Category: woman

Unless You’re a Stalker

Alice LundyLeave a comment

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Tell us the dress is beautiful—because we’re wearing it. Remind us of our brilliance and our brains. Help us embrace our femininity. Please, men who love us, don’t diminish us.

We’re emotionally attuned to taste your pride or bitterness the way a wine connoisseur detects tannins. The sweetness of your words melts us like ice cream on a tongue. Please, be sweet. Strong, but sweet.

If you will, try to remember that every day we’re told our hair shouldn’t be the color it is, our bodies (even the beautiful ones) could use a little work—at the gym or the plastic surgeon. Or just whitening the teeth, or hey, maybe a little tuck.

If we do it, we’re vain and must deny. If we don’t at least invest in minimal beauty tools, techniques and procedures, we become something less in your eyes. Yet, we can’t help but see you light up when we enter the room polished and pretty.

Admittedly, we women also love to ogle our well put together men. And yes, we mean your physique, too.

But, somehow it seems from this side of the line—which is now quite blurred, but anyhow—life’s invitation to men reads, “Come as you are.” Women’s invitations suggest, “If you could look just a bit better, that would help.”

Listen, after the party’s swinging, the cheap guy chases the plastic girl and the deep characters find one another. Yet, it often starts with someone saying, “You look beautiful tonight.” (Sometimes it’s me, saying it to myself in the mirror.)

The words are about more than looks. When a man says and means it, like that, she feels it. SHE SHINES.

It doesn’t matter if they just met or have been married thirty years. Women don’t tire of sincere compliments. Unless you’re a stalker. So, don’t be a stalker.

Just know, if we look beautiful, we earned it, even if by just being a woman. Still, it’s the owning our beauty that challenges us.

Blah, blah. This is coming off as women are victims, isn’t it? Yes, we’re victims of a beauty industry that we keep ultra-profitable. We’re victims of our own duplicity, wanting to go without mascara or let our hair go gray, but not daring, because what would they say? Not that we care, but then we do.

The truth is we strive to look good so we feel good. Ugly is a feeling we women swerve to avoid.

But, my man looking at me like I’m hot and respecting my ideas, too? Yeah, I can walk that runway. All night long.

Exercise from Danielle LaPorte

Alice LundyLeave a comment

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I TRUST: my own truth and authenticity. I trust I was born to be a writer and live in love. I trust in sunshine, nature & being by the ocean. I trust in the stretch—physical & emotional. I trust God’s got my back and my sister loves me unconditionally. I trust my dog has a whole lot of God in her & was sent to be mine. I trust in stories, poems, songs & music. I trust in mornings and full moons. I trust my gut, instincts, and guides. I trust my ability to know & be ok when I don’t. I trust in prayer, the spiritual gulfstream & angels. I trust in the unseen as much as the seen. I trust in the magic & the mystery. I trust in deep listening & friendship—male friends and girlfriends, secrets, laughter, & understanding. I trust in my ability to let go & grow. I trust in saying goodbye & especially hello. I trust in my words flowing and my path unfolding.

Having a Friend in Witness Protection

Alice LundyLeave a comment

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I have a friend who says our circle of friends is like family to her. Yet, she keeps parts of her life, like if she’s dating someone or whose car is parked in her driveway, private. Are you kidding me? We’re girlfriends! If we can’t tell each other about the men, mess and mistakes, who can we tell?

I try to tell myself, “That’s just Janet.” I’ll call her Janet because she’d be horrified if I exposed her actual first name (which is as common as Janet), the same way she freaks out if anyone tries to take her picture.

If you ever did and put it on Facebook (which she’s not on), that would be a serious breach of boundaries. So, I doubt she knows that once her picture—taken with another friend and a koala bear when we all went to Australia—was up on Facebook for 24 hours. It’s not like she was tagged or anything, but she would’ve considered that exposure beyond bad.

I try not to push Janet because she’s truly my friend in a step up, be there, invited to our family gatherings, damn, I know how much she cares about me, and more importantly, my sister way. They were friends first and Janet acted as a sister to Jayne (my sister’s real name) throughout her painful journey into widowhood.

Maybe Janet’s in the witness protection program. That’s ridiculous because she and my sister have worked together and been friends for at least a decade, sharing that same circle of friends Janet claims are like family. So, I have to let the idea that she’s in witness protection go.

It’s unfortunate because that idea makes it easier for me to forgive Janet for hiding behind her fortress of it’s none of our damn business if she’s seeing someone or gets a promotions or if her dog dies, which it did a few years back, but Janet considered that her private pain.

Janet will tell us everything about work and talk about sports and…well, that’s mostly what we’re privy to. No religion, although I know Janet’s Catholic and attends regularly.

No politics. I agree we probably disagree, but I consider politics to be societal issues and all of us to be mature, compassionate, intelligent women. We’re in our fifties, for God’s sakes!

Janet doesn’t go to movies that might make her cry. She holds her emotions in like tears are a form of terrorism.

But, a few weeks back when her other dog was lost and I came to help her look, she fell into my arms and cried big, sloppy tears. I love my dog with that intensity, so I get it. I wonder if Janet knows, although it hurt to see her in pain in that moment, I felt honored she exposed her humanity. The dog was found and Janet’s walls resurrected.

I used to be private like that. I kept my personal pain protected. I didn’t trust people not to judge me or still honor me if I wasn’t my happy-girl identity.

Fortunately for me, everything broke—my heart, soul, illusions of security, and wishes for financial stability. I lost it all and found myself. I didn’t find myself hiding my pain and tears behind closed doors as I’d done for decades.

