Coming into bloom ...

♪♫♪ The sun will come out tomorrow ♪♫♪
Originally uploaded by cattycamehome


It takes courage to grow up and become who you really are.
~ e.e. cummings


I am becoming more aware of how I am growing into my truer self, from the inside - out.

I've made it almost to the other side of my messy phase of growing out my hair and as it gets longer and is able to be styled, I am appreciating my thick, salt & pepper hair even more. I am no longer rebelling against people in my life who wanted me to wear it a particular way to "fit" a picture of how I should look. The clippers have had their place and they can now rest comfortably for awhile. My hair is an outgrowth, no pun intended, of the place inside of me where I am not pretending nor protecting but instead am "allowing".

A friend who I had dinner with tonight made a comment about my femininity and wondering what was happening to me. I am not sure if this was about seeing changes in me because we've not gotten together in a couple months or that perhaps it is truly the first time he has truly seen ME. A couple hours later, a woman at my AA meeting approached me to see if I'd be interested in trying out some of the clothes that she designs, further commenting that she would not have considered me for this when she first met me in the rooms but has been noticing how I am letting more of myself show in the clothing choices I've been making of late. These comments validated for me the contrast between how much of myself I hid - behind clothes, behind a mask, behind a facade of myself - and the transformation that can occur when I clean and straighten up the inside of me and make room and how this carries over to reupholstering my exterior.

My students at the University have noticed these changes and will periodically remark about an outfit or the jewelry I am wearing and I realize that this is not about the items themselves at all but instead it is about the fact that when I come forward to let myself be seen, these items like clothing or jewelry have a place to be showcased. It's like the formerly unremarkable car that's been washed and polished and now you notice the fabulous hood ornament or the shiny hubcaps !

Previously, I avoided mirrors. I would do a drive-by just to see if my outfit was on properly (i.e. shirt tucked in) and I didn't linger there to take in anything else. I have not swung the other direction to the point where I am narcissistically obsessing over my appearance and yet, I am hanging out a little longer these days to notice who is there in front of me, without wrinkling my face or being uncomfortable and actually appreciating who and what I see.

It is a huge deal for me to write about these kinds of self-observations, having lived in a very secluded, self-deprecating place for the greater portion of my time here on earth. When I was younger, it was deeply painful to be in my body -- the utter loathing, my unlovability permeating every part. While I was drinking, my self-care was compromised. My hygiene, my appearance, my manner of dress were the lowest priorities during this time. After coming out as a lesbian, I had confusion about what I was supposed to be after so many years of conditioning about what women are to look like and act like. My insides didn't match my outsides, as my kabbalistic healer would say. This is due to the fact that I relied on the outside to tell me how I was supposed to think and feel on the inside. I had this sense that I liked clothes and other aspects of appearance to be a little bit feminine and yet there was a tomboy screaming inside. A job with a dress code and then a partner who had her own idea of how I should look found me dressing and looking like I was perpetually masquerading. I felt unnatural and yet complied because that's what was expected of me to be pleasing.
And as I got a little more of myself, the rebelling began and this was not the truth of myself either. And deeper I went into hiding, camoflauge. Clipper shears got closer and closer to my scalp and clothes got baggier and more masculine. I lost myself. Come to think of it, I don't know if I ever was truly found prior to all of this.

It is hard to believe that at the ripe age of 47, I'd just be discovering who I am. And it is also deeply humbling. And the mystery of the unfolding process is incredibly exciting. I am liking the feeling of each shoot, each tiny petal as I am coming into bloom...