Some women are born into a struggle of self-worth. I am one of those women who came barreling through the birth canal, unsure of her purpose, unsure of why she was being selected for this life on earth. I woke up in the womb, terrified of the dark. I asked God why he would abandon me. Where was I? Then I saw a pink and white flower on my belly open wide. You’re here to bloom. To bloom is to come to life.
I sometimes struggle with that image, because I don’t feel that I live from the expansiveness of that open blossom. Not all the time, anyway. There are moments where I feel the translucent petals brush against me. They tickle, and I laugh. The belly: the center of self-empowerment. The seat of emotions. That is where the flower is.
Naturally, I’d awaken into an archetype that rules the breasts and belly; so feminine, so full. The moon is my ruler: a figure that shines like the blossom, but opens and hides like one, too.
To be a woman is to glow and to harken. She steeps in a pool of sacred knowledge —flowers and herbs that soothe, offering secret remedies of healing. She doesn’t always know the right move; she must sit with this center. Return to the belly. Hold it, comfort it, awaken it.
The belly is what grows to hold and protect her child. The belly is what shrinks back to a manageable size when her child is earthside. The belly is what tones and softens. The belly is what digests and bloats, retains and releases in its daily metamorphosis.
When the tendency is to shrink, choose to blossom. Loudly or quietly. Beneath the shirt, or out in the open.
I rub oil on my belly. I hold my belly in my hands as I breathe deeply and meditate. I don’t neglect her. I don’t restrict her. I thank her for her softness and strength.
Cover Image by Xuan Nguyen via Unsplash.com.