śavāsana

You might not think that there was much to playing dead. There really is. I do think it's funny that lying like a corpse has a specific technique and position involved. The feet need to be a bit apart, the hands turned palms-up, the eyes closed, the breathing shallow and relaxed.

I feel myself sinking, as though into the soil beneath the green tree that decorates my yoga mat. The roots brush my face as gently as a mother strokes her baby's cheek. It is cool and dark. There is nowhere to go, and all the time there is to get there. I sink deeper, feeling in my flesh, in my bones, the destiny of all flesh and all bones: to sink, to dissolve, to begin again.

Beauty: In Their Own Words

Maybe it's that I'm sugared out from our morning party (o, the chocolate-chili cookies!), but I thought I'd use this SGED Friday to share some words of body-love wisdom, along with links to galleries at The Judgment of Paris where you can see more of these beautiful women. And beautiful they are, inside and out.

"I’ll never forget seeing my fifth-grade photographs, taken at the beginning of the school year. I had just started developing. Just a little, and at the same time just enough to start feeling awkward about my body. I remember looking at the other kids’ pictures and comparing myself to them. God, I thought as I looked down at my reflection, I don’t like the way I look.
"Years later, on a sun-kissed beach in the Bahamas, I felt the same way as the day I saw those photos. I was with Michele [Weston] that day and I was being photographed for a summer issue of MODE. The only thing I had to wear was a swimsuit and a smile. I turned to her as the photographer had finished setting up his equipment, and I said, 'I just don't deserve to be here.' Michele took me over to a full-length mirror and replied, 'Barbara Brickner, you look at yourself. What makes you think you don’t deserve to be what all of us see in you?' I didn’t have an answer, for I could only see the reflection of a girl posing for her school picture. She continued: 'You’re here because we see the beauty in you. Not just the curves, the beautiful body, or the beautiful face, but it’s what comes out of you.' I was awakened."

Barbara Brickner
Barbara Brickner: An Encomium


"When I was thinner, I wasn’t comfortable with my body. Now, I like myself, tummy and all. The problem isn’t with me; it’s with others. When you’re full figured, people treat you like a failure. Even when I was a size 10, they thought I should do more to lose weight, not realizing how much I was doing. There’s so much pressure to be a small size in this society, even if it’s not natural or healthy for you. People should understand that when you’re healthy, it doesn’t matter what size you are."

Shannon Marie
Shannon Marie: Fairest of Them All


"As for maintaining such positive body image, well, I read a lot of books on the subject. As a plus model it's always been something that has come up...meaning the positive influence we are able to set for women. So it's good for me to be well read, right? And the bottom line is, I know I'm worthy and deserving of the very best in life, as we all are. This includes the choice to Love myself completely and totally as I am, exactly as I am. All you have to do is be willing to learn to Love yourself and the door has been opened. I remember recently sitting on the couch with my sister Jen. We had just had a lovely dinner, and my stomach was feeling it! So I looked down at my protruding belly full of good food, and gave it a rub and said, 'I Love you, stomach.' We both laughed of course. It was funny and sweet and true."

Valerie Lefkowitz
Valerie Lefkowitz: An Homage
I Love how Valerie capitalized "Love." Now I'm doing it, too! - MB


How are you loving yourself today? I am wearing one of my favorite dresses. Later, I'll be playing mermaid in the pool and lying quiescent in the sauna afterwards.

"The Honey Pat"

No, the Honey Pat isn't another term for a love tap. I found it in Jeanne Rose's Herbal Body Book and it is really wonderful. You spread honey evenly on your face, and then tap your face all over with your fingertips for a few minutes; the honey will get stickier and stickier. Rinse off with warm water.

Honey is very good for skin. I sometimes spread a blob on my face and neck and relax for a while, rubbing it in to the skin every so often. I wipe it off with a warm washcloth. My skin feels soft and smooth, and looks clearer and brighter. The scent of honey is one of my favorites, and getting to lick my fingers after applying the honey is nice, too.

Cancellation, and Perspective

My ballet class has been cancelled due to low enrollment; apparently, I was the only student. The new term starts in the fall, so I have plenty of time to crochet myself a little backpack for my gear. I bought my dance clothes last Thursday from a little shop in my city, and the young lady clerk was very helpful and supportive of my beginning ballet at my age and size (she said nothing about either). There was a large range of sizes available, and mine actually fell somewhere towards the middle, though I did select a "Tall" size to suit my long torso. I tried on the complete outfit last night and it felt very good. I will use the time between now and the start of the fall term to work on becoming more flexible, though, happily, I'm quite bendy now.

