Guest post by Anna Guest-Jelley for Oh, these Wild Women: Stories from the tribe
The word feminine always made me shudder. Whenever I heard someone talk about it, I’d roll my eyes (I’d like to think subtly, but probably not) and inwardly groan. “Here we go again…,” I’d think, preparing myself for an excruciating conversation about pink, pom-poms, cosmos, shopping and domesticity.
As someone who considers herself well-informed, you’d think I’d know better.
Cutting My Teeth
I found my way to feminism in high school. Of all things, I read The Feminine Mystique by Betty Friedan and got converted (not quite sure how I, as a teen in the ’90s, related to the plight of ’50s housewives, but whatev). I remember telling my parents that I wanted to join the National Organization for Women (NOW).
I’ll never forget the look of horror on their faces. My dad gave me one, adamant answer: “No.”
As you may be guessing, this just made me want to be a feminist more than anything. So I set about learning more, founding an org with my friends in college and then getting into my “hardcore” days in graduate school and beyond. During those heady days, I ate, slept and breathed feminism – logging 10-20 hours of activist work on top of full-time school and four part-time jobs. I didn’t mind, though, at least theoretically; I was passionate and excited to work for change.
I’d say my general state of being at that time was one of continual righteous indignation. (I’m fortunate many of my friends still speak to me after how many emails I forwarded them about the latest outrage.)
Burning Out
Unsurprisingly, I suppose, I burned out on this pace and approach after awhile. I was tired of always feeling angry. And disappointed. And frustrated. And sick.
Yep, sick. I ran myself ragged. This isn’t attributable to feminism, but it is attributable to overdoing it and being out of touch with my body. Nothing I learned from my activist pals addressed self-care or burn-out, so I assumed I was a failure and quietly moved on.
I didn’t consider myself any less a feminist, but I thought there had to be a better way than sacrificing my own health and well-being. I knew that for me, ever the over-committed, overachiever, that I needed another path – one that would allow me to integrate my body and beliefs.
Enter the Feminine
About ten years later (read: recently), I started to learn more about the feminine – not the gender stereotype that we’ve cooked up in our culture that I’d reacted against, but the innate energy. I came to this info via learning more about the pelvic floor. As a yoga teacher, this is a surprisingly common topic of conversation, so I figured I’d better investigate.
A friend introduced me to the work of Marion Woodman, which I devoured in a hot second. That led me to connecting with Leslie Howard, who teaches yoga for the pelvic floor. And from there, I got to Tami Lynn Kent’s book, Wild Feminine.
And holy cow, they all talk about embodiment — in other words, living in our bodies. Not rejecting the political, but also not rejecting our bodies.
Whoulda thunk it.
Where the Feminine Meets Feminism
As a yoga teacher, I’m all about embodiment. As a curvy yoga teacher whose focus is on introducing folks of all shapes and sizes to yoga, I think it’s the whole enchilada. Living in our bodies becomes a fulcrum for expanded self-care and a path toward loving our bodies.
But embodiment as a feminist practice? Hmm…I wasn’t sure. Back in my feminist heyday, we talked all about bodies — but they were political, not something to get grounded in. That’s what made it really hard to hear anything about the feminine until recently — and ultimately what made it more liberating.
It became freeing when I remembered one of my favorite things about my activist days – calling myself a radical. Not that stereotypical radical, but a true dictionary definition kind – someone who gets to the root of an issue like gender inequity. Because what is our pelvic floor often referred to? Our root – our core essence.
Pretty radical, right?
Coming Home to My Body
These days, I’m finding embodiment to be the pinnacle of feminism. From this grounded place, I’m able to find a pathway into both my own body and the world. It makes my priorities clearer and enhances my advocacy — for both myself and others.
If educating women to first come home to themselves and then, from that place of confidence and rootedness, move into the world and speak up for what they believe in isn’t feminist, I don’t know what is.
So now I wear my feminine feminist badge with pride (mouthful though it is). No pom-poms required (but welcomed if that’s your thing).
Anna Guest-Jelley is the Founder of Curvy Yoga, where she writes and teaches about yoga and embodiment as the foundations of a live well-lived (and body well-loved).
She is also the co-teacher of 30 Days of Curvy Yoga, a course on crafting a yoga practice for your unique body and needs. Connect with her on Facebook and Twitter.
