The summer heat has recently presented itself unexpectedly. I could have sworn I still had another few weeks of spring showers to be able to wear a sweater or a shirt that doesn’t show the pigment of my skin or the hairs on my arms.
Everyone seems excited about the summer heat, or for summer in general. It is nice to be able to have long days. To have a barbecue and have a campfire. To see people you normally wouldn't have in the cold and rainy seasons. Those are all the things I do love about the summer season, plus the fruit and corn I can eat. Not to mention the food at the summer fairs, but those are all temporary.
The thing I fear the most is the thing that mobilizes my experience in life. My body.
My body hates the heat, which seems that that is all that summer can provide. I would have to wear fewer layers or sweat profusely in those layers. I do not believe the sweat and the smell that comes with it would be very pleasant for others. I also do not believe it is very pleasant to take layer upon layer off to feel that I can breathe in the summer heat. I do not like exposing the way my leg hair is formed on my body. I do not want to show the unwanted tattoos on my body, the stretch marks that have found their home on me.
A reflection occurs at the thought of going to a beach, a place where the human flesh is transparent. A reminder of having the water and the sand touch your skin. Having the air touch it while others see it. I do not want to have to remind myself that I am wearing a shirt at the beach. That people question why I do not take it off. Well, in simplest form, I am not satisfied with my body. There is a history of thoughts and emotions that I would rather avoid if only I could escape the heat.
Escape the summer I despise.
Ice cream is the alleviation for the summer heat, but it is a curse for my body. I do not want to be reminded of the amount of ice cream I am able to devour.
The hair on the top of my head also seems to have a different experience in warmer weather. If I sweat then it decides to express the curls on it in its own desire, rather than the way it was combed. That is also a reminder of how annoying and difficult it has been trying to find a haircut I wanted. It is definitely another reminder of how I do not fit into the definition of beautiful.
I can avoid looking into a mirror, but others will see my hair, my skin, and my oily face in the presence of the sun. The universal star that I thought was here to provide its rays for harmony, rather than trauma. And with the longer days, the trauma in the heat of the summer seems like a true damnation. The fires of Hell truly are real.
So summer is not a situation I want to put myself in. What is worse is that I am in fear of a body that is generational. Something that was passed to me, a gift, is what I am terrified of. I am stuck in the eye of a hurricane with the thoughts.
Summer does not allow room for me to lean on the appreciation side for my body to the point of being truly ungrateful for what I have.
How do I live with that dual concept? How can something that torments me be transformed into self-love when the only thing I can see and feel is the trauma that has festered?
