femininity

This is me without makeup, my face is washed out from the flash of a webcam and is completely naked. This is how I lived my life for many years and thought nothing of it. But then the ugly monster Comparison started working it's way into my brain. There were so many beautiful and mature-looking girls around me and I started to see myself as childish and boyish. I thought I had dodged the bullet of teenage angst because this self-loathing came much later than most girls experience. Thankfully, I am confident about other aspects that make me who I am to let it be too self-destructive.

However, those thoughts still creep in. In our society, being skinny is something people literally kill themselves over. I am naturally petite at 5 feet tall and 110 pounds. But damnit, if one more stranger remarks on how skinny I am, I may lose it. It's not a compliment to me. It makes me feel prepubescent and sickly looking. My breasts are tiny. My hips don't look like they could bear a child. People often look at my wedding ring and are shocked to find out that I'm old enough to be married. I fear leaving the house with no makeup on and in jeans and tennis shoes because I know the way I'll be treated. I often do not feel feminine and sexy. I have to make an effort to look like a woman.

I have turned to Victoria's Secret to help me feel sexy. I have bought countless items from their website including form-fitting clothes and padded bras. I want to cry every time I open that package from the mail and yet another size small outfit is too big. There's plenty of room left in the bust and shirts and dresses hang off of me. When I express this disappointment, most women roll their eyes at me and say, "Oh what I problem to have! You're thin and young looking." I just want to scream, "But I want to be curvy and sexy!"

This morning I read this wonderful blog post entitled "I'll feel sexy when..." Christine talks about the struggle of thinking "if only I was this way or that way." She writes about her friend, "She doesn't walk around trying to believe she is sexy. She is sexy. I am sexy. You are sexy. There's nothing to change. You already are." I recently took some boudoir photos to send to my deployed husband. I had such a blast doing them. It didn't take long before I was comfortably walking around naked, except some heels, in between poses. I was shaking out my hair and having a great time. I was having fun in my own skin, quite literally. When I saw some of the first test shots with the photographer, I exclaimed, "Now that's a nice ass, if I do say so myself!" And then I felt my cheeks turn red. Why was I so embarrassed to let that slip? I was so used to being self-depreciating that it felt utterly awkward to verbally praise myself. Now no one likes an arrogant jerk, but it's ok to like yourself. Let me say that again: it's ok to like the way you look. It's ok to think you're beautiful. It's not cocky or self-inflating. It can be if you take it too far, but I'm willing to bet most of us don't have it in us to. It takes more effort to see the positives in ourselves than the negative.

Being a woman is so much more than being one shape or another. I don't want to try to fit myself into some mold of what Hollywood or pornography or Victoria's Secret says I should be. I don't want to feel awkward about my size because of how other people comment on it. I don't want to feel like less of a woman because I'm not wearing make-up.



When I look at this photograph from my boudoir shoot, I see someone who is sexy. Not because I'm wearing fake lashes or have my hair curled, but because I am genuinely smiling. Sure, all the pampering helped make me feel happy and confident, but what is truly sexy about this photograph is that I'm content. I'm not striving. I'm not trying to look like someone else. Maybe wide hips and ample breasts are what makes one body appealing, but maybe my flat stomach and toned arms are part of what make me attractive. Each body is different and that's beautiful, but a truly sexy woman is one who is comfortable in her body. Makeup or not, I'm still the same person in both photographs. The trick, however, is to see myself just as sexy in both.



Second photo by Lauren Coughlan

J and C Day

I answered my phone somewhere in the middle of Arizona. I was on my second day of my drive from Northern California to Texas. I was driving my then fiance's truck to his current duty station. His voice was a pleasant break to the monotony of the humdrum desert surroundings. He had proposed less than a month earlier, surprising me in California. We of course had been discussing wedding plans and trying to figure out a date that would coordinate with his hectic Army life. He didn't have official orders yet, but there was talk of a deployment in July, just 5 months away. We knew we wanted to get married soon enough that we'd have time to establish roles as husband and wife before he left. We also really wanted to have a wedding ceremony, which takes time and money to plan, so we decided to shoot for April.

