It’s your home, your body, but not merely a container—and it doesn’t really shelter you. It’s your surface. It’s your capacity for touch. I want to second-guess every word (like capacity) because really this is the first time I’ve tried to abstract what-all I’m getting at when I begin to think about bodylife. Not to mention what it feels like to do things with our bodies, through our bodies. Walking, kissing, yoga, running, sweating, anything that makes you sweat.
I haven’t even begun to touch on the things women’s bodies do and experience throughout menstruation-reproduction processes. The range of experiences happening day by day when it comes to your period, pregnancy, birth, post-natal life, post-menstrual life…is varied and personal and flat out awe-inspiring—and shunned out of view, co-opted and controlled by politicians and other non-science-based thinkers.
Then there’s the violence (one in three women will be beaten, raped or killed) and discrimination based on gender, our non-male bodies. And the objectification, and endless assessments and comparisons, by them, by us.
What we were and weren’t told, the beliefs and assumptions and expectations we formed, regardless of what we wanted. What we did and felt. What was done to us. All this comprises our bodylives.
Each of us holds so much history in our bodies. So many stories. I wonder how it is for men, or anyone who self-identifies their gender in another way. It’s just I’m focused on female bodylife with my work. Trying to get to normal. And to completely undermine it.