My friend Heinrich Saint-Germain at The Judgment of Paris recently posted some new photos of the gorgeous Barbara Brickner. Wouldn't you know it: in one of them, Mrs. Brickner is posed almost as I am in the photo of myself that I thought so lumpy and bumpy and, therefore, ugly. Of course, she is wearing more clothing in her photo than I am in mine...




I don't think that posting my photo here is appropriate, but if you must see it, I'll email you the link to the gallery page.

Anyway, I found my reaction to Mrs. Brickner's image very interesting. First, I was struck by her beauty, of course; she is very lovely. Then my mouth slowly opened as I realized how similar my body is to hers, though at five-six, I'm at least two inches shorter than she is. After a moment or two, I whirled around to my husband and almost shouted into his startled face, "Why don't I see that when I look at myself?!" The very characteristics I like about her body are the ones I feel funny about in my own body. Is it possible to see oneself as beautiful, all the time?

The gaps in self-confidence during which I feel bad about my looks are shorter, though still intense. The difference is that now, I acknowledge when I have those feelings, instead of pretending to everyone, including myself, that I know beyond any doubt how hot I am. I still dress up and wear short skirts and camisoles, even when I worry that I resemble the Stay-Puft marshmallow man more than a vibrant, healthy, young(ish) woman who is lucky enough to be living many of her dreams. Because, really, I am. I am thankful.

"You Must Obey."

If any of you are Hotmail users, you're probably seeing ads touting a weight-loss "rule" that "You Must Obey!" This same advertisement appears on other sites, too, but Hotmail is where I see it most. The accompanying photos change from time to time, but the message does not.

A photo of a face-forward, moderately plump woman set above a photo of what appears to be the same woman, drastically smaller, standing at the classic size-minimizing angle.

"You Must Obey."

I hit the Refresh button, and the ad comes right back. This time, the illustration is a leggy cartoon woman in a purple T-shirt and panties.

"1 Rule You Must Obey."

Sometimes, the emphasis changes: "You MUST Obey!" "You must OBEY!"

Why?

I will not click the ad. I don't want those responsible for it to be encouraged by site traffic.

Obey. Be good. Get thinner. Work harder. Cut your hair. Wear this.

Don't eat dessert. Don't ask for sex. Don't laugh so loudly. Don't ask for more.

Deny yourself. Deny your Self.


No.

.

Projects and Cake

I didn't make cake last weekend.  Instead, I'm going to make it this weekend.  In the meantime, I have several crochet projects to finish: tiny clothes for my sister's daughter.  We're expecting her to arrive at any moment.  My sister is under doctor's orders to relax, in order to delay labor (she's been to the hospital once already).  

In July, I will be playing the harp in public for the first time in four years.  I've neglected it dreadfully, but my beautiful instrument has painful associations now (mostly tied to what I wrote about last time).  This is another thing I'm taking back.  I keep finding things to take back to myself, wash clean, and make mine again.  More heavy lifting.  I am thankful for the help I've been given.

During lunch, I visited the ballet school and obtained a schedule.  The lady I spoke with there had silver hair swept back from her elegantly boned face; she was working on something with a sewing machine.  I told her that I wanted to join the adult introductory class, and she was very gracious and, thank heaven, didn't laugh at my short-legged, heavy-muscled, big-breasted body.  I peeked into the studio itself and oh, the beautiful blond floor and the barre!  I can make this happen.  

I treated myself to a few essential oils, the better to create a natural skin care regimen.  The products I've ordered through the mail has been either severely delayed or stolen, and is more expensive than I'd like anyway.  The sugar scrub recipe from Little House in the Suburbs has been working really well; I used calendula and chamomile flowers instead of basil, mixed with olive oil, turbinado sugar, and tea tree, lavender, and blue cypress essential oils.  My skin feels soft, but not oily (always a problem this time of year).  Tonight, I'll try my herb-infused cider vinegar toner; my hair likes it, so I have high hopes for my skin.  

What are all of you up to?

