Re-post from last year.
the two are often at odds. actually, food probably doesn’t think too much about women, but what woman doesn’t think about that beautiful, at-times-terrifying F-word?
i wrote a poem in late 2011/early 2012 about a special meal i was about to eat.
fresh sun, fresh golden leaves
beaming through the glass
I sit consciously, beginning
my eating day with gratitude.
cultivating peace & fulfillment with just enough.
learning & trusting my body’s wisdom
tastes, smells, textures:
soft, sweet, warm pears
rich, smooth, satisfying cashews
creamy almond butter
an eye & and a heart for abundance
lips, tongue, & teeth of awareness
compassion for all those who struggle with peaceful
empathy for those with empty bowls
an entire practice in the art of a single meal.
Cheryl Strayed, arguably one of the coolest women in the world, has quaint words on body image. (taken from her column Dear Sugar on The Rumpus: “64”)
Stop worrying about whether you’re fat. You’re not fat. Or rather, you’re sometimes a little bit fat, but who gives a shit? There is nothing more boring and fruitless than a woman lamenting the fact that her stomach is round. Feed yourself. Literally. The sort of people worthy of your love will love you more for this, sweet pea.
enjoy your meals and the subsequent round belly that may ensue.