His tone was business-like and direct. Coming from my easy-going guy, I knew something was up. His superiors weren't exactly being cooperative about securing his leave for April. "So I called your dad," he continued, "and he's mailed me your birth certificate and social security card so we have all the documents my sergeant said we may need." "Um... ok... did I have a say in this?" I chuckled to myself. I had never seen him like this. I'm usually the one researching, planning, and assertively making things happen. He honestly caught me off guard. It was suggested to him that we get married in a courthouse first because the Army would be more likely to grant leave for him to move his family to his new duty station than to have a wedding. However, we'd have to be legally married for them to honor me as his family. He also wanted to move out of the barracks and secure a home for us before the wedding so that we wouldn't have to stay in a hotel or temporary housing while all the paperwork was being filed. If we got legally married ahead of time, we could file the needed paperwork and he could clear the barracks and start receiving the housing allowance needed to pay our rent. Logically, it made sense and he knew it's what we needed to do. Trusting his judgement and agreeing with his assessment, I said, "Ok, I guess we're getting married this weekend!"

It was a crazy whirlwind because I was only in town for four and a half days. It was also a holiday weekend and I was scheduled to take an exam for the college nearby. I arrived late Thursday afternoon and the courthouse would be closed Saturday, Sunday, and Monday. That left only left Friday. We frantically awaited the arrival of my paperwork (which we ended up not needing). Once we got the paperwork on Friday afternoon, we headed to the courthouse. We both had brought nice clothes to change into, but figured we would get the license and then have a long wait for the judge and could change then. After we got the license, John went to the restroom and then came back to the waiting room to get the keys to get our clothes from the truck. Right as he grabbed the keys from my purse, the judge called us in. On one of the most important days of our life that would legally bind us as husband and wife, we were wearing jeans and t-shirts.

However, it didn't matter what we were wearing. It didn't matter that this is not at all what we had planned or imagined. It was a special, romantic, and emotional day. It was so intimate, literally just the two of us and a judge. I cried as I repeated those vows and John was teary-eyed, though I doubt that he'd admit it. We didn't have rings to exchange and we forgot to call our parents to put them on speaker phone. It all happened so fast, yet it was very real to us. We both respect marriage and hold it so highly We did not take the situation lightly and the fact that, in the eyes of the state of Texas, we were now one was incredibly special to us. Wedding or not, we were man and wife.

We made the decision to keep our courthouse marriage to ourselves until after the wedding. Our parents and the pastor that was officiating our ceremony knew and we wanted to keep it just between those select few. We didn't want to take away from our wedding day or face all the nay-sayers who'd certainly like to comment on our "rash" decision. It was something we knew we had to do for ourselves and we had the blessing and support of our parents; that was enough for us. However, it was incredibly difficult to keep such a big secret. I had already changed my name by the time of the wedding and was having trouble keeping track of which name to use in what situation. Even though I had left Texas shortly after we got married, there was still something very official about getting married, even if it didn't feel real yet. It caused some stress and growing pains that we weren't able to communicate with friends. It was one of the trade-offs of keeping it a secret. However, we conquered the conflicts and John was able to come home for a beautiful wedding celebration with our family and friends. With no time for a honeymoon, we headed to our new home in Texas shortly after the wedding.

As we've begun to let people know about getting married before our wedding, people have asked what date we will celebrate as our anniversary. Since April was the day when we publicly celebrated our marriage, we have decided that is when will we honor our anniversary. However, the "courthouse day" was important and special, so we're going to recognize that as well. Since Valentine's Day and the day we got married are so close together, I figured I'd let my husband off the hook and we'd combine the two into one magical, mushy holiday: J and C Day. As J and C Day approaches, I can't believe it's been almost one year since I signed my name on that court document and held my love's hands as I promised him my life. I can't wait until he's home so we can start celebrating. Here's to the upcoming J and C day! We don't expect you to celebrate with us, but if you need a reason to party, by all means, go ahead!

my heart's aflutter

I wrote at the beginning of deployment about how the worst part of deployment is the unknown. Another thing that ranks up there with the unknown, and correlates very closely with it, is the emotional roller coaster we're riding on. In the face of a situation that causes one to be emotionally vulnerable, we tend to put up walls to protect our hearts. That is true for many stories, but I'm finding it is especially true among military spouses. The mantra is, "Hope for the best, plan for the worst." It's an awkward juggling act trying to hold onto hope without getting your hopes up. In our particular situation, we've had a lot of unique ups and downs. We were told our men were coming home months early and then it was back to the original 12 month plan. We were told my husband didn't have enough days saved up for R&R leave, and then told the opposite. It's just the nature of the beast.

