Being a Rebel

 I was reading the “what to bring” list for my daughters camp this summer. The Christian one. I did not sign her up for this.

Her father did. My ex. The Christian. My daughter, the Christian, wanted to go. That’s the only one that was on offer. So I think my daughter, the my daughter...

Just wanted to go to a camp.

“No spaghetti straps, no bikini’s, no hoop earrings. No dresses or skirts above the knee. No shirts exposing the back. No pants that are formfitting. No leggings as standalone pants." no no no no for female clothing items only.

But what message are they sending these girls that their bodies are to be ashamed of. To be hidden. Because what?

When growing up in this environment myself, I felt small, sorry and annoyed that I secretly wanted to show my shoulders, my back, my stomach, my breasts…. My body. Without shame. And to take it further, to love it

And to claim it as beautiful and sovereign. Not in competition with those of men. No. A standalone.

It wasn’t just about clothing and modesty and the audacity to suggest that women’s dresses or bikinis or length of skirt were the reasons men were tempted. The audacity. Truth be told here. The real crime is that men were also not allowed to admit this, without shame. Yes, i like wearing short skirts, says woman. Man, i like looking at legs of the short skirt. There. No shame. just simple. Not one for the other. Just standalone truths. Unnecessarily linked. 

It was all the other restrictions too. “Encouragements and suggestions.”

Someone the other day literally said to me that "all this self-love will lead me down a destructive path, and that Jesus is the only one who can save me."

Well, guess what. I don’t need saving. Thanks. Good here. Total and absolute nincompoop mess of a full of shit human. And beautiful to boot.

It wasn’t there, in that prison, that I needed to become a rebel. That was too small a game.

I needed to leave that prison to be free, for me to be me, to show me, to feel me, to take up my space, to speak my truth, beyond the small rebellions of short skirts, bikini’s and spaghetti straps. Beyond even just self-love. Beyond knowing I am sovereign and not in need of saving.

There is something greater out there.

Another thing. I can take myself way too seriously. I can take it all way too personally.

The threads of oppression against and precut boxes for women or girls, or even boys for that matter, run deeper and wider than Christianity. My church, the camp, my ex.

Staying in those places and fighting the fight by being the exile and standing out because I was wearing a skirt, and hoop earrings, is not a win. Just an ego boost. A small sick pleasure of seeing those more conservative and afraid of consequences for my poor soul, squirm at the sight of me. Their plea for my salvation.

I’m good. I’ll step out of that. Stop taking myself so seriously and try to enjoy being myself. Let go of all the pressures. Just speak my authentic self. Find my beliefs of whatever kind. There are many to choose from. I can keep searching. Or I can finally stop searching. And be for a while. Or forever. Maybe I’ll just be here now.

Maybe I'll go do some nude photoshoots and show the world. Maybe I'll still be a rebel. Just a more fun one.  A wilder one. Maybe I'll find a bigger cause than the clothing I wear, or how much skin I show. Or maybe I won't. Cause I'm not a martyr. Nor do I need to save anyone. Let alone myself. 

HA!