The story of the green bikini

I hosted a transplant support group last night, and one of the comments made during this group reminded me of a story.

7 months post transplant, I was attending this work event for what would become my life’s work but at the time I didn’t know that, and I took this call from the hotter in our hotel room. I’m not sure what kind of audacity I possessed at the time (I’d love to say it was the lasting effects of the anesthesia but more than that I hope it was the real me blooming, high on life, unburdened by the idea of who others expected her to be, because near death experiences have a way of doing that to a person). I had a picc line in my arm, with over half my arm wrapped in bandages. My massive scar, now healed and settled, was still giant and purple and lumpy in some spots.

So I answered this call in my green bikini, from a hot tub, and I remember swimming to the edge of the tub (one handedly) every time I wanted to unmute myself. And I was having the time of my life. Like I got out of that call, went over and jumped on the bed, having the best time of my life.

In recalling that story, I remember a few things. I brought up the story initially to prove the point of it doesn’t matter how you show up. See, it doesn’t matter, I showed up to a zoom group in a hot tub. Come wearing a unicorn horn, a tiara, join from your car or your office or your home, just come. All of you belongs here.

And in the telling of this story, I remembered so vividly that girl. I look at her with so much fondness and love. I think the farther I’ve gotten from that moment, the more I’ve taken on other people’s expectations and perceptions of me. I’ve minimized my sparkle to keep others comfortable, I’ve played small in order to fit in. I’ve been known to pretend to understand highly scientific conversations I actually don’t give a shit about, to not speak up when I know I should (which I end up paying for. I heard on a podcast someone say when your external actions don’t match your internal truth, your body will physically hurt at the incongruence). It’s easier to identify with pain than power, isn’t it? We’re trained from day 1. We practice co-disregulation often (collective gossip, complaining about our circumstances and having someone else join in…)

Every so often I circle back around to this very point. Wouldn’t it be handy if there were a 10 step guide to embodying your deepest power? (When I write it I’ll let you know!)

I will tell you, today, I’m taking note of where I’ve strayed off the path. Where I’ve acted out of alignment with my truest desires. Where I’ve chosen to side with my pain over my power. And, because my favourite way to really tap into something is to embody it, I can tell you the green bikini made an appearance today.

It’s a reminder to embody my power, to stop caring so much about what other people think and fitting in and being the good girl, and to take up some damn space!