The most recent word is that my husband will get R&R and will be home some time soon-ish (there's always an -ish). I have been frantic ever since that news came to me. Frantic, I tell you. As my husband was telling me he'd be getting leave soon(ish), I was pacing the floor yelling at my computer, "This better be real! Don't mess with me!" I then burst into tears. Ugly, frantic tears. My husband asked if I was getting excited and I had to admit that I was skeptical that it wouldn't really happen. I'm still skeptical. The walls I've put up and the brave face I've put on are stubborn. They took time to build and they aren't coming down easily.

I tend to have inappropriate emotional reactions in general (I'm the girl with the giggle fits at a funeral), so needless to say, I've become a complete nutcase. I was ranting and raving to John about "What if I burn dinner?! What if I'm no good in bed?!" (hey, use it or lose it, right?) and literally drove myself to tears. I was staining my furniture and sobbing. Sobbing about dinner and sex with no make up on, wearing nasty sweats, and trying to remember the last time I showered. (I'm so attractive.) I'm so glad he wasn't here to actually see it, but I still think it freaked my man out. I finally realized that maybe if I'd been like everyone else and had a good cry every now and then, the thought of burning dinner wouldn't bring me to those dreadful frantic tears.

After that realization, I've forced myself to cry a little bit in the hopes that I won't absolutely lose my mind when I see John. (Doubtful, but I hear crying is good for getting dust out of the eyes and after sanding my furniture INSIDE my apartment, I can probably use a good flush.) Part of this "get it all out now" therapy is looking at photos from military homecomings and visualizing myself running into John's arms. I've heard therapists use visualizations so I thought I'd give it a try. Instead of crying though, it makes my heart all aflutter to see images of those infamous white buses and pretty ladies buried in camo chests. It also makes me start singing Little Mermaid songs, "When's it my turn..." But I digress. So maybe my emotions won't ever get with the program. Maybe I'll still be a bawling nutcase at the airport. But one thing I know: Even through my walls and inappropriate emotions, just the thought of being with my love, my best friend, and my soldier makes my heart do funny things. And that's one of the benefits of being a military spouse. It feels like my wedding day all over again. Oh please let that day come soon!

bilingual

"Am I beautiful?" "Do you love me?" "Do you miss me?"

I found myself asking my husband these questions at the beginning of deployment, and not so subtly. Everything that I thought communicated love was stripped away. There were no hugs, no kisses, or any sort of touches. There were no dates, no dinners, and no laughter shared. I was practically begging for him to "voice" his affection because he wasn't here to show it to me. My baffled husband, in a much more subtle way, basically said, "I married you, didn't I? I'm faithful, aren't I? I wouldn't have married you if I didn't think you were beautiful or if I didn't love you or if I didn't want to be with you." I knew he was absolutely right. What greater expression of love is there than to be faithfully committed to another? My head knew that, yet my heart was still desperately hungry.

A few months into his deployment, he had to change locations which meant that communication would be cut off for anywhere from a week to a month. He was planning on sending me a box of some things he didn't want to transport to his new location and I had asked him to put a letter in the box so that I'd have something when all communication was gone. We were expert letter-writers when he was in Basic Training. He would write a couple pages each week. Some letters were just a run down of the things happening during his training, while others were romantic and sappy. I didn't care either way; just "hearing" his voice was enough for me. I obsessively checked the mail and holed up in my room every time I got a precious letter. I wanted to have a little bit of that romance and excitement to hang onto when we were in a period of forced silence.

He told me he had sent the box and there was a little something in there for me. I was again was obsessively checking the mail. It finally arrived and I practically ran home. Like a kid on Christmas morning, I ripped the box open with much gusto. CDs, DVDs,... but... where was my letter? I shook out every piece of newspaper and bubble wrap hoping my precious letter would float into my lap. Nothing. Maybe he was sneaky and put it inside a CD case, I thought. I searched and searched and searched; there was nothing of the sort to be found. Not even a sticky note with one sentence on it. But there was "a little something" in there for me. He bought me a cute stuffed camel and a beautiful carved elephant, my favorite animal. It was a thoughtful gift, so why was I feeling so... disappointed?

