a poem from MomalomsMom:
The I of me lives in thee.
I am not you.
You are where I live,
How I move,
What I can physically do.
But not who I am.
And yet,
You often do define me.
Because I let you.
And that is the battle.
Upon disrobing of a night
I stand before my mirror
And contemplate
What the accumulation of my years has wrought.
The flaccid skin
And backfat,
And varicose veins.
The lumps and bumps and bruises and spots.
And I am embarrassed
And upset.
But the I of me is still inside all that,
And it too is an accumulation of my years.
Inside me lives that feisty 3-year-old
Tantrumming on the front lawn,
That shy 8-year-old
Reading in trees.
That gangly 12-year-old
Singing loudly in church.
That shiny16-year-old
Riding behind her biker boyfriend.
That awed and shaken 24-year-old
Counting the toes and fingers of her firstborn.
I am not just 62.
I am all my ages together, and at once.
And so,
Even if the carapace of you
Is less than
Worse than
Fatter than
Flabbier than
Stiffer than
Slower than
It used to be,
It doesn’t matter
Because
It isn’t the I of me.
And there are triumphs still to be had.
Today I folded into downward facing dog
With a creak
And a sigh
And found myself shocked
By the crepey waterfall of skin
Cascading down my once perfect legs.
But, I held the pose
And felt the good sweat
Roll down my forehead
And drip off my nose.
And I relished the peace
That rose from inside me.
And last month,
While jogging on the boardwalk in South Beach
A long-haired, barefooted surfer
Breezed by me and waved,
His surfboard under his arm.
But, I continued undeterred
Sliding my sneakers forward
Arms swinging back to front
Instead of side to side
Like Sarah taught me
And made it to the end
Touching the wall with gratitude and pride.
In your stalwart shelter, I can still be the me I want to be.
I can bend, and jog, and dance, and hike,
And keep up with my nine precious grandchildren.
In you, I live a lovely, lively, lucky life.
And that should be enough.
Thank You.
This piece was inspired by A Letter To My Body In Its 40th Year written by The Kitchen Witch. If you haven’t read it, you should. It’s creative genius. And then maybe try to write one of your own. If you do, we’d love to hear about it!
Read More in body image, GG Writes, mind/body
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Geege-a-licious! This was awesome, sistah!
I love the “I of me” concept–that our body is the vessel, not the spirit or the heart.
I also love that you pay tribute to the girls you’ve been, that they are still knocking inside of you, pieces of you that you can’t shake. If you haven’t read Sandra Cisneros’ story “Eleven” you need to–it’s that same idea, that all of those past girls are still with you.
Love, love, love this piece!
Why thanks, Kitch. You said it better than me – the vessel, not the spirit or the heart. And ain’t it the truth? How caught up in all that madison avenue bullshit do we women get? Even the grandmas!! Other cultures revere their elders. We throw them away. But never mind. I’ll just keep jogging along, eyes to the sky, pretending no one’s looking. : )
Love this! I read recently (and I can’t remember where) that someone once said, at the end of their well lived long life, that they still felt like they were 23, but in an old persons body.
I liked your perspective so much better, with “I am all my ages together, and at once.”
So lovely.
Yes, I do feel like I”m still 12 sometimes – shy and awkward at a cocktail party. Or 5 and feeling not heard and not in control. Or 25 and awed by the power of life. It’s the thing that gives me most comfort, I think. Aging is not for wimps!
Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god. I love this. Love this. Love this. Your mother, momaloms, is brilliant. The accumulation of years? I am all ages? THIS is where you two get it. You are lucky. So lucky. To have a mother who gets this all, who puts it out there too, to have each other..the 3 of you! But I know you all know this already. Thank you, Momalom’s Mom. My 37-year-old body really, really appreciated this.
You’re welcome! And enjoy that 37 year old body. Some days, my biggest regret is that I didn’t do just that – that I lived in my body mindlessly. That I didn’t challenge myself, push myself, revel in the sheer physicality of my being. That, in short, I spent too much time in my head and not enough in my body.
What I love about this is that you treasure your body. It doesn’t matter what age we are, our bodies are still our own. They are wonderful because they are who we are.
Yep, and today when I was having my daily near-death experience on the treadmill, I was treasuring my body’s ability to keep on going despite it all!
This was fantastic. Especially, “I am all my ages together, and at once.” I feel exactly the same way. That has been one of my favorite parts about getting older. I struggle to celebrate my physical remains, but the rest of me, all jumbled together at the same time, makes me happy.
Thanks. I do feel like each year adds layers of richness and depth. Perhaps that’s the trade-off, and if we could turn ourselves inside out, and see our hearts and minds and souls, we would see our true beauty as we grow and learn and age. Then again, that sounds a bit Alfred Hitchcockian.
