Between the sheets

Yours, Carolina - 7 Jan 17

This morning I am sitting up in bed writing to you, dear reader, completely naked. It is not my usual practice to write in this manner, usually I am at least wearing some sort of night attire. I am normally so keen to get writing that washing and dressing is something I do after I’ve scratched this writing itch. This morning though, in gay abandon, I’m not wearing a thing. And it feels great.

I’m not normally one for sleeping in the nip, I have too many cosy pairs of pyjamas and not enough significant others to warrant it. There’s no Alejandro taking me to bed before watershed TV has even started for an early night, sadly. But, I was thinking, should this state of affairs mean I shouldn’t get naked by myself if I wanted to, just because it feels nice?

In essence, what I’m addressing here is sexuality when there’s no sex. Is it important for us to maintain a healthy relationship with our selves, and yes, our bodies, if it’s just for our eyes only?

This morning I woke up feeling the soft duvet cupping my naked self. It felt nice, unusual and sensual. I don’t mean I was feeling anything untoward, I’m not going there today, so don’t worry! But I mean I felt relaxed and at one with myself. I wasn’t swaddled in nice but dehumanising pyjamas, I was all free. Nerve endings touching Egyptian cotton, hair touching skin. Free. Back to basics.

I am not shy around my house, I quite often walk around without clothes on. My children point at my breasts and think they are so funny. They ask questions about the place where my winkle should be, and I patiently explain that girls don’t have a winkle. I feel the body is not something to be ashamed of. It’s natural, like breast feeding. Not something to be hidden. I’m not blatant about it, it’s only when I’m getting dressed or washed, but I think it’s important not to hide nakedness away from children. After all, there’s nothing wrong about it. It’s our bodies, and our bodies are what we come into the world with. There should not be any shame.

There will be embarrassment at some point as my boys get to teenage years, but I still feel I want them to feel comfortable with what they have. Because it’s pretty special. The body needs to be looked after and loved. Appreciated. Our biggest organ, the skin, spends most of it’s time covered up. Does that mean we loose touch with our environment, our basic intentions? Are we less grounded as people if we don’t rush to cover up, for fear of ridicule or painful shamefacedness?

I’m not for one second suggesting that I would feel comfortable inviting good friends round and answering the door in the altogether, that would be ridiculous. I am merely addressing our personal relationship with our body. Because if we feel comfortable with our bodies on this level, surely that translates to other parts of our lives. Gives us a roundedness. And I’m not talking arses here.

To be comfortable with our naked selves is a big ask. How many of us stand in front of a mirror and like what we see? How many of us criticise our naked forms? Breathing bits in, imagining away some bit we don’t like. Some of you reading this may go as far as to never really look at your body, it may be too difficult.
You bypass what you are when it comes down to it by throwing on clothes. Anything just to cover up. To not have to see. Whether it be shame, or years of feeling it’s not what it once was. Or maybe you’ve forgotten how to love what you have.

We idolise celebrities for their perfect bodies. But really, this isn’t the real world. I was watching an interview with Justin Bieber who was talking about preparing for his advertising shoot with Calvin Klein. Now he is pretty buff, and young (which is always an advantage as things are where they should be). But I was surprised to hear that he had worked out for months and stopped eating carbs just for that one shoot. That’s pretty sad. Because he’s already hot. He is young and has a great body. He’s a hard working singer and shouldn’t need to worry about putting on a few extra pounds. The whole of him is what is important, not the unachievable, the unsustainable.

I do believe that being comfortable with your body has much to do with how your parents were about this issue, and how that trickled down to you. I remember my Mother’s shock and horror when I calmly told her aged six that I’d forgotten to put any knickers on that morning. What? How? Panic ensued. It’s just a pair of pants Mother, it’s no biggie. Just a tiny bit of material covering my bits. Hardly worth bothering with some underwear out there, but it makes us all feel better, if our private bits are carefully stowed away. Nice and safe. My mum went into a mission of mercy to secure me a pair of pants that would redress this most heinous of crimes, and I looked on rather amused.

My parents were not the sort to walk around with it all hanging out. So growing up, I had no idea what the male part looked like at all. I’d look at statues of Greek gods with their strange sprouting phalluses and not quite believe that was under men’s trousers. Michelangelo didn’t sculpt the male member very accurately, it was not erect, it was a strange cauliflower of a thing. All very confusing to a twelve year old eager for information.

