Your Bones Are Wet

Think about it. All your bones are wet, right now. It’s kind of uncomfortable at first because WET is one of those squishy words, but if you push past that initial discomfort it’s kind of beautiful. The whole inside of you is wet, actually, not just your bones; your inner ocean separated from the air by the boundary of your skin. Your bones are floating in the sea of your muscles and tendons and blood.

The last year has been a journey of rediscovering my body after my schooling taught me to disregard it as a distraction. It took my body hitting a crisis point for me to begin giving it my energy and intention again – a powerful (if painful) reminder that avoiding things does not make them disappear. The counterpoint to that pain was the pleasure I found in discovering Acro – learning the strength of my body as I trusted it to hold my flying partners, or to be held myself, listening to Yoni’s reminder that your skeleton is strong when it is stacked on itself, practicing and practicing and practicing until I could stand on my head with no other support.

Having a body can be hard. I struggle with mine, as a trans person, as a femme, as someone living with chronic anxiety and pain. I’m grateful for the healing journey that my past self embarked on, almost a year ago. I’m grateful to Ash, for inviting me to come play at Acro, and Yoni for his knowledge and facilitation. I’m grateful to Savannah for always modeling getting back up after falling down. I’m grateful for kale, and all the other foods that nourish me. I’m grateful for climbing and ice skating and dancing and vitamin D. And I’m especially grateful to my bones, for holding me up.

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Mel

Writing about the self in the third person makes Mel uncomfortable.

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