My mother gave me a necklace on the day of my first moon blood. September 19, 1996. I am 14 years old. The last of my girlfriends to initiate into womanhood. I don’t remember caring so much. “You’re a woman now,” my mom said, riding in the family van to horse-riding lessons — our weekly mother-daughter pilgrimage to what is wild and free on the inside. I thought of how being a woman meant mess, and uncomfortable scents and limitations to the frivolity of childhood play. Whether that moment was fueled by a barrage of hormones or a deeper lament for the passing of time I do not know. What I do remember is the handing of the necklace — one I will never wear, and the smell of horses and a taste in my mouth like shame. And beneath it all a deep grief that was not mine alone to own and to feel, but that kept at my side, an unwelcome guest, for some time to come. rebellesociety/2014/09/11/a-fearless-heart-trusting-what-you-came-here-to-do/#comment-16281
Posted on: Thu, 11 Sep 2014 16:16:35 +0000
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