Coming Out: The Emancipation of Artemis

About The Emancipation of Artemis, created by Jennifer Summer, from Jennifer's journal:

i have been blessed in my life with an extremely large extended family -- my friends.

i realized one day that out of all these women, i can count on one hand the number of them who have not had an experience with abuse in some form or another.

i realized that i had spent a large portion of my childhood in hospital waiting rooms, watching a close family member endure numerous operations and countless health problems due to the acts of one malicious, psychotic attacker.

i realized just how widely spread this epidemic has become.

and then i decided to do something about it.

i don't have the qualifications to assist in a professional, controlled environment, but i do have passion and an ability to express myself artistically, and i began to brainstorm a way in which i could combine those two things in order to make an impact.

and now, several years later, that dream has come to fruition. through the efforts of not only myself but my wide circle of kindred spirit chosen family, we have joined our voices together as a chorus for change.

and, thus, the emancipation of artemis was born. right now it is a single benefit that will be held at the york st. cafe in newport, ky on friday, june 5th (7 p.m. - 10 p.m.) and will feature a photography exhibit, live music, poetry readings, guest speakers and an art sale. the talented people in the 'contributing artists' section have all donated their original work to be sold, and the individuals in the 'performers' section of 'the event' menu will be lending their talents during the show.

every single dime raised will go directly to RAINN so that they may continue to do the amazing work that they do for people all over the united states.

but my dream is for artemis to become a global organization; for artists around the world to hold their own events and raise money for groups such as RAINN that help those who need it most. and, in light of what has been accomplished thus far, i believe that dream is an attainable one.

eight women have bravely come forward and opened themselves up -- they've shared their story and shown their face. they are not victims. they are not dreary, they are not tragic. they are triumphant. they are survivors. they are warriors.

they are living proof that we are so much more than just the sum of our experiences.

---

Since you'd figure it out anyway when you go to the Artemis site and click through the gallery, I'll just tell you: I am one of the eight women whose portrait and story is part of the exhibit. 

I wasn't able to travel to be photographed by Jennifer herself, so she asked me to send her a photo from my portfolio. I selected one taken on my wedding day, by Karen Varnas.  Partly because I didn't get photographed by Jennifer (and therefore, the image doesn't "match" the others), and partly because my story is the longest, I feel like I did it wrong somehow.  It's the anxiety brought on by telling a bit of what happened.  

Reading my own words, my cheeks burn with shame.  I'm afraid for people to know this about me, that it will hang over every time I meet them.  That they will wonder what I did to bring it on myself.  That they don't know that I sometimes want to know that, too; for someone to treat me so badly, there must be a good reason, something terrible that I did.  I used to wonder if there was an invisible sign on me that invited men to try things on me, without my permission. Maybe they could see that I had been wounded while very young, and wanted very much to be loved.  

Please don't misunderstand me.  I am happy beyond what I thought was possible.  I know that the way I was treated was not my fault.  I am lucky enough to love and be loved by my best friend of nearly sixteen years.  I had long since accepted that a gray veil would hang between me and the world -- it's just how my brain works, I thought.  After my diagnosis and thyroidectomy, I knew differently, and I saw clearly that the way I was being treated was wrong, wrong, wrong.  I tried to imagine a good friend in my position, and thought of what I would tell her.  In the end (or is it the beginning?), I did exactly what I would have told my hypothetical friend: called my mom, packed a U-Haul, and got the hell out of there. 

Jenn herself was of immeasurable help and comfort to me while I was struggling with what I wrote about for the exhibit.  I still keep on my desk a photo she took of a single daisy, standing tall in a field. She captioned it: "It doesn't matter where you've been. What matters is where you are now." Looking at it, meditating on it, helps me to re-anchor myself in my joyous present. 

I forget sometimes that the Bad Old Days can never return.  Sometimes, they do still cast long, frightening shadows, but those shadows grow fainter every time I glimpse them.  I am grateful to be out, to be away, to be home.  In the night when I am afraid, I reach out and find my best friend, my beloved husband, sleeping there under blankets beside me.  I feel my own face, my beautiful long hair, the ridge of scar tissue at my throat, and I know who I am, where I am, and I am no longer afraid.  

Getting out, getting away, going home, I had help.  I reached out, and so many hands reached back to me. Among them were Jennifer's hands, loving and fierce.  She is a beautiful soul, a very talented artist, and this work she is doing is of immense importance.

And if you're struggling like I was, or at all, don't be afraid to ask for help.  Or, be afraid if you have to be, but ask despite the fear.  It's worth it, I promise you.