I didn't even want to acknowledge to myself that I felt that way because I knew I was being ridiculous. He saw something, thought of me, and used his spending money to buy it for me. He gave me something tangible, I could literally hold it in my hands. It was his way of saying, "I love you." It was then that I realized I was only well-versed in one language: mine. I had read Gary Chapman's popular book about love languages, yet I was painfully unaware of how limited in the linguistics of love I really was. I was disappointed because I didn't get something that I would have used to communicate affection. Which is a huge mistake to make because I was not understanding how he was communicating, at least not in my heart. My head understood that the gift was personal and thoughtful, but it didn't resonate in my heart, at least not in that moment.

I had to learn a new language: his. I had to become bilingual. I had to understand that even though he wasn't saying exactly what I wanted to hear, he was at least talking. He took the time to ask about my day even though he was exhausted, dirty, homesick, and had his life threatened hours ago and couldn't even talk to me about it. He only had enough free time to basically eat and shower, but he still waited in line to use the computers or phone. He felt like we were running out of things to talk about and that conversations became a bit forced, yet he didn't close himself off completely to me. Now I love that little elephant. I trace my fingers around the artist's details and think of how he once had it in his hands, and I feel closer to him. My favorite animal, decorated in my favorite colors, given to me by my favorite man; it is an expression of his uniquely personal love language, one that I'm studying frantically as to not miss a single word he says.

desert

I watch the sun set from above as red rays of light warm the desert clay. The rough canvas is scrawled with love letters written in river-water ink. It is moments like these that I am reminded of the life that is pumping through my veins. I'm alive and the barren desert tells me so. I have breath in my lungs even though the bloody sun teases me with its retreat. I do not fear the darkness it leaves behind, for I know the light within me has yet to be snuffed out. Bring it on, dear desert, I know the oasis is coming. Let's do this, dear darkness, it is only a matter of time before you scurry away. My heart is caged, but it is not enslaved; I can face the night.

There are wild creatures all around me, producing guttural sounds to warn me of their presence. No one needs to give them permission to be dangerous; they simply are as they should be. I fear them simply out of respect for their wild passion and unrivaled strength. A coyote spots me and stares at me with his dancing eyes. He knows he's respected and starts to wander off without a fight. In the darkness, he turns his head and nods at me, a courteous gesture from one free creature to another. A smile creeps onto my face as I begin my adventure into the wild, the dangerous, the passionate, the free. Come with me, dear brothers and sisters, your soul is yearning to be alive. Can you feel it?

O Holy Night

I'm laying in bed listening to my little brother yell from the other room, "Sissy! Can I get up?" He tried "Mommy" but got no response, so now he moved on to me. My sister is in the bed next to me still sleeping. There is a cat sleeping at her feet. I've been up for about 30 minutes because my phone went off saying I had a Facebook message. It took forever to load and while it was I was saying, "Please be my baby. Please be him." It was. I hadn't heard from him in 6 days and it was such a relief to know that he made it safely to his new location. We chatted on Facebook for just a few minutes about his new base and his new amenities there. Soda was on the list of amenities. And just like that he was not online anymore.

My alarm is about to go off. Today my family is going to church with my husband's family. Being in the home I lived in when we met without him being here messes with my mind. I'm different. Things are different. I walk around with the feeling of "Crap, what am I forgetting?" Then I realize I didn't forget anything. The bills are paid. I did what I needed to do. It's him. He's not here and so part of me feels missing. It's been hard for me to get into the Christmas spirit this year. I hung lights at my apartment and bought a festive wreath. I've listened to my fair share of Christmas music. Cookies have been baked, ornaments are hung, and presents are under the tree. Yet it still doesn't feel like Christmastime to me.

