With all the commotion of moving in January then going on holiday in February, my usual monthly mindscape posts have gone amiss so far in 2018. These monthly posts are where my inner fiction writer gets to have a little fun.
When I first started doing them, I used a set of prompt dice but now I like to pick an image from Instagram that particularly inspires me and write a short piece of fiction to accompany it. There’s never any planning or drafting, just an expulsion of words onto the page.
For this month’s edition I scrolled through my ‘saved’ tab and found the picture I wanted to use almost immediately. This image, by Line Thybo (@awildflowersjourney), stopped me in my tracks.
Here is this month’s mindscape.
Laying in the bath, the voices from the day grew louder. “You’re too fat”, “You shouldn’t wear that”, “You shouldn’t be eating that.”
She took some deep breaths and slowly began to trace the outline of her body with her fingers. With care, she felt the stubble poking up from her legs and the deep dimples of her thighs. Further up she noticed the softness of her belly and the strange shape her bellybutton made.
Reaching for her sides, the rolls cascaded like waves. She felt her breasts, soft and heavy. Fingering her collarbone, she made her way to her arms. More softness, more curves and just a little dry skin.
Up her neck and towards her face she examined her bone structure. The small bump in her nose, her deep set eyes and cushiony cheeks. When she got to her head, she realised her hair was thick with power.
A sense of calm and ease joined her in the bathtub.
This is her body. There is nothing she can do to change it in this moment and that is OK. She knew it didn’t need changing. She had worked hard to make herself at home in her skin.
The voices she heard now and then came from Internet trolls. Some days they were louder than others depending on what she posted and how vocal she was being. But, no matter how loud they got, she wouldn’t let them bury her.
She would stand strong in her body. In her home. She would let the voices wash over her for a short time, and sometimes they stuck, like mud. When this happened, she knew she needed to bathe.
To sit in a tub filled with water and love. To feel the foundations of her home and hold them. To tell herself that she is enough. That her naked body, her passion and persistence, her flaws and fallacies, her everything, was, enough.
This is how I wish every woman felt. I hope whoever is reading this right now takes just a minute to bask in their own incredible home. Because you are enough.
And you deserve the world.
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