The Emancipation of Artemis:  Artists United to End Violence Against Women
Friday, June 5 2009
7-10pm (music begins at 8pm)
York Street Cafe
Newport, KY

RAINN
National Domestic Violence Hotline
HopeLine - 1-800-SUICIDE

xoxo

Dancer Dreams

This past weekend, my husband and I attended our niece's dance recital. Seeing all the little girls in their tutus, jumping and prancing out of sync, made us laugh; they are so cute. Watching the older girls, especially the ballet and lyrical students, made me yearn to dance. My dance style developed in gothic clubs, so it's a flowing weeping-willow dance, a "sorrowful ballet," as one writer described gothic dance, a bit like the lyrical style. I love to dance, but I always wanted to study dance with a teacher, in a proper class.

When I was four, my parents agreed that I should take ballet. I was thrilled. My mother and I waited for my father to get home so that we could go to the dance shop and buy my black leotard, pink tights, and lovely pink leather slippers. I ran to the window every five minutes, wishing Daddy would hurry home so I could get my real ballet shoes. I practiced leaps and twirls, certain I was a beautiful dancer and looking forward to becoming an even more beautiful dancer.

Daddy eventually came home. In his hand was a piece of pink paper in a white envelope. Mommy's face fell, and Daddy shrugged sadly. It was 1980, and the school district had laid him off. He had no job. We didn't go to the dance shop and I never learned ballet.

It's trite and a little embarrassing to speak of "the inner child" anymore, but mine wants to dance. Today, I learned that a dance studio near my office teaches beginning ballet to grown-ups. I'll be calling this week to check the price. Even if I only take a class or two, I very much want to wear special dance clothes, and real ballet shoes, in a real studio. Wish me luck.

Earth Day

You are a part of the Earth.
Honor the Earth.
Honor your Self.

Photo of Meryt Bast by Wayne Swilley

Growing Pains

My mother says, "If you're not going forward, then you're going backwards." It's true. Still, growth can be painful. Mine is. I'm considering making my next mascara selection a waterproof formula so I don't involuntarily turn into Alice Cooper in the middle of the day. So many tears.

This is the hardest work I've ever done. I'm about three weeks in, and I want to stop, but I don't really want to stop. I know that I can't. Rather, I can't stop and be healthy. As healthy as I am now, I know that this wound will periodically fester and hurt me and, by extension, those around me.

My dreams are vivid and many and richly symbolic. My joints ache and so does my head. I bounce from hilarity to despairing tears. I don't eat very much or very often. I wish I didn't have to do this, but I think it will end. The way out is through. I keep walking and digging and swimming in the boundless unconscious: here be monsters.

All this is to say, that I don't have much to say these days, besides SGED Fridays. We'll have something yummy tomorrow.

Natural Beauty

Last week, I posted my recipe for flaxseed hair gel. It occurred to me that not everyone is into making their own cosmetics (weirdos, huh?), so here are some links to handmade and/or natural cosmetics and styling products.

Botticelli Botanicals
Minnesota-based Botticelli Botanicals invites you to select from a list of natural ingredients to create your perfect styling product. Check out the huge list of available scents. More products are coming soon.

Chagrin Valley Soap and Craft Company
Widely loved for their shampoo bars, Chagrin Valley has balms, butters, and lotion bars with which to pamper your skin and hair. They've even got all-natural soap for dogs!

Jessicurl
Founded by Jessica McGuinty and well known to regulars at Naturallycurly.com, Jessicurl products are pure, natural, and gentle. The website includes styling videos and hair accessories like the Hot Sock diffuser and microfiber towels.

Mehandi.com
This is where I bought the first henna I ever used on my skin (back in 1994, it was called Tapdancing Lizard and was a much smaller site) and where anyone can learn pretty much everything there is to know about henna. I cannot overstate the amount of information on this site. Every time I visit the site, it seems the product selection has grown: natural soaps, perfumes (including attar of henna blossoms!), balms, Indian herbs, lipsticks, and top-quality henna are just some of the wonderful things you'll find here.

Thistle Farms
A small selection of natural body care products made by the women of Magdalene, a two-year residential program in Nashville, Tennessee, for women healing from lives of prostitution and addiction. Healing women making healing products to help heal other women -- what could be more wonder-full? All profits go to support Magdalene.

Finished: Lacy Sleeveless Top

From a pattern by Valerie Kurita, published in the first crochet magazine I ever bought (back in 2006), I have made this pretty white top.

