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My Own True Voice
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My Own True Voice

I love my body
I hate my body
They cohabit my body

Once upon a time
as a baby, I loved my body
but that was before
before my mother’s voice
"No more," I said, turning
my head away in disgust.
But she held my nose
so I opened my mouth to breathe
and she shoveled in
another spoonful of food.
(healthy babies were plump, you know,
not like the sickly, dying ones
she’d seen in Europe).
So I left my body, the body I loved,
since it was no longer mine to decide,
and I lost my own true voice.

Once upon a time I loved my body,
but that was before-
before toilet training,
another torture.
If I used my diaper
I was hit.
I quickly learned
to force my immature muscles
with heroic effort
to hold it in
until it was okay
according to the world
to release them.
So I left my body, the body I loved,
since it was no longer my decision,
and I lost my own true voice

Once upon a time, I loved my body,
but that was before-
before I learned that
women were "less than"
were only good for having babies,
had no real rights, only feigned ones,
before my mother said
not to become a doctor
because then how would I
be able to have a husband
and children?
before abortions were legal,
before women were expected
to become only teachers or nurses,
before I was allowed to wear pants
to school or to work,
before I couldn’t get a car loan
as a single woman unless I had
a husband,
before my Iranian-American
gynecologist refused to do my
hysterectomy unless my ex-husband
signed the consent form.
(and he had had a vasectomy
without telling me until after it was done)
I fought this time,
but lost a part of
my body, the body I loved,
since it was no longer my decision,
and I lost a part of my own true voice,
although now I knew that I had one.

Once upon a time, I loved my body,
but that was before—
before my young husband
called me a "fat pig" when I
gained 10 pounds after our
summer in Europe;
before years spent with starving
my body and regaining the weight,
before weightwatchers-richardsimmons-
janefonda-feel-the-burn-dietcenter-dietworkshop-
macrobiotics-naturalfoods-tofuburgers-dratkins-
jennycraig-dietpills-grapefruitdiet-liquiddiet
(which cost me my gall bladder) and lots of others.
before overeatersanonymous-and-years-of-therapy
for-an-eating-disorder.
I fought harder this time and struggled to learn
how to listen to my own true voice.

Once upon a time I loved my body,
but that was before—
before I learned that menstruation
was called "The Curse"
and my husband called it
"being on the rag"
before I knew that breasts
could be the "wrong size"
and I saw women all about
desperate to lose weight
and criticizing one’s body
was considered natural.
before the onslaught
of advertisements
that fed off women’s insecurities,
before the unstoppable greed
of the corporate world,
the patriarchal control
that tightened like a vise;
before even young men
and adolescent boys
were trained to laugh
at fat women and to mistreat them.
But now I am fighting mad
and know how to hear
my own true voice.

And now, I join in the chorus
of women everywhere
who have valiantly fought
off this epidemic,
I have learned to howl at the moon
and honor the monthly
cycle of women’s lives;
I have come to know the
secrets of birth as I rebirth
myself each day, and help
others give birth to parts
of themselves;
I have learned to love
the creative juices that
flow in this woman’s
body and spirit;
to write, paint, make music,
bathe this body in beauty,
colors and sounds of
celebration and joy
or grief and sadness;
I have learned to cherish
the secret powers of my
womanhood, the strengths
and burnished beauty
that is mine as I grow
older into wisdom;
I have learned to celebrate
the onset of menstruation
and have a party;
(now I call it "rag-time"
and I do a dance).
I have learned to cherish
all that is womanness, womankind,
womenfriends, women who continue
to struggle, and women everywhere.
and I reclaim my body;
I know it is mine,
and it is beautiful and
just right.
Love and hate still cohabit
this body,
but love is winning,
and I can hear
my own true voice.

Rosette, 54

 

 

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