The Total Femme

How often have you heard someone say, in reference to themselves and their very real upsets, “I know that it’s a first world problem and so many people have it so much worth,” effectively negating their own struggle although not really because they did talk about it before commenting on it and then also let you know that they’ve got privilege so actually they’re not really allowed to complain so ok, we’re all good here. Urk. That is very convoluted!

No matter what you’re issues are, someone else has it worse. Someone else has it better. Someone else has it similar. Someone else, someone else! But who are we talking about here? Let’s talk about you! Let’s talk about the only person in whose body you are, the only person you can directly call yourself. Me, myself, and I. Moi. Ich. Watashi. Other words in many other languages for the indescribable, magical, tremendously complicated you, you, you.

Now I’ll tell you a story about me. The other day I was in the gym, laboriously going through my labor-intensive table exercises: core! hamstrings! glutes! Not far away, one of the gym staff was working with someone else: let’s try 10 more, one! two! three! And also not far away, another client was doing reps of some other kind. Suddenly, she said, jokingly, “Hey! You’re messing me up with your counting!”

The staff member (quite a jokester) responded quite loudly, “Twenty-nine! Seventy-two!” which caused me to start laughing and say, “Oh my god, you guys!” and then all four of us cracked up.

It was a jolly little moment of gym levity. Everyone was working hard and then, just for a wee snip, we were all laughing together. Then we went back to our respective reps.

It was a tiny bubble of respite and renewal.

If you’re human, you have human issues. Things get hard. It doesn’t matter how much money you have or if you live in a country that’s not at war – I wish we all did, and I know you do, too – or that you don’t have cancer or whatever you think other people have that have it worse than you so that you think you don’t get to take your upsets seriously. You’re still sad. You’re still stuck. You’re still whatever it is you’ve been talking about before you trashed it all by saying it’s a first world problem.

And you need tiny bubbles, lots of them, to give you back a little joy, to make it that much easier to get back to the reps.

Twinkle toes, peonies, red autumn leaves, angel hair, bumblebees, don’t be so hard on yourselves! Today, two things.

One: Allow yourselves to feel all the hurts, all the upsets, all the sadnesses, just acknowledge. You get to be sad. You’re human and all humans have all the emotions. Don’t disrespect yourselves by dismissing what is human.

Two: Allow yourselves to find solace and eensie-weensie bits of joy in those tiny bubbles that present themselves all over, because as sure as there’s sadness and frustration, there’s joy and happy surprise. Notice those bubbles. Take their gifts with you back into the fray.

And if you have a moment, write in about your tiny bubble. I told you mine, won’t you tell me yours?

Together, and onwards!

*I couldn’t resist using this for the title today but it is NOT about drinking and if fact, don’t drink to find your bubble! That’s not even remotely what I’m talking about, people.

Many a Monday I offer a Meditation for Queer Femmes, in the spirit of my maternal grandmother, Mimi, who was fabulous, and from whom I inherited her Meditations for Women.

Do you have a meditation to share? I would love to welcome you here! Email me at: thetotalfemme@gmail.com