I used some shaping techniques learned from articles and books by the marvelous Doris Chan, and it fits really well. It will have to wait for warmer weather to be worn, but I can wait.

I have still to finish (again) the baby-doll dress designed by Amy O'Neill Houck; I am reworking the sleeves to be shorter and puffier. I really love the dress and am eager to finish it so I can wear it again.

This month, I had an unusual amount of bills to pay, with more expenses to come in the next couple of weeks, so buying the beautiful yarn I intend to use for Jennifer Hansen's Cecilia chemise (both lengths!) will have to wait a while. Right now, my money needs to go towards caring for myself; buying pretty yarn is a great way to do that, but the care I need right now is of the inner sort. I am not afraid of heavy emotional and psychological work, but I am afraid to pry this particular monster out into the light where I can work on befriending it. Or slaying it. I'm not sure which it will be.

In the meantime, I will continue to live my happy life...there is so very much to love and to savor.

Being Beautiful

Though I am told that I don't really qualify as "fat" or even "chubby," I support the size-acceptance movement. I believe that it is possible to be healthy at any size, skinny, fat, or in between, and that we owe it to ourselves to love, accept, and care for our bodies. Too often, though, women are told that our bodies are wrong. Hearing a message often enough (and o, how bombarded we are with this particular message!) can make even the hardiest among us doubt herself. The question for myself was not, "Can I be beautiful?" (i.e., lose or gain weight or otherwise change my body to fit some ideal), but "May I be beautiful?"

Since the beginning of treatment for hyperthyroidism in 2005, I have gained about twenty pounds. During the fag-end of the Bad Old Days, when I had not learned that loving myself was not only OK, but of utmost necessity, I cried when I could no longer zip my size 12 jeans (my "skinny" jeans) or button up my sleek, genuine U.S. Navy pants. The emotional choppiness born of a sudden relocation under bad circumstances and stormy hormones seeking a new equilibrium made it harder to bear my weight gain. In my head, I knew it was a sign of health. In my heart, in my feelings, I cowered before the blaring, jeering voice of internalized body-hatred.

Eventually, with help from my doctor, my therapist, my mother and my friends, I realized that what I had had before, as a thinner person, wasn't anything like a real, healthy life. Still, in my saddest moments, when I forgot I didn't really hate myself anymore, I wished my sickness back so that I could be thinner. A few minutes spent skimming the diaries I had kept in Tennessee were enough to snap me out of it.

One day, in the bathroom at my mother's house, where I was living after moving back to Michigan, dressed in jeans and a bra, I found myself admiring the curve of my hip and how it flowed inwards to form my waist. I ran my hands up and down my sides, from ribs to thighs. I liked the way my body felt; it was larger, yes, but it filled my size 14 jeans and my new, larger bra beautifully. It was soft and sleek and beautifully shaped. I laid my hands gently on my now-rounder belly and closed my eyes against grateful tears. I gave myself permission to see my beauty, to marvel at it, to love it, and revel in it.

Do you have permission? What would it take for you to grant it to yourself?

Good stuff from Stephanie Tourles

For the last few weeks, I have been reading Naturally Healthy Skin by Stephanie Tourles. I bought the book a number of years ago, hoping to find something to help my poor ravaged skin. Of course, I didn't know that I had Graves' disease; once I had my thyroid out, my hormone levels balanced themselves and my skin improved dramatically. Since beginning each day with a full recipe of Ms. Tourles' "Skin-So-Smoothie" recipe (I make it with unsweetened almond milk), my skin has felt softer and looks smoother than I can ever remember. My forehead is less oily, and I believe the faint vertical line on the inside of my left eyebrow has diminished. I've also tried her snack mix recipe, modifying it for what I have on hand. It's delicious. My attempt at her chewy apricot "cookie" recipe was less successful; they taste good, but they're awfully gooey, so I think I must have added too much juice.

I can't, of course, reproduce any of her recipes here, but I encourage you to visit Ms. Tourles' website and to take a look at her books at your local bookstore or library. Seriously good stuff!

Portable Shade

"The parasols this year look like big, beautiful flowers that have grown and blossomed at will without having a single pretty fancy restrained or pruned away. Like all of this Springs work they are characterized by a picturesque and irresponsible variety that refuses adherence to any one pattern. Any sort of parasol may he carried with the assurance that the more it differs from every other parasol the more it will he approved." -- The New York Times, May 1, 1892.