The upside of all of this is that without all the excitement and wonder Christmas brings, I am able to focus more on the simple things in life. A teenage virgin gave birth to a baby that would one day die to save our souls. That is no simple thing, but his love is. I'm not interested in religion or arguing over whether to say Merry Christmas or Happy Holidays. All that is just noise drowning out what we need to hear. He appeared and the soul felt its worth. I hope your soul feels its worth today. My love is far away and I miss him so. The inner most parts of my soul know something is missing. Yet, it knows its worth. Laws and religion and political noise fill us with rules and regulations and arguments about things that don't matter. But his law is love and his gospel is peace. I wish you glowing hearts, a thrill of hope, and for your weary soul to rejoice this season.

O holy night, the stars are brightly shining;
It is the night of the dear Savior’s birth!
Long lay the world in sin and error pining,
Till He appeared and the soul felt its worth.
A thrill of hope, the weary soul rejoices,
For yonder breaks a new and glorious morn.

Fall on your knees, O hear the angel voices!
O night divine, O night when Christ was born!
O night, O holy night, O night divine!

Led by the light of faith serenely beaming,
With glowing hearts by His cradle we stand.
So led by light of a star sweetly gleaming,
Here came the wise men from Orient land.
The King of kings lay thus in lowly manger,
In all our trials born to be our friend!

Fall on your knees, O hear the angel voices!
O night divine, O night when Christ was born!
O night, O holy night, O night divine!

Truly He taught us to love one another;
His law is love and His Gospel is peace.
Chains shall He break for the slave is our brother
And in His Name all oppression shall cease.
Sweet hymns of joy in grateful chorus raise we,
Let all within us praise His holy Name!

Fall on your knees, O hear the angel voices!
O night divine, O night when Christ was born!
O night, O holy night, O night divine!

rockstar

Lately, I've had an insatiable desire to be my husband's rockstar. My husband LOVES Christmas (much more than I do) and when I thought he'd be home around Christmastime, I had nothing but dreams of how to make it the best Christmas ever. I've thought of every little detail from each twinkling light to how I would wake him up Christmas morning, whether it was the 25th or not. Now that he won't be home until much later, I'm once again planning care packages and welcome home festivities. I just want to be extravagant with my love. I don't want money to be an object or the 7,000 mile distance to be an obstacle. I want my actions to show how much I love him. I want him to say, "My wife is such a rockstar!"

Marriage is a marathon (or at least it should be) and not a sprint. This means that most of the time it's long, arduous, and boring. The way you show love is with the everyday things. Trophies should be given to wives who thank their loved ones for doing the dishes, instead of telling him how wrong they did it. Awards should be given to husbands who truly think their wives are beautiful even at 5 am. Those who choose to be kind, even when the other is being unreasonable, deserve medals. These are the things I'm working towards.

My love can be extravagant, and it should be. I hate that I can't make holidays special for him right now. I hate that I can't cook him his favorite meal. I hate that I can't surprise him in a sexy outfit when he gets home. I hate that I can't do these big, obvious things for him. I want him to feel wanted, attractive, loved, special, needed, respected, honored. I dream about these big gestures and imagine John being blown away by them. I fantasize about him telling everyone, "Do you know what my wife did?! She's so amazing! My wife is a rockstar!"

Deployment strips away just about every opportunity for grand, romantic gestures. There are no surprise weekend getaways. There is no spontaneous love-making. Gifts must fit in a package. Mollie Gross, author of Confessions of a Military Wife, says deployment is a time of just "riding the vows". There is more surviving than there is thriving. But you know what? Anyone can buy gifts, wear lingerie, cook a meal and decorate a Christmas tree. Not everyone is capable of being faithful, even when desperate for some attention. Not everyone is able to withstand coming in fourth or fifth on the priority list (after staying alive, doing the mission at hand, keeping his brothers alive, etc) for an extended period of time. It is, after all, a long, arduous, boring marathon (within a marathon). This job is not for the weak. He may not being saying it right now, but I will. Dammit, I AM a rockstar!

And to those of you who are feeling weary, civilian and military alike, you too are a rockstar. The odds are against us. We are a rare breed. You have a 50/50 chance of making it in this crazy world called marriage, but you have all the tools needed to succeed. Keep being faithful. Keep being supportive. Keep serving, loving, and honoring. YOU ARE A ROCKSTAR!