Our relationship with our body is important. Self worth is bound up in it. If we like, or love what we see in the mirror that’s a great thing. Because it gives us a sense of worth. If we like, or love the way sheets feel on our naked bodies it’s the same thing. We’re giving ourselves that feeling that it’s ok. We’re ok to be naked and free and uninhibited. We are alone, what does it matter? A little circumspect around children, but they need to see how comfortable the parent is with their god given body. The vehicle that takes us through life. The thing that might break down. Giving it a good health check is important. Feeding it good food, taking it for walks, dressing it with love. These are all important things. What I think is wrong is hiding it away.

I have always taken after my Father with my genetics. The less said about the nose the better. But my limbs were always gangly and as children my brother and I didn’t have a spare inch of fat on our bones. We were lean.

Having children dramatically changed my relationship with my body. The whole process is one of wonder. I watched my 30 something body do all these things it had never done before. The magic growing within pushing my belly out, swelling it to such an extent it felt like it would pop. The strange alien shape my bump would make when I got out of the bath. All of it marvellous. But all of it body-changing. My body was never the same again. A big angry scar marks the spot of my two emergency caesarean sections. An overhang where the muscles were severed and will never find themselves once again.

In all this change I was at a complete loss what to do with my body. It’s function had changed. It was now all about survival of my baby. A function that carried on for a year after giving birth. I dressed, as I notice many women do, in loose baggy, mainly black clothes. Hiding away what felt like my ravaged and changed body. It was in flux. So many bras, crazy big maternity ones, then ever decreasing sizes of cups until a normality descended. I eventually returned to my original 34B, but in the interim I was in limbo with my relationship with this thing that had spawned two beautiful children. I felt like my role as a woman had changed. I was no longer desirable and sexy, I was a machine to keep a baby alive. A warm place to comfort my crying baby. I was no longer a sexual entity. Now, I was a Mother. And I dressed this Mother, hurriedly, not glancing in the mirror if I could help it. I covered it efficiently and when necessary wore Spanx.

But I had lost myself. With my change of roles I had no connection to myself, only my purpose.

Given the course of time, and weight loss I began to enjoy and reassociate with my body again. I bought it nice clothes. Perfume. Jewellery. I took it on nights out and showed it off. I was back. I felt like me again. The weight had felt all wrong, being in a default physical position was coming home. Comfortable.

I am wary about weight ever since, for the simple fact of how it changed my relationship with myself. I didn’t know who I was a different size. I didn’t know what to do with my body.

I am wary too about installing good relationships with my children about their bodies. It’s something to respect, look after, not be ashamed of. Why should you be ashamed of it? It’s your body. Wobbly bits, saggy bits, missing bits, lovely bits. I always liked my forearms, odd thing to like, but there was something about their slenderness and femininity I liked.

I believe that jewellery should be employed carefully on the body to highlight the bits you like most. Whether it’s the elegance of your neck with pretty earrings, or your long dextrous fingers with a sparkly ring. I typically don’t wear lots of jewellery, I’m quite shy about it. Which in turn, tells you that I’m quite shy about my sense of self. I don’t always feel that I’m worthy of shouting about myself with a noisy necklace. But when I dress up I can wear the loudest, most outrageous clothes and I don’t care. I love to dress up and make the most of what I have. It’s a celebration each time I go for dinner, or parties. I have fun. I always have. Except in The Childbirth Years. But underlying all that, is my delicate jewellery, the sign that I’m not an out and out extrovert, I’m cautious about my presence.

And so I return to me, unclothed. And although I’m no Taylor Swift in my mirror reflection, I do like what I see. And more important than that, I like how I feel about myself. I am comfortable with myself. I know how to dress this body. How to make my legs look longer. I dress for comfort with a hint of sexiness. That’s my look.

So dear reader, I hope you can enjoy the feeling of freshly washed sheets on your bare skin. That feeling when you first get in bed and breathe deeply because it feels so wonderful. Enjoying and connecting to the whole of who you are. You’re more than a Mother or Father or Lover or Friend or Employee or whatever you feel defines you. You are you, naked in all ways, feeling comfortable with your total nakedness in all aspects of your life. And that is wonderful.
To yourself there’s no need to be guarded! Let it all out, enjoy it! Dress it in pretty underwear. Let’s celebrate what we have, then chances are, that other people will then see that in us too.

Yours, Carolina

Yours, Carolina

Writer and aspiring novelist who loves Jaffa Cakes, Michael Buble, Colin Firth, Audrey Hepburn, dramatic eyeliner and laughing until it hurts. Has children, which is nice. Once drank a whole bottle of tabasco sauce for a bet. Childhood crushes included Poncherello from Chips, Monkey (from Monkey Magic), Mr Claypole from Rentaghost and both of the Dukes of Hazzard boys. Doesn't like noodles.

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