Split pea soup and hair up

I have avoided putting my hair up for pretty much always. I have, no had, this thing with my neck. I've written about it. When I was 39 it culminated in a pure obsession and depression.

I am happy to report I am over it.

The other day I put on a dress that I love. Comfy and cute and makes great outfits. But from the side view, I didn't like how it looked. I don't like how most parts of me look from the side. Remembering the best advise for this 'problem' I just stopped turning to the side in the mirror. I'm only looking at myself, for now, at the angles that feel good.

Applying this same principle to my neck, putting my hair up became freedom. Off of my neck. Cooler, lighter. I can make big messy buns that I've dreamed of having.

The bonus of finally doing this thing is that I'm not obsessing anymore. I kind of don't care. I'm not calling it 'the flab' anymore. I'm loving on my neck. I had a massage from this amazing young father who just had his first baby. Dave and I both see him. He massages my neck. It is glorious.

Maybe my neck is glorious.

Even putting make-up on now, which I did most days, feels funny. I've gotten so used to seeing my face like this. As is.

Many people are talking about gaining Corona weight. I absolutely have. Zero fucks. I love myself more. Hair up. Tight dress. No make-up. Curvy and soft. To find your own self sexy is kind of joyful isn't it? I don't get there every day, but now most days I strive for that ease of self adoration.

My days have been spent preparing food for 3 months of living after the garden and farmer's markets are no longer providing. It feels sensual to be in the garden. Dirty. Sweating. Touching prickly textures and soft juicy things.

I'm turned on by the whole thing. Obsessed really. I spend every spare moment learning about one thing at a time, like how to put up a certain vegetable and then I go backwards to the harvest, the care, the planting.

Much rather be obsessed with this than my neck.

Much rather be obsessed with joy than finding something wrong with myself.

I have a pot of split pea soup on the stove. My secret is lemon. Juice from a whole lemon. I cook down some onion, carrot and celery in a big pot. Add sweet potato (or not), rosemary, thyme, pepper. Throw in some split peas and chicken stock and cook slowly for a very, very long time. When it is done, squeeze in that lemon and season to taste.

The soup brings me joy. The hair up brings joy.

Creating space for me to be me, holding my boundaries of joy, feels like a great step in the right direction.

Things have been funky. Shit is scary.

Stop looking at the side view if you like the front. And make some soup. Freeze it for later, share it with a friend.

Harvesting joy is a worthwhile obsession.

Much love, H