The days are growing longer, which reminds me that everyone should use sunblock. I like Neutrogena's SPF 30 for sensitive skin, but sometimes I forget to apply it or to tuck it in my purse before going out. My two failsafe measures are a large hat and a parasol, both of which are much harder to overlook and leave behind.

I have a large head covered with a lot of thick, long hair. Finding hats that fit is difficult for me, especially as I frequently wear my hair pulled or pinned up, and so I decided to make one, thereby guaranteeing a good fit. Last year, I found this pattern by Lily Chin, and I executed it in jute twine from the hardware store for a rustic look. Lily models her hat pushed back from her face, but I wear mine level across my forehead to shade my face and throat. I made two hatbands which coordinate with just about everything I wear; I swap them according to my outfit and pin them with an antique brooch. The hat draws lots of compliments, but the parasol draws stares.



On eBay, that bargain-hunter's playground, I found a Chinese paper parasol, dated about 1920. Its paper canopy was torn in several places, so I mended it with tissue paper and Elmer's glue. The patches are white, but I haven't figured out how to stain them to match the rest of the canopy without dissolving the paper. They don't show much, fortunately, so I may leave them as they are. The parasol shades me well, allowing only dim sunlight to touch my skin. I used it for most of last summer, and between it and the hat, I didn't get sunburned once. As fair as I am, that's quite a feat.



We all need some unprotected exposure to sunlight (ten to fifteen minutes a day, I have read) to help our bodies make vitamin D, a nutrient necessary for regulating the body's calcium and phosphorous levels. Sunshine feels good, and it's good for us. But baking our skin, whether in the sun or a tanning parlor, is a great way to wind up with prematurely aged skin or, at worst, skin cancer. Even if your skin is olive or dark, excessive sun exposure can cause damage, but paler people are much more susceptible.

Enjoy checking out the parasols at these links. Maybe we'll start a trend!

Darna's East Angel Harbor Hat Shoppe -- elaborate, hand-decorated parasols and hats
Designs by Victoria -- parasols, fans, and other goodies
Lace Parasols: Undercover Elegance
Luna Bazaar -- colorful paper parasols
Pamela's Parasols
Parasols at Gentleman's Emporium -- oodles of other lovely wearables and accessories, too.
Shooting Star History -- patterns and supplies for making your own parasols

The Devouring Lady

It is difficult for me to write about spirituality without feeling both naked and flaky. But, because I believe this subject is very important, especially now, I'm going to try.

My nom de plume means "beloved of Bast" in the Egyptian language. Bast is the cat-headed goddess; her name means "Devouring Lady." I do not follow the Egyptian religion, but I am drawn to Bast, and not just because I am a cat lover.



Bast is also known as "the eye of Ra," a protector and avenger as fierce and hot as the sun. She is the protector of women, especially expectant mothers, and children. She is also a protector of the home.

I imagine how she would react to a bruised wife, a bullied girlfriend, a frightened child, an ashamed and injured man. And how would she confront one who hurts the vulnerable and shatters the home's peace?

I imagine her, in cat form, comforting the hurt ones by curling up in their laps and purring soothingly. I imagine her soft paws dabbing away tears and her raspy tongue kissing hands and cheeks. I imagine peace and pure love radiating from her beautiful green eyes.


Gaze into her pupils and see yourself there. See how loved you are.

I imagine her, with a bloodcurdling yowl, flinging herself upon the abusers in a frenzy of slashing claws and sharp, shining teeth, burning them with the fire of her righteous anger, ears flattened, eyes blazing like the sun. I imagine her fierce joy in avenging the innocent.

With certain stories in the news these days, I know that some survivors of domestic abuse have had bad dreams and feelings of panic, depression, and helpless anger.

No one deserves to be called names, manipulated, controlled, robbed, deceived, forced into sex, threatened, struck or injured in any way. No one.

If you or someone you know is being hurt by someone close to her or him, know that there is help available. It can be scary to reach out, but you are strong and brave. You can get out, you can get away. You can thrive.

The National Coalition Against Domestic Violence:
http://www.ncadv.org/

The National Domestic Violence Hotline: 1-800-799-SAFE (7233)
http://www.ndvh.org/

Rape, Abuse, and Incest National Network (RAINN): 1-800-656-HOPE (4673)
http://www.rainn.org

The Emancipation of Artemis: Artists United to End Violence Against Women (Facebook group run by Jennifer Fields-Summer, a phenomenal photographer and a dear friend)
http://www.facebook.com/home.php#/group.php?gid=54366834389

Cassiopeia photographed by Allisonmariecat.

