Visibility and Short Shorts

I had one intention when I went to my first live event with my now friend, Mama Gena 4 years ago:

To love my thighs.

Not to tone my thighs but to LOVE my thighs.

​I would pay anything.

Do anything.

Go anywhere.

I would fly my ass to New York City.

And I did.

Why?

​Because I could see and feel and hear how much of my psychic energy was being spent on hating - no actively LOATHING - my thighs. My arms. My belly. My fucking eyelashes.

​Secondly, I noticed that most of my conversations with women were about hating our bodies or noticing other women’s bodies, or how we would fix our bodies, or who had the best solution for getting to “better body.” I was so bored with that conversation.

​I once asked a group of women coaches – What would be different if you loved your thighs?

None of them said, “I would wear a bikini.” They said:

“I would do my first live workshop.”

“I would put myself out there.”

“I would apply for that job.”

“I would submit my application for the local Ted Talk.”

​In other words – “I will share my brilliance as soon as my body is different.”

​Like all the deranged norms we've inherited in a patriarchal culture, this conditioning is so ever-present, we don’t even think to question it.It feels true and right and reasonable.

What a perfectly designed distraction to keep us in the land of "never enough."

Powerless. Hidden. Quiet.

​I'm happy to report that I learned - and now teach - the tools and practices that got me to loving my thighs and to reveling in the glory of yours.

This is a miracle to me.

​When it's hot, and if I feel like it, I wear short shorts. This is after 20 years of literally NOT OWNING a single pair.

My legs are strong. Wrinkled. Saggy. Hairy. Smooth. Pale. Often bruised. Dimpled.

They carry me. They move me. They exist. They are just. Thighs.

​