The Femininity Experiment

Since I value honesty and openness, especially in the pro blog and yoga worlds where we are under a constant barrage of pressure to be exceptional, I have a confession to make: Often, I don't feel comfortable in my biologically female body and recently I've been feeling less and less connected to the feminine divine and even more resentful of this somewhat broken vessel than usual. To not be totally accepting of myself in all my fertility goddess glory makes me feel like a fraud. What am I doing with this blog? Wasn't my original goal to try to inspire other women to accept their curves and fight the sinewy yoga body ideal? Yoga and acceptance for all, right?

Somewhere I lost my way.

Every day over the past few months, I've looked in the mirror hating what I see, not seeing my soft fullness, cellulite and scars for what they've brought me through, but only sending bile back at myself for not being a feather-weight yoga guru. Let me tell you, self-hate is no way to inspire yourself to go to the gym or have a daily yoga practice. No. If you're anything like me, you'll just carbo-load your emotions, go back to bed and completely neglect all the little rituals that make you feel better. I didn't even realize my self-image had gotten so bad, since most American women share this angst to some degree, until I befriended two women who don't buy in to that bullshit. They actual dig their bodies. I can honestly say that they might be the first American women I've ever met who don't in some way hate their corporeal forms. They are not super models. They are just normal women who don't waste time with self-hate.

Meeting them put a rather harsh mirror up to my face.

But not the way you (I) might expect. For the first time it dawned on me how much of my life is spent on comparing myself to other women and constantly tearing myself down. It's a thought-pattern that's hard to avoid. Women in our culture are trained from a young age to hate each other and view each other as competition, in dating, fitness, employment and even among female family members. It's passed from mother to daughter, both in warnings of other women and cruel, damaging behavior to each other. But when every woman you meet is playing that same game, it becomes a matter of course, of survival. The rules of The Game require harsh self-judgment to ensure you'll be better than all other women in this twisted beauty pageant of life.

But what happens when you meet a lady who doesn't play The Game?

At the first, my own nastiness and pettiness was starkly highlighted for me, as was my lack of self-confidence. Without cause to turn the magnifying glass on them, I turned the magnifying glass on myself, trying to pick out exactly how I had become a nasty, petty, self-loathing creature, which, naturally, only leads to more self-loathing. Doesn't that sound like a party? When you're the only one in the room wasting all of that time and energy on a ridiculous game of Mean Girls, the utter futility of it all becomes really clear with the resounding question:

Why the fuck would anyone do this to herself or others?

Is it fun? Does it help anyone? Does it make the world a kinder place? Does it line up with yoga or Buddhism, the soul of my soul? I think you know the answer. So, today I'm starting over.

I vow to be kind to myself.
I vow to stand up for myself.
I vow to extend grace to myself and others in order to cause no harm.
I vow to stop consuming media that tells women we are worthless.
I vow to be vocal against the casual misogyny that fuels The Game.
I vow to never engage in The Game ever again.
I vow to spend time on myself and stop being a people-pleaser.
I vow to not be afraid of being hyper-aware of my body through Asana.
I vow to honor the Feminine Divine daily.
I vow to start giving myself twice-monthly pedicures, again.

No matter your gender identity, will you join me in these vows?
(Okay, maybe not the pedicures, but [insert your own ritual that makes you feel radiant here].)

-Namaste-