Battle Cry

I don’t care anymore…

I don’t care that I am that weirdo/tree hugger who needs to forest bathe every single day.

I don’t care that I stop to turn to face the sun to be reminded that in a world where I am considered “tall”, in relation to the Universe, I am quite small.

I don’t care that I have sunspots and wrinkles and deep forehead creases from a life well lived.

I don’t care that I have a roll in my middle that never goes away …

I don’t care that my nose is the biggest part of my face.

I don’t care that my elbows have wrinkles with weird tan lines. Who knew :)

I don’t care that I have to time my bathroom trips so I make it to the next pit stop - 5 babies (or just being alive long enough) will do that to you.

I don’t care that my breasts, and neck and knees have marks and lines and indicators that I have been here awhile.

I also don’t care much for any sort of bullshit at this point.

And in not caring, comes my battle cry of freedom. Because it means I am STILL here.

And as long as I can be, I will own and celebrate every single part of this beautiful, well used vessel.

Now, let’s dance.