You know you have a problem when you start shopping for dresses online and you realize at check out the one you chose after hours of randomly filling carts turns out to be a bathrobe. I mean is that a problem though. No question mark is needed. I have been having this strange dislike of clothing and how it feels. Like a total irritability associated with clothing and wearing it. I stood in the shower a few nights ago just letting the water hit my back as I stared at my knees. I thought about how this fucking body has gotten me through life and brought two into the world. It carries me around always doing what I choose, never getting a say, and always having to partake. It keeps me present, visible, and capable of carrying out the things I was intended to do, and yet here I am talking shit to it all the time. Pretty terrible of me. So I changed my routine and my approach. I decided to try and do intentional things for my body and acknowledge that I am doing so out of thanks and appreciation. I imagine if I criticized someone the way I do myself the first time I look in the mirror. What if I said negative things to those I love as soon as I saw their face? Fucking terrible. The following morning cinnamon rolls were in the oven, I was cold, and opted to open the oven and feel the warmth as opposed to walking to the coat rack and grabbing my usual go-to sweater. When the oven opened a burst of warm air hit me like a thick tangible breath and my skin glowed light orange in the lighting of the oven. One by one goosebumps began to appear starting at my wrist and working their way up to my shoulder. I know most people would be like what the actual fuck are you even talking about, and I get that view they have, but I also understand mine. I have mentioned before how I get tied up in the intricacies of life. Things if I were to overlook, perhaps I would get the floors cleaned in less time, but would not enjoy the process as much. I got lost in how amazing it was just to feel the heat, to be able to see my skin change and differentiate where the color of the lighting hit my body and where it ended. So I stood there and I just breathed for a while appreciating the space I occupy. The one others instantly recognize as mom, friend, daughter, lover, and the one I sometimes feel trapped in and feel an alliance with those who see the same space, recognize, and associate with something negative. What the hell am I doing on this side with them? 

After recently discovering one of my favorite stores to walk around and touch everything for hours was still open, I became the new owner of yet another bathrobe. Every handful of years I go through my robe collection and part ways. I have to put them in a bag with all of my other items to be donated and drop them off the same day. If they sit in my garage or the back of my car, I will inevitably lie in bed at night, go through the bag in my mind piece by piece, and then open the bag the next day and remove over half of the items. I still remember some things I have gotten rid of that I miss dearly. However, when my eyes meet the soft fabric of a new love, I forget them and give thanks I have space in my closet. I often explain to people, when I know, I know. Within a few seconds of hearing a song for the first time, oftentimes before the lyrics even begin, I can tell you I am in love with the song. Same with food, wine, animals, and people. Not in any particular order though ish. Anyway, I saw this robe and I walked around with it for a bit debating if I wanted it. I stopped in front of multiple mirrors, pulled my hair to the side, and placed the wooden hanger just under my chin and against my chest imagining myself walking barefoot in the house in it. What does this look like in the morning light, what will this look like in the evening, how will this print make me feel, etc? I knew because of my questioning it was not for me so I placed it back, and walked away. As I turned around to move on to the next brain-pleaser, I saw this beautiful robe I had not seen while looking around earlier, and I just fucking knew. I picked it up and began to look over it closely, noting the birds and hydrangeas perfectly blended into the design and my heart smiled. I love that kind of certainty. I did not ask myself what I would feel when I was wearing it, I knew. I already imagined the scent it would absorb with a week’s worth of wearing it after a shower. How it would hang near my closet and tease me to undress. How the fabric would feel clean and cold and the colors would make me feel delicate and feminine. Amazing how there are things scattered throughout this world as insignificant as a bathrobe that tell me a story and create a feeling. Imagine if I found that in myself. Imagine if I were to give that to others. 

I have been turning inward a lot lately, asking myself what the fuck I am doing on most days, and what the fuck we are supposed to be doing? How so many things do not make sense and yet life goes on. Often I end up just saying, aight, Britt, just sit with this. Just let it be. Get that fucking bathrobe on and breathe. That is exactly what I do while I appreciate that I have the luxury of indulging my spirituality in a safe place and the ability to express myself as well. My whole day and life is not this heavy poetic existence. Most of the time I am cracking wise-ass jokes, making up some song for my dogs or sons, pulling some effortless prank, and poking fun, but inside of me these thoughts and feelings are always present. I take things very seriously and almost always to heart. I love very intentionally and I imagine other’s lives while thinking of how important they are and how I appreciate the space they occupy. How lucky I am to be alive, to have the opportunities I do, and people around me to teach me things I do not understand. That I have friends I look up to and people I aspire to be more like. That silence is a goal of mine and not a state I cannot leave. I especially think I am lucky to take a day with my sons to Spring clean the house and hear them giggle as we close the blinds to begin cleaning them only for them to wait for me to see the male anatomy they drew in the dust some time ago and when the sun set last week, and the porch light hit the front door hatch window just right, I noticed the same familiar shape. When I work out and stretch and the lady tells me not to let anything or anyone trying to get my attention get it, I have one dog lick the sole of my foot and the other sticks his tongue in my ear. I giggle, open my eyes, and see the sunlight shining into Eli’s copper eyes as he sits in front of me and just stares at me with so much love, support, and adoration. I am fucking lucky. I have friends who share the truth of what is behind their doors and the reality that is life, the suffering we all endure in one way or another. I have a world that is constantly affirming my existence and saying everything is ok in the most gentle of ways. Including this bathrobe that has offered so much peace as I slip it on and wonder where the fuck else these kids drew penises.