This is fantastic!!! I hope I feel this way when I am your age – which is not all that far off. The richness we all experience in life is so much more than what people see on the outside!
TU Nicki. I just spoke with my almost 85 year old mother (momalomsmomsmom?) about her thrice weekly trips to the gym – where she walks on the track, does a weight circuit, and then hops on the treadmill or elliptical. There’s a goal for all of us! No lousy COPD, osteoporosis, or gimpy hip deters her, so why should my much more minor bodily creaks and groans? She’s the poster child for Use It or Lose It, and a model for us all.
Just lovely, Geege. Thanks again for bringing us a piece of your writing and a piece of yourself.
Like the previous posters, I am mad for the phrase “I am all my ages together, and at once.” There’s something very sane and very karmic about that idea, the concept that we embody all of our past selves, all of our identities. Thank you, thank you, thank you.
Thank you, Kristen. Sanity is the goal, n’est-ce pas? The best moments are when my mind and body coalesce, when I fully inhabit the body I have, and there’s no fighting or biting between body, mind, heart, and soul. I’m working on it.
There’s so much I love about this piece, so much that reminds me of myself looking in confusion at my 50th birthday zooming up within weeks and yet also feeling like that doesn’t reflect altogether who I am.
But what I love the best is that the piece acknowledges that even when you are the age of your own mother, those girls will live inside of you. The outside world will see an elderly woman, but the inside of you knows something very different. We know we are all those ages at once.
Ah, 50. A mere pup. People are always telling me that I look younger than 62 ( or 56 or 45 or 25). But I always think about Gloria Steinem’s reply to some newscaster who complimented her about her own youthful looks at 50 – “This is what 50 looks like,” she said with her perfect disdain. And this is what 62 looks like. For me. And, if I look different than you think I should, maybe it’s the the experience of all my years shining out. Or maybe it’s just lucky genes.
coming here instantly makes me feel calmer and more intelligent. and not just ‘intelligent’ IQ-wise, either. it’s like i am in some kind of Inner Circle of Womanhood and i am learning some Pretty Important Stuff About Life.
i love this story, Geege. the I of Me. all the ages of myself. that resonates.
i can’t even find the words to say how this hit me. this is what i am working toward – to realize, on a gut level, that i don’t need to struggle to fit in my skin; it fits already. that it’s not important whether or not my skin fits the world. it’s only important that my skin fits me.
Exactly, and so well put. We are all such wise and interesting women on the inside. Why do we worry so much about what we look like to others? Why isn’t making our insides beautiful just as important?
….not that I don’t value good hygiene and a kickass pair of shoes!
A blogger friend of mine (Kazzy’s Ponderings), wrote a post once that I just loved. She talked about how when she gets up in the morning and looks in the mirror (never a good idea) and REALLY looks, she wonders “who is that person? where am I?” because she just doesn’t feel like her body matches HER. Then she said that she gets closer and looks only at her eyes for a while. Just her eyes. And then she says “Oh, there you are.”
I just love that.
And I LOVE this poem, too. Such talent and truth.
A number of years ago I had to critique a video of my teaching, but all I could see was my sister. I sounded like her, moved like her, looked like her. It was creepy. And often when I look in the mirror these days, I see is my mother looking back at me. You just can’t escape the power and glory of your genes.
And yet, in more ways than not, I am neither my sister nor my mother. I am the product of my years as much as my genes. Or maybe it’s a combination of both. And don’t get me wrong, I am grateful for the goodness of my genetic inheritance. But, when I am brave enough to look past the wrinkles, etc. into the depth of own eyes, I recognize Me. And there lies strength and acceptance and, yes, pride.
I love you, Mama. These are some of the best comments we have ever had here at Momalom. This poem is a reminder for all of us that we are much more than our wrinkles. The lines they form tell a story of the life we lived and the people we have been along the way. I am proud that you are my Mama and, like Ali, am smiling through tears. Your wisdom and spirit have found a new voice. I hope you keep sharing it with all of us here in this forum!
xoxo
S
Couldn’t keep me from it, Peach. I’m as hooked as you and Jen. Just not as constant.
Next up: Twelve Hours/Three Boys/One Puppy
I read this and ended up smiling with tears. It is so well written and such a beautiful tribute to your “self”. I’ve recently read the Mandala of Being, a book that spends many pages explaining what you have so eloquently captured in this poem. Thank you.
Thanks! I’ll have to look that book up. Maybe I”m getting spiritual in my old age. : )
This is amazing! I need to save this letter and pull it out on every birthday to remind myself what I am lucky to have.
Mine’s coming up. 64. Oh my. I remember how old I thought my mother-in-law was when I got married. She was ancient at 42. More ancient, I think, than I am today. It’s all in the attitude. My own mother always counsels keeping a positive attitude. I’m trying! And reminding myself how lucky I am.
I feel the words of this post!
Nell
Thanks Nell.