Hiya Pinkies,

Lissa here with some reflections on the concept upon which Owning Pink was originally conceived. Remember back when this was all about just owning our girlytude? Though our community has evolved into something far, far greater – a place where we are free to be precisely who we are and hold space for others to do the same – it all started as an invitation to OWN the parts of ourselves that make us uniquely female (and, as such, powerful beyond imagine).

Frankly, I revel in the fact that I was born a woman. As a baby girl, I got to wear frilly tutu confections and pink head frosting. As a toddler, I wrapped baby dolls in blankets and held them tight to my chest so they could nurse from my breasts, just like my mother did with my baby brother. As a young girl, I pranced like a princess, pirouetted on tippie toe, and painted rainbows and unicorns in pastel purples, teal green, sunshine yellow, and carnation pink. I donned tiaras and twirled batons and collected china dolls with porcelain faces and rosebud lips. I curled my hair with pin curls, took hula dancing lessons, and wore panties with ruffles.

Growing into my teen years, I toned down my prissyness a wee bit, just to be cool- but I doubt I fooled anyone. Princess costumes made way for pointe shoes, singing at the top of my lungs in high school musicals, and wrist corsages adorning hoop skirt prom dresses. As I got older, my unique femininity evolved. Cancan dancing with my girlfriends to the tunes of Grease trained me well for sashaying my hips to salsa music while wearing a white silk bridal gown and delicate veil. Sitting around campfire circles with my karmic sisters led to giggles and grins and glorious tales of girlness.

Later, when my body flourished with the ultimate face of femininity, round and curvy with a baby moving inside of me, I came to experience the female experience as something even deeper than tutus and pastels and prom dresses. As a soon-to-be-mother, you learn to appreciate your body for the vessel that it is, the pleuripotential creator of all life. Then, as the mother of a daughter, the whole cycle begins anew, and I revel in the girlytude of my little one, who spins and twirls and wants me to curl her hair and paint her toenails. It’s enough to make me deeply appreciate the divine feminine within me and within all women. I find myself bowing deeply to the sacred Goddess I know I am, deep in the heart of me.

So when I find myself cursing my vagina, complaining about menstrual blood, bitching about stretch marks, or otherwise dissing my gender, I remind myself that it’s all part of the female package, that you can’t cherry pick what it means to be a woman. You have to take the whole kit and kaboodle. And that’s just the beginning.

When I teach workshops about Owning Sexuality, we often talk about what it means to truly own your body and your sexual self. One woman, who is married with three kids, said she realized that she needed to take responsibility for her sexuality, rather than expecting her partner to read her mind and meet all of her needs. Rather than lashing out at her husband because he wasn’t making her feel loved and nurtured enough, she needed to love and nurture herself first. Another woman said that she has spent her whole life hating her femininity, bad-mouthing her yoni, and wishing she had been born male. Then she wondered why her sense of self suffered. By learning to reclaim her feminine self, she was able to step more fully into the beautiful being she is.

If you’re one of those women who has work to do in order to appreciate being feminine, let us all hold out our arms in Pink sisterhood and invite you to open yourself to the blooming flower that you are. Only when we embrace all aspects of ourselves can we be truly whole.

Own it, sister!

Yours in Pink love,

Lissa