Reclaiming My Edges

I spent years suppressing my "no;"  silencing my voice; denying my power; and attempting to submerge my self into the demands of another.  I was not forced to any of that.  I chose it willingly, and believed, with all my heart, that doing those things would lead to my ultimate happiness and security.

I was wrong.  Denying the essential truths of my own heart and spirit did not make me happier, safer, more secure.  The one that I loved did not love me more because of my efforts, however successful, to hide who I was.  In the end I hurt myself and contributed to his own harmful behaviors.  I did that.

I have had to learn to do things differently; to see things differently.  I have had to begin the work to reclaim my voice; to say "yes" or "no" when I truly mean "yes" or "no."  It has not been easy.

I have had to take a deep breath, on more than one occasion, and say what is, rather than what it is that I judge he may want to hear.  I have had to insist on my own dignity and worth.  I have begun to insist that I be treated with kindness and respect and basic politeness, just as I expect to treat him.  I have needed to learn what I want and then ask for those things, and I have had to learn to see that asking as right and healthy and good -- not selfish or manipulative or any other sort of negative label that I might previously applied to my own wants and needs.

That has been my journey in these years.  Mine.  All the changes that I am making in my own self and in my own beliefs and in my own life are the natural outcome of what has been my path.  Do not try to take my stuff on and make it your own.  I am not prescribing for anyone.  I am not saying that any one way of doing relationships is right or wrong.  For each of us, there is only our own way.  That "way" is the composite of every single thing that has happened to us through all the days of our lives leading to this moment in time.  Where I am; where you are; where each and everyone of us finds ourselves on this day -- that place is precisely where we SHOULD be right now.  Your way is good for you, as mine is for me.

I am intrigued by the place where I find myself, just as I once was intrigued by the pathway that I followed, willingly and joyfully, into erotic slavery.  I loved that part of my journey, and I have grieved the loss of that part of my life.  But this part is what is now, and it has its own charms.  I sit when I want to sit and sleep when I want to sleep.  I speak up when I perceive things as unfair and I insist on my place in my world.  And that is, for now, good for me.

I had lost my edges.  I had let my sharp places be worn down and smoothed away.  I am reclaiming my edges.  I will be sharp and smooth when and how I feel sharp or smooth.  I am good here, still in love, still alive, still learning and growing and being the best I know how to be this day.

Knees

I really do not feel my 59+ years.  I look in the mirror, and the face that looks back at me does not seem to me to be the face of "a woman of a certain age."  Clearly I don't look 30 anymore, but a lifetime of avoiding the sun because of my very fair skin has brought me to this point looking younger than I am.  At least, that is how I see it.

My knees, however, are a different story.  I have not been gentle on my knees.  I was a happy tomboy, and I was happiest out playing baseball and football with my brothers and the guys in my neighborhood.  I was 14 when I slipped on the grass, trying to avoid a tackle, and dislocated my knee.  Badly.  My dad, bless him, called for an ambulance and wouldn't let anyone touch me until they came.  I remember the orthopedic doc that reset the knee telling me that someday...  "Someday, you are going to regret this.  This knee will never be as strong as it was, and when you grow older, it is going to give you trouble."

And my genetic inheritance is one that practically guarantees a fair share of osteo-arthritis, if not the far more scary rheumatoid arthritis.

The fact is that I have crappy knees.  They are stiff.  They don't bend, and they never feel very sturdy.  I am always worried, especially when I am walking uphill or upstairs, that they will actually collapse and dump me on my ass.  I receive regular synvisc shots, and I also get cortisone injections.  The shots keep me pretty functional.  But it is still what it is.

Today, I walked my 6th grade science classes to a nearby park for a look at the issues related to our urban forest.  It is 1.31 miles each direction, over some pretty significant hilly terrain.  Add to that the mile or so of walking through the woods while we were there, and my knees are thumping tonight.

I'm an old lady.  I'll sit here and soak my feet and later I'll ice the knees.  I'll take some aleve and hopefully, by tomorrow, I'll be up and around again.

No matter what the mirror might say, it is clear that the knees don't like.  Go figure.