Evening, January 31, 2012
Today I feel deep sadness for the young ones who are in pain over the size and shape of their bodies. Some days I can handle it and other days, like today, I am overwhelmed by the amount of needless suffering. I am unable, obviously, to speak to them all. I am frustrated with the obstacles that block so many from hearing words that offer them freedom to live their beauty, words that give hope so they can resist the pressures of a society focused so intently on image that it is nearly impossible to see one’s true reflection.
While walking up staircase after staircase in the Berkeley hills as the sun went down (my favorite way to work out my frustrations), I thought of a poem I wrote in 2001 after one particular girls group I co-facilitated with three amazing women. Thinking of those girls allowed me a modicum of peace, as I remembered that even reaching a small number of girls can make a difference, and that all of the girls who have been part of The Body Positive since that time—and before—are out in the world as shining role models for others. Some days that is enough. Their numbers are not the millions I wish for, but they have now passed over the thousand mark.
I have added the story of the girls from that group into a chapter of the book I am writing about The Body Positive’s Intuitive Health™ Model. It is in a section about the importance of grieving the precious moments of our lives we lose to body hatred and obsession with image, and includes pieces of the poem mentioned above. I decided I couldn’t wait for the book to be completed to share this part of it, as the story of those little girls who are now young women needs to be heard today. Here is their story, with the poem included in its entirety.
In 2001, I co-facilitated a group of middle school girls from Berkeley and Oakland, California. We named our group the Girls Empowerment Movement because the acronym GEM perfectly defined each and every girl, just as she was, even with her adolescent awkwardness and struggle. During one of our evenings together, the first girl to speak shared her story of the shame she carried because she believed her body was not beautiful. As she talked, tears began to flow down her cheeks. The next girl to speak unloaded the particular burden of adolescent self-loathing she was carrying, and she, too, started to cry. Suddenly every single girl in the room was crying as she revealed her story of suffering. I will never forget the experience of being with these beauties, these just-forming women, as they offered into the safe space the pain and tears that stemmed from their difficulties as developing females.
“I’m bigger than all of my friends.”
“My butt is too small.”
“My breasts are too big.”
“I don’t have any breasts.”
“People make fun of the color of my skin; they call me yellow.”
“My friends hassle me because I care about school.”
As I looked around the room of weeping girls, I was aware that I was witnessing a special moment. These girls were learning that they were not alone with their suffering. That night, their individual stories of pain became part of the collective female narrative.
At the end of the evening, the girls’ faces were bright and shiny from crying, yet their souls were lit up like a dazzling show of lightening in a dark night sky. It was an electric experience, and I will never forget how alive we all were that night. The girls felt genuinely seen and honored through the simple act of sharing their wounding within a safe circle of females. What we witnessed that night, young and old alike, was the authentic beauty, the essence, that radiates from a girl or woman when she is given permission to feel love and compassion for her fragile human self.
The next day it rained incessantly, as if the heavens were crying in pain for the little GEM girls. As I sat on the floor in my living room watching the deluge out my window, I could not stop thinking about the outpouring of tears from the night before. I wrote a poem that day dedicated to the GEM girls called A River of Tears.
A girl is born
Her spirit a bubbling creek
attached to the deep
flowing river that is Mother
Crystal clear and
sparkling clean
as her journey begins
she is eventually discovered
Humans want her and
use her innocence to satisfy
their own needs
They leave behind their trash
when they are done
Clogging her flowing waters
with their garbage
Pain
Shame
and
Humiliation
build a dam
blocking what was once
free-flowing consciousness
The creek’s sparkles dim
Light traveling from the
life-giving sun
has difficulty penetrating the
layer of smog that has
clouded her spirit
Her soul is buried deep
She is losing her form
Life force can no longer
find a place to reside
and walks away
Four women have heard about
the sparkling creek
Friends brought together
by their passion to
save one of the greatest
natural resources
of this earth
The women pack a picnic
and walk arm in arm
toward the sparkling creek
Aware of
yet not fully grasping
the power of their union
Silence enshrouds
the four friends
as they reach the creek
Their joy is choked dead
as if Evil has put his
hands to their throats
and squeezed
A warm wind
begins to blow
From the South
it comes
Reminding the women
that they were brought
to the spot
on which they now stand
at the bidding of
the Mother
There is work to be done
These women are no strangers
to hard work
Many hours they have spent
caring for babies
Toiling in the soil
Planting beautiful gardens
Preparing for this moment
Shoes fly off
Sleeves are rolled
Skirts made of brilliant
colorful
soft fabrics
are hoisted
and the women
step into the creek
to start their work
A song is heard
Faint in sound
as it begins
Growing ever louder
as the task of
cleaning the creek
and removing the dam
that blocks the flow
of her natural course
gets underway
May you walk in beauty
each and every day
May you walk in beauty
in a sacred way
May the beauty of the air
help you lift your prayer
May the beauty of the fire
fuel your sweet desire
May the beauty of the rain
wash away your pain
May the beauty of the Earth
bring you sweet Rebirth
As the sun begins
its descent
in the western sky
their work is done
The women wade to shore
where they turn back to
admire their handiwork
Brilliant reds
Deep purples
Fiery oranges
and
Soft pinks
are reflected on the
clean waters of the
little creek
The four women
dance with delight
along the bank
Their ecstatic laughter
filling the gentle night air
Suddenly they are aware
of a presence
that hovers at the bank
of the little creek
They cannot see her
form fully
but the women know
that Life
who had walked away
because she could not breathe
was entering
the water
Ready to
once again
give form and beauty
to the little
sparkling creek
A new sound is heard
As with the song
of the women
this sound begins faintly
and grows
to fill
all corners of the evening sky
It is the sound of
girls crying
Tears of pain
Sadness
and
Joy
are released
Cleansing and purifying
the girls
as they journey
together
down
The River of Tears
The girl
The crystal clear
sparkling creek
is free once again
from the damaging
touch of
human hands
Hands that did not see
or care for
the precious Gem
that is the sparkling creek
The girl
who will someday become
the deep mysterious river
that is Woman
The four friends know
their work
has only just begun
for there are nearly as many
creeks to clean
as there are
girls on Earth
Some so polluted by
others of the human species
that they may never be
free to shine
So contaminated that
Life Force will remain unable
to dwell in
their waters
Others they know
will sparkle forever
Flowing freely
they will merge with the waters
of other creeks
The power of the
water of the
precious Gems
brightening the world
as they invite other girls
to journey down
The River of Tears
For the GEMS
For denise, Pandora, and Annie
Memories made that I will hold in my heart forever
©2012, Connie Sobczak
All rights reserved.
May not be reprinted in any form without express permission by author.
Connie@thebodypositive.org
I have always had this sense of wanting to become a woman. To me, a woman was power, grace, a 'juicy mama', a goddess, a warrior. My childhood was full of examples of these women. Either in books of faraway lands and the magical and fruitful women who inhabited them, or in my mother, my teachers and my community. When I was younger, I thought that becoming a woman was the greatest feat and challenge that a young girl could undertake. I admired women's strength and resilience. Women are connected to the earth, we make bonds between each other, and we create new life. I thought that one day I would wake up and be a woman. Or perhaps that it would happen after my cycle or once I graduated high school. When I became a woman was when I fully stepped into my power and when I started using it.
