Winter Turns into Spring - The Blog

I was born with a Congenital Myopathy type of Muscular Dystrophy which means, I experience chronic weakness, discomfort and pain on my lower back, my hip girdle, my thighs as well as my upper arms. Growing up, I was told I was sick. I had bad legs. There was a huge list of things I couldn'd do, such as running, climbing, swimming, lifting heavy stuff, even walking was difficult for many years.

I had all sorts of other problems with my body: my right eye kept getting stuck in the corner and needed correcting. I wore big ugly podiatrist shoes. I was a size 0. As a teenager I hid my small body under baggy clothes. I wasn't feminine at all. I had a big mane for hair I didn't know what do to with. I felt like a little ugly duckling. I was bullied in school: "You are so skinny!" I was called "matchstick" I had very tiny boobs: "You are so flat!! You will never get a boyfriend!" (Guess what, I had a few in my youth!!) I was also bullied at home. I was shamed for my appearance and for what I wore. My mother wished for a more girlie girl. I was called "Ugly" I was told I looked like nothing. She threatened to cut my unruly hair. "No wonder he (an ex boyfriend) left you for another one: look at you!"

Looking back to my younger years, my body was telling me scary stories.  From my toddler years until my pre-teens, I had problems dealing with my bowel movement. As you can imagine, this created a lot of problems. I was punished for not going to the toilet or for the effects it had on me. I just wouldn't let myself go. That is because of what my Uncle used to do to me. I still sometimes wake up at night with a sore "bum." One day, my Step-dad took me to the dentist for a regular check-up, when the (male) practitioner asked me to open my mouth wide, I panicked and refused to do so. I was petrified. I even clasped my hands on my mouth for further protection. No amount of threats or promises of treats convinved me to trust this guy. I was told off for being so difficult. I still have a fear of the dentist. I grind my teeth at night. My jaw is so tense I can't keep my mouth wide open for too long to let someone do horrible things to me. I also remember instances of suffocating. Theses are all signs of oral rape.

When I left France for the UK, at 19 years old, I forgot all about the Myopathy. I led quite a normal life. 3 Years ago, I started to experience weakness, pain and discomfort to the extend I was referred to St Thomas' Hospital Neurology department. There is no cure for degenerative muscles disease, however, I am lucky to have quite a mild form. Yes, I will always experience some difficulties, pain and weakness (they might increase with time) Yes, even walking is difficult again, but it won't be as life-altering as the Duchenne Muscular Dystrophy, for instance.

When I was 24 years old, after a few hypnotherapy sessions, the black veil lifted on this memory I grew up with, of my Uncle cleaning my bum, in the bathroom. It really had happened. I wasn't ready to deal with the emotional distress that followed. I was engaged at the time. For months, I refused all sexual contact. Once, we tried and thought we had failed but, soon after, I was pregnant. My Daughter found her way to me amidst the pain.

Even pregnant, I was teased: " How are you going to carry a baby: you are so skinny?" I was still talking to my Mother at the time so I asked her how would the Myopathy affect me and the baby. She replied, the doctors said there was no risks for the baby getting it (but it is congenital?) but, I might have difficulties carrying her. Well, guess what? I carried my baby girl full term. My body kept her safe and cozy all along. For this I am grateful. I loved putting on weight. I loved feeling her growing and moving within my womb. And I had big boobs!! Although I didn't really enjoy these big painful things, leaking milk at the worst possible times. My Daughter is now 14 years old and healthy. She runs for both of us.

After the birth, I was a size 12 for a few months. I loved it.  In the last 6 years, there had been instances I was so traumatized by flashbacks, during which my abandonment and rejection wounds where triggered (after a major breakup and then, later on, reliving the time my Mother threatened to kill me while beating the crap out of me), that I let myself starve for months. It took me years to realised what was going on for me there. "Mum doesn't love me. Nobody loves me so, I might as well disappear/die." This is still an ongoing issue but, I am doing well in feeding myself. I am now a healthy (for me) size 10/12. And I have nice medium size boobs (and I no longer feel like a milking cow).

Another way I used to self harm was by cutting. I am happy to announce I haven't cut myself for 5 years now!! What helped me to stop this behaviour was to remind myself I will not hurt myself as they (my Uncle, my big brother, my Mother) did. I am precious. My reasons behind the cutting was to release any emotional pressure. Because I didn't look like I was in serious mental distresss, cutting myself was a way of showing others my pain. If you look too good, people don't take your emotional pain seriously, it was my way of showing them. I also used to draw on my arm with Henna when I felt the urge to get a blade, or to celebrate that fact that I didn't harm myself. I still do. Creativity is a powerful tool.

During this lockdown, I have re-discovered the joy of dancing! Not sure my cat is impressed by my moves though! Years ago, I used to attend URUBU and Women Full Moon gatherings , which were safe places for me the dance without dealing with the drugs and alcohol (They do everything online at the moment). There is something liberating in losing myself in music. There are so much energy and stress that need releasing. I can't run so I dance! Different bodies need different exercise and different stress release.

I am 40 years old and I can honestly say I am more comfortable in my body than I ever was. We live in a society obscessed with the perfect body. What is perfect anyway? The questions that matter are "How do you feel in this body of yours. How can you make it comfortable/ a safe place to be? What support do you need?" Can we feel its pain? Can we hear its stories? Are we able to meet its needs? Feed it? Quench its thirst? Sooth its pain? Feel its natural need for sex with love, instead of shame?

It is an ongoing process. There are days where I am not a big fan of this body of mine! Other days,I affectionatly joke about my jelly bum and belly or my fat baby toes. A bit of humour helps, as long as it doesn't become a sarcastic attack!

Overall though, I no longer feel like a little ugly duckling and, that is to celebrate.

Please take gentle care of yourselves in this difficult time.

#Pride2020 #BLM #Bi (And keep safe: there is still a virus around)

Much love to us all,

Yoni* is a Sanskrit word that has been interpreted to mean the womb, and the female organs of generation. It also connotes the female sexual organs such as "vagina", "vulva", and "uterus" (More on the Yoni another time!)