Yet, I’m not saying my way should be Janet’s. I survived the darkest depths because friends and family pulled me out of life’s water when I was drowning. They helped me in unimagined ways that humbled me and allowed me to accept my vulnerability. In years past, I might’ve been tempted to say, “Me? No, I’m not drowning; I’m swimming!” Finally, I was so helpless I accepted help.

I do not wish that situation on Janet. I do wish she knew that we women, her friends, will never judge her for her mistakes, fears, insecurities, or failures. We’re old enough to know our best intentions can sometimes land us on our ass.

I wish Janet knew how much I wish I knew her better—the real her, all of her. I wish she knew how cleansing and healing tears can be and the connection that comes from shared vulnerability. I wish she knew if it was up to me, I’d bulldoze her damn walls and plant a garden with flowers just for her.

Janet doesn’t ask me. When I ask her anything beyond her safe zone, she makes it clear in her eyes and tone, or cold silence, there’s a line we don’t cross. If it was just me, I’d understand, but others in our circle of “friends like family” feel the same.

Still, Janet loves us all. She’s shown up consistently in her words and actions. Lately, I’ve seen her dancing, both literally and with light in her eyes. It makes me wonder if she’s met someone. It makes me sad to think even her joy is private.

Because I love Janet and consider her a true friend in spite of the walls, I give her space. I tell myself, “That’s just Janet.” Besides, she’s in the witness protection program.

 

Warrior for Love

Alice LundyLeave a comment

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I’ve learned how to love a man by watching wise women. Mostly, they’ve learned the way we all do—life. Some of the best relationships I’ve seen are third-rounders by try-harders determined to get it right. Others are first-timers who acknowledge luck, serendipity, and stick-to-it-ness.

My best friend learned by leaving and slamming the door for a damn good reason on the only man she ever loved—then, opening it to find him and love again.

Women getting love right, I salute you. Women who found your ideal mate, no matter how many frogs you fell for along the way, well done. Those of you stacking up the decades and gluing them together with joy, hard work, and well-earned connection, impressive.

From you women warriors, my family and friends, I’ve learned we each choose what works for us, what we’re attracted to, and what we cannot or will not tolerate. For me, it’s nonchalance that I absolutely refuse to endure. It’s connection and intimacy that invite me stay beyond reason.

I’ve learned one can see an upsetting truth about one’s mate and set it aside for the sake of the relationship. That doesn’t mean you’re stupid (or smart), just your eyes are open.

I’ve learned you have to want to stay. You have to want to make it work. Yet, you cannot manufacture those desires any more than you can make magically appear the one with whom you’ll feel that way.

But, when you do, as long as he also wants to stay and make it work, anything can be a source of growth.

Wise women, you’ve shown me marriage is a balance between working on it and letting go, being true to yourself by speaking your mind—even when you may look like a bitch or a baby—and respecting with compassion that your mate comes from a different perspective.

Watching you gals, I’ve seen the variety of relationships and marriages and how each pair is an entity of its own personality, rules and character. Ideally, whatever the shape, it represents a synergy in which two individuals become better because of the presence of the other.

You’ve kept me believing in serendipity, and yes, even in my fifties, there’s someone wonderful for me. I shall do my best to apply lessons learned. I’m no longer a girl. I’m a woman, a warrior for love.

I Am a Woman

Alice LundyLeave a comment

 

Phoenix isn’t just a dog to me. She’s my baby. Maybe I wasn’t meant to have children. Or I was too scared or whatever. But, I am a woman. I’m carried by a feminine desire to nurture, care for and love. Phoenix is a sensitive soul in a black lab body. She teaches me how to love. When men push me away, Phoenix follows me like Ruth to Naomi: “Where you go, I go.” She gives me loyalty and devotion. I am her chosen one.

That’s what I want to be for a man. I’m nobody’s back-up anything. So buddy, you better back up. I don’t want to be anybody’s back-up wife, other woman, or just for fun.

Oh, I’m fun. And funny. And articulate. I can be stunningly beautiful — physically and spiritually.

I can touch you in places you didn’t even know existed.

I am a woman. A blessing. A gift.  If you don’t want to be open to that gift, not a problem. Move along, wish you well.

I’m not starving for affection, attention, or connection. Oh, I’ve walked down those roads; don’t get me wrong. I get that there are some things a man can do best.

However, not all. See, I know how to please myself. I’m perfectly capable of loving and nurturing myself. Anyone who thinks a woman can’t be happy without a man isn’t paying attention to all the women who are. Or has a dull grasp of the power of love from dogs, sisters, girlfriends and family, not to mention male friends. If you need back up, phone a friend.

By the way boys, men, if friendship isn’t your bottom line in hanging with me—as in honesty, intimacy and connection, which will require multiple conversations in addition to the romance and rocking sex, just keep walking because even if you send your best representative, there will come a day when I will walk away. So, why don’t you just save us both some time?

Gentlemen, I’m not 20 years old and you trying your plays, your ploys and your downright lies is downright insulting.

You know that women’s intuition exists.

I don’t have to prove it to you. I can see your false fronts as clearly as you can see a 14-year-old’s fibs. You standing there denying what I know to be true is as foolish as me telling my father in high school, after I drove into a pole and made a perfect indentation, “It must’ve been a hit and run.”

Just because I don’t say anything and you don’t think I have the proof I need doesn’t mean you got away with something. More like you let something special get away due to your disregard and disrespect.

Yeah, I get hurt, but I get up. I did not get up to get in the back of the line or to be your back-up girl. I got up to create a full and fulfilling life.

If you’re looking to be anything less than real, I’m real sorry, but you simply don’t qualify.

Maybe you could be my back-up boy or my boy toy, but while we’re playing and you think you’re the player, remember: I am a woman.