23. She let herself go

Chapter 23 of Accidental Alchemy

She let herself go

I remember hearing my mother say, “She let herself go.”

She never told me what she meant. But I knew. I breathed in the knowing like invisible second-hand smoke.

It meant “she” let go of trying to look good.

It meant she gained weight.

It meant she stopped dressing just right, looking just right every time she stepped out of her house.

It meant she stopped “putting her face on.”

She. Whoever she was.

I heard it often, so she was lots of women over the years.

I never thought about it much back then, like so many things floating in that secondhand smoke.

But I sure as shit am thinking about it now.

And I’m thinking, “How wonderful!”

How wonderful that she let herself go.

How wonderful that millions and millions of “she’s,” millions and millions of us, are letting ourselves go.

Letting go of all the striving to please, the living for everyone else, the rule-following, and conforming.

How wonderful that we are letting go of that ball of fear lodged in the pit of our stomachs.

And how wonderful that in the letting go, we welcome the gift of gray hairs and wrinkles and saggy boobs.

How wonderful that we welcome the gift of walking through our dark time, whatever it might have looked like. And that in the walking through, we came out the other side and found we can finally breathe.

I’m breathing now.

I’m breathing deep, beautiful breaths, flooding into all the newfound space in my lungs.

Because I choose to let myself go.

Again and again and again.

A softer world. A softer me.

My old home was a Butte, my new one, a Dale.

The Merriam-Webster dictionary defines a butte as “an isolated hill or mountain rising abruptly above the surrounding land.” A dale, on the other hand, is “a broad valley or an area of lowland between hills or mountains.”

Oh the delight! The perfect metaphor for where I’ve been and where I’ve landed, kindly offered by a generous, playful universe.

The Butte, my old home, is defined by its awe-inspiring, rugged mountain landscape. It’s a landscape so stunning that it constantly draws the gaze into the distance.

Because those mountains cannot be ignored. They demand attention. And they elicit reverence.

They also demand—and elicit—strength and youth, even from the middle-aged and elderly.

So it makes sense that the community that chooses to meet that challenge is as awe-inspiring and rugged as the landscape it calls home. It’s a community defined by youth, fitness, courage, and playfulness.

And, inevitably, masculinity.

The Butte and all its fierceness was the right place for me then.

But my grand adventure changed me, and it’s no longer the right place for me now. I no longer want to be Kate Winslet leaning wildly into the cold mountain winds.

Now, happily settled into The Dale, I am content to burrow into the warm embrace of my new world—and content to unfurl into a trust and softness that was once foreign but now feels like home.

Unlike The Butte, The Dale is defined by its wide, welcoming valley, and by the generous river that is its lifeblood. It’s a softer landscape, more receptive and abundant than rugged and demanding. So it makes sense that the community that chooses this place is as generous and welcoming as the valley it calls home.

My new community has welcomed me with open arms, unsolicited hugs and unexpected kindness.

I felt it from the moment I landed here, gratefully accepting vegetable seeds and cooking advice from my new neighbor, and equally gratefully saying yes again and again to the best hugs ever from the barista at my new favorite coffee shop.

I feel it in my tribe of dancing women, so free with their hugs, shared tears and shared joys.

I feel it in the writer’s group at my local library, the one that gave me the kindest of welcomes and continues to hold and support me through the writing of this memoir.

I feel it at my volunteer position with the local seniors, and from new friends who continue to surprise me with their willingness to skip the small talk and go deep right from the first hello.

This human ecosystem mirrors the natural ecosystem’s exuberant, generous celebration of life. It’s a community that dances and paints, makes music and celebrates the earth and its gifts.

Any community that celebrates the glorious dandelion with a whole day of music, art, and gardening is a community that wins my heart. A community that won my heart.

As I look out my window at the little valley where Blue Sky Ranch is nestled, I can’t help but marvel at the lush creep and crawl of the shrub oaks, Cottonwoods, Aspens, and chokecherries. The deep, vibrant green of it takes my breath away. As does its abundance and generosity.

I am awed to learn just how vibrant a vegetable garden can be! Who knew a squash plant could grow to three feet tall? And who knew that little hidden brooks can offer nutritious wild watercress, there for the grateful taking?

All the teeming life around me seems to sink roots into the fertile soil, rise up in endless irrepressible green, and unfurl with ease into the highest expression of itself.

Including me.

Rather than staring awestruck at the mountains in the distance, I now find my gaze drawn in close, and find myself in a more intimate relationship with my world.

I notice simple moments of form, color, and light that fill me with a much gentler kind of awe. Maybe love is a better word for it.

And I notice simple moments of beauty in people, too. Simple moments of connection that fill me with the same gentle awe, the same love by another name.

My reverence for The Butte’s wild landscape has given way to this more intimate relationship. Where the Butte elicits reverence, this new world invites intimacy and reciprocity. It invites a shift from an outward gaze to an inward one, from the obvious and the brazen to the subtle and the gentle—a shift from a more masculine way of being in the world to a more feminine one.

It’s the perfect container for the self-discovery, the growing up, and the healing that I continue to welcome with open arms.

Here in the Dale, I am safe and held, and in that safety and holding, I am soft in ways I have never been before.

I am no longer the youthful, brash, outspoken, opinionated human I was.

I am now contentedly middle-aged. I know myself, I forgive myself, and I quietly go about enjoying the hell out of my beautiful, messy, perfect, and oh-so-imperfect life.

Portrait of the artist as a middle-aged woman

You can pray at the altar of youth if you insist.
But I won't join you there.
I will get down on my knees every day
and give thanks for the gifts of this soft aging.

I built my roots
from the hard-earned bricks
of every painful seeing,
and from their solid weight,
knowing exactly what I am,
I rise up taller than I have ever been.

My hair grows wild enough
to let all my beautiful notes 
make their cozy nests,
and my arms spread wide,
cherishing all that I’ll never know.

If you’re new here, welcome!

However you made your way here, I’m grateful you found me and happy to have you pop into my little world, whether it’s for a brief visit or a longer hangout around my campfire.

Accidental Alchemy is a serial memoir, so if you’re curious and have the time, I recommend starting with the Prologue and reading chapters in order for the full experience. You can access all chapters on my Substack homepage.

For the best reading experience, I recommend reading in a browser and on a larger screen. It makes it easier to enjoy the art and navigate through the chapters with the buttons at the bottom of each post.

If you’re enjoying this memoir, please share with someone you love!

PS.. All art and poetry included in this memoir are my own unless I specifically credit another author or artist.