Okay, maybe I was pretty harsh on Grandmother Spider a couple of weeks ago.
It struck me a couple days after that post that I was declaring war on a representation of the sacred feminine. That war was something I did when I was a little girl, and especially when puberty attacked. I hated my body and what it was doing. I felt so out of control, ugly, yucky and dirty and gross.
I never really felt all that great inside of my own skin as a kid anyway--I was always teased for being too fat which I readily accepted as true. Which makes me crazy, now, when I look back at pictures of me in the 5th grade and I WASN'T FAT, people, I WAS A KID. I so desperately wanted to be Beautiful, so that I could be accepted and loved and listened to and included.
And then, puberty hit. And my hair (on my head) got all frizzy and out of control, I had braces and a neck gear (that is the ultimate punishment--a neck gear), I was growing body parts I never had, I got hairy, and this monthly thing. Which happened to me before the sex ed movies, and I had no idea why I was bleeding, and why it wouldn't stop, and what was wrong with me, and why can't I be normal? When my mother confronted me with my dirty laundry I cried, which at age 11 I already vowed never to do, I cried because I was so scared and I cried because I was so ashamed of my own fucked up body that hated me, and I cried because I was displaying my vulnerability to someone who judged me, and I hated myself and I hated myself and I hated myself.
It has taken me a long time to get to a place where I don't hate myself, where I find value and beauty in myself as a person, and especially as a woman.
And it has taken me an even longer time to understand that my being a woman doesn't have to be defined by the imaginary family that I don't have yet, and the imaginary husband that I don't have yet, and that I am not failing as a woman because I am 33 and unmarried and childless.
This was supposed to be a post about Grandmother Spider, and her wonderful medicine that holds all of us together, and how key symbols of the sacred feminine have been perverted to scary, nasty, and evil things, but I guess this post is about me, coming to terms with my own Grandmother Spiderness, my own snake woman, my own roaring ocean.
And this post is about the Adult me mourning for the loss of innocence of the Child me, which happened earlier than it should have, and inevitable as it was, that it should have happened at all.