soothing nature of baking, how it's calming and helps de-stress. For me, it's helping to abate my need to hoard food. If you've been following this blog for any amount of time, or have read back, you know I've struggled with food insecurity in the past, but I have persevered with the skills I've learned from my mother to make a nutritious, filling meal from little more than bones. 

My depression has been bad lately. I want to travel and I can't. I want to see my partner, take care of him, make sure he has nutritious meals and I can't. Feeling powerless isn't something I deal well with, so I've been trying to funnel those feelings into other avenues. I still dream of a house in the woods. I bought a foraging guide and a mushroom identification guide. I've planned some time off so that I can run off to the mountains and hike for a while. When I picture myself living in the woods, I am still making Sunday Bread. It's an infinitely comforting thought, even if my life takes me in a different direction and I never have the house in the woods. Barring travel, there will be Sunday Bread every week, into perpetuity. 

Everything is Bleak

States are reopening, my own state has a plan in place for reopening rural areas. It's too soon. It's way too soon, people have become complacent and don't take the pandemic seriously, and we will absolutely see a spike in cases very, very soon. Listen, I know you want to be able to go out and do stuff, but this is too soon. This is bad.

Thinking about this this morning sent me into a panic attack. A small one, but a familiar feeling all the same. It started with an obsessive thought: this is wrong, this is too soon, this is wrong, it's too soon. Then came the familiar racing heart and insurmountable feeling of dread. I tried to distract myself with work but only managed to give myself repetitive motion pain.

My mental health is not okay right now. It hasn't been. I feel helpless and hopeless and there's nowhere for me to run to right now. I'm weepy and angry and I really, really just need a break.

So please, don't invite me out to dinner. I won't accept. It's way too soon, even with increased testing capacity.

Food Privilege

Today while I was at the auto dealership having my car worked on, I chatted with some friends via messenger about food. I admitted to a friend a certain smugness I felt, that I could relate to some vegans in that smugness, that meat processing plants were shutting down and meat was starting to become scarce, that I wanted to say, in my smugness "you don't need meat," but I don't say it out loud, because I have a really huge amount of food privilege and I understand that. Also I feel saddened that the demand for meat products has caused workers in the meat plants to become ill and die, and lose jobs, because I am still a compassionate person, despite a lot of empathy fatigue I've been feeling lately.

I am very, very fortunate that I am still working, that I am financially able to still access the specialty foods I buy (including being able to wait for my preferred brand of tofu to be back in stock at the grocery store, which of all things, I never expected to be sold out for two weeks), to be fussy about brands, and that my dietary choices are just that-- a choice. I am flexitarian because I choose to be, but not because of underlying health conditions, unlike a friend of mine who is vegetarian under doctor's orders and has been looking for nearly a month for red lentils that aren't astronomically high in price due to gouging (I offered her the little bit I had in a jar in my cupboard). I don't live in a food desert, and I have my own transportation to get to and from the grocery store. I have a huge amount of privilege, and I need to always be aware of that. When I first started writing this blog, I was experiencing some food insecurity. I did have food stamps, access to fresh vegetables and eggs from my sister, and I learned to make my food stretch, but looking back, I wrote some really cringey, privileged shit. It's important that I recognize that, and also recognize my food privilege now.

Sharing food is a love language for me. Nothing makes me happier than to cook for someone I care about. In the past, I have given food from my cupboard freely to friends in need, no questions asked and no expectation of repayment, and when there has been a food drive, I donated.  I have enough food. I have lots of potatoes and sweet potatoes, rice and lentils, and canned beans. I'm always happy to share what I have if my friends are having a hard time. I'm willing to make a pot of soup if someone brings their own containers for me to fill, and help people with recipes to use what they have on hand, because I'm good at throwing recipes together (I'd say maybe I should be on Chopped but I don't think they have the dishwashing budget to have me on the show). In the spirit of food sharing, I'm going to put my recipe for lentil soup below. Wine and sumac are optional, blending is optional. Switch up the cooking fats if need be. I strongly recommend the turmeric, though, so that's a spice I would recommend investing in. It doesn't look pretty but it's tasty and nutritious. I can usually get about 5 servings from it.

Lentil Soup

1 medium onion, fine dice

3 carrots, fine dice

1 sweet potato, small dice

2 stalks celery, fine dice

4 large cloves garlic, minced

1 cup small green lentils

¼ cup white wine

1 carton chicken or veggie stock

2 cups water

1 bay leaf

1 tsp dried thyme, crushed

½ tsp dried oregano, crushed

1/4 tsp turmeric

½ tsp sumac

¼ tsp black pepper

1 tsp seasoning salt

1 tbsp butter

1 tbsp olive oil

Heat butter and olive oil on medium. Add onion, sweat for 3 mins. Add garlic, cook until fragrant, 1 min. Add celery, carrots, and sweet potato, cook for a couple minutes. Add wine. Add lentils and all seasonings except salt. Add broth and water and let cook for 40 minutes. Add salt, taste, adjust seasoning as needed. Blend 2 cups of soup (or more to taste) and add back to pot.