Soothing Salt Scrub

My skin tends to get itchy in the winter, and this soothes any rashes and reveals fresh, soft skin. Don't use this if you've got cuts or scrapes; the salt will sting, and you don't want to "scrub open" healing wounds.

You'll need:
2 parts sea salt (substitute sugar if you're concerned about stinging)
1 part oil (olive, almond, jojoba, etc.)
few drops essential oil, like lavender or rose (optional - I like Aura Cacia's Rose Otto in jojoba oil)
a lidded container (I use a plastic, well-scrubbed hummus container)

Put everything in your container and stir it well with a spoon. Scoop out with your fingers and scrub your skin before bathing (standing in the tub so you don't get oily salt everywhere!) or in the shower. Be careful not to slip! Rinse off, dry off, and apply moisturizer as usual.

Okay, I admit: this does sting my (occasional) eczema, but it's a good kind of sting; I know that the salt is helping the rash to heal. I don't scrub irritated skin, but let the salt mixture sit on it for a minute or so. I'm no dermatologist, but I think it really helps.

Waking Up: Luscious Tiramisù

For most of my last decade, I was a bony, trembling, emotionally volatile wreck. My heart was a jackhammer. My skin was a minefield. My mind was a vortex of self-hatred, self-destruction, and rage. After a night of chest pains so crushing and breathtaking that I thought I was dying, one blood test gave me my answer. I was severely hyperthyroid: the butterfly-shaped gland in my throat was pumping out twice the thyroid hormone my body needed, in defiance of attempts by my deranged immune system to shut it down. An interesting test involving radioactive material confirmed that I had Graves' disease.

What does all this have to do with tiramisù? Read on.

Coincidentally (or not?), on Wednesday I attended a lecture on weight discrimination, given by a (petite and slender) professor at my university. It was fun to hear her debunk the "obesity epidemic," and we the audience laughed as she amply illustrated its absurdity. Afterwards, I spoke with her for a few minutes about my experience with weight fluctuation and others' reactions to it (sick and thin=many "thin" compliments from women, not so many from men; healthy and heavier=fewer compliments from women, many more from men), she told me that she had Graves' disease, too. We shared our stories of misdiagnoses and recovery and laughed a bit together.

Three years ago today, I underwent a total thyroidectomy, putting my disease in remission and waking me from my long and dreadful nightmare. Because of the profound changes that took place afterwards in all aspects of myself and my life, this is a kind of second birthday for me. Tonight, my husband and I will celebrate with Chicago pizza, followed by tiramisù, my very favorite dessert. Each bite is another nail in the coffin of the Bad Old Days when I hated myself and, especially, hated and punished my body.

Rather than present a single tiramisù recipe, I am giving several links to versions of this truly divine and sexy concoction. Eat it, and see if you don't feel awake, alive, and happily sated.

Heavenly Tiramisù - many, many recipes
Finding La Dolce Vita - nicely illustrated
Cooking for Engineers - illustrations galore, plus a fun task chart (the "engineering" part, I guess)

Good Morning! fruit drink

Sunshine in a glass!

2 cups orange juice
1 cup frozen pineapple chunks
1 grapefruit, peeled, seeded, and cut into chunks
1 frozen banana, cut into chunks (I cut up ripe bananas and freeze them in baggies, one banana per baggie)
thumb-size chunk of gingerroot, peeled and sliced
dash lemon juice
dash sea salt

Put all ingredients in a blender and blend until smooth (2 minutes or so). Makes one big breakfast. Sparkly, tart, and loaded with beautiful nutrients to make you feel wonderful. See, hedonism can be healthy!

Experiment with your favorite fruits. For example, substitute fresh or frozen mango chunks for the grapefruit if you'd like a sweeter drink. Omit the ginger if it's too spicy for your taste. Add a few ice cubes for a frosty, slushier texture. Improvise! Do what you like best!

Love your body, and it will love you right back. I promise.

Luxurious Rest

I rest guiltlessly, luxuriously.

I allow my body all the time it needs to heal itself.

I love my body.

I am beautiful.

Top to bottom: Poly, Utah, Geronimo and Mirando, and Cassiopeia.