I'm starting to feel comfortable in my own skin. Being me.
My daughter, still a child, was born and remains that way. At ease.
For me, its like this:
It's like wearing slightly a worn fleece. Or that comfy green-hooded sweatshirt. The one with the frayed sleeve bottoms of disintegrating threads. With the big middle pocket, that I could slip my hands into. And stretch.
My skin feels liquid and begins to loosen. A stretchy material. It doesn't hurt. It's just what happens.
I disrobe. Step out.
It slides and slips off my body.
And then its sitting in a heap on the floor at my feet. Like a rubberized Halloween costume, discarded after the party.
It's very very quiet.
Left underneath is the same me.
And that's how I know.