The Art of a Celibate Woman

She emerges from darkness, bearing a golden kiss

Her wavy butter-blonde hair streaked with silver

Weaves a tale of life gone wrong, things amiss

Yet, a glimmer of hope stills her bottom lip quiver

A golden butterfly lands, gifting her a pair of fresh eyes

Yesterday's tears transform to morrow's sustenance

Washing away greyscale horizons to water-blue skies

Birthing new life, introducing the long-awaited, Her Eminence

Love for herself peeks through the shadows guided by butterflies

I’ve seen a lot, been through a lot, and survived a lot in my fifty-one years. As a romantic at heart, I can honestly say that I have never known true love, only the illusions of vibrant colors splashed against backdrops that deteriorated through overexposure.

Wear and tear with elevated temperatures and a light force that refused to stay hidden broke down the compounds of relationships that were seemingly too good to be true.

Two major relationships left me hiding behind shadows of myself, each taking more from my palette, leaving me with mere snippets of memories of the missing colors.

Today, I paint alone; a celibate woman mastering her art, and I couldn’t be happier.

Celibacy as an Art?

I know it sounds a bit odd.

And the thought of sexual abstinence probably doesn’t appeal to some, never mind invoking poetic visions of an artful masterpiece.

We are humans, after all, and having sex is a normal part of our being. Romance and intimacy with a partner now that is what inspire love songs, novels, epic prose, movies, and even some of the most sought-after displays in worldwide museums.

But a solo woman who chooses to abstain from sexual relations, what inspiration has she?

Is She disconnected, unusual, or missing out on life?

Not necessarily.

Actually, no, not at all.

I am willing to be completely transparent here and say that my choice of celibacy has been one of the best I have made in a long time.

Taking time to get to know the true self is an artful experience unto itself.

We can only see the finished product when we think of artwork as a whole. The fine lines, use of color, and sculpture perfection so lifelike and convincing, song lyrics that deeply resonate, a stage performance that evokes long-lost emotions, poetry that moves our soul.

What we do not see or have access to is the artist’s process, often a personal one, and more often, from a place of pain, hurt, betrayal, or depression.

Yes, a creator creates from the heart, and sometimes this means occurrences of diving into darker emotions.

My journey with celibacy has been an all-important escapade into the hidden parts of me needing a helping hand.

As a solo explorer, I have come to terms with issues swept under the rug.

Taking time out to get acquainted with me, someone I previously disguised while indulging in a lover’s company.

Two’s years of celibacy have meant healing, self-forgiveness, and reconnecting to a girl I once loved.

And isn’t self-love a beautiful frame-worthy concept?

The love of self is a poetic movement, art in motion that continues to create regardless of circumstances, people, or situations.

Why Celibacy as Opposed to Abstinence?

Abstinence is refraining from penetrative sex for some time, for example, until marriage.

Celibacy is a vow to remain abstinent for an extended period. Some people choose celibacy for a lifetime.

Although I do not have a specific date or time frame in mind, I made a vow to myself to do the necessary shadow work so I can befriend the little girl me again, the child who loved herself disregarding the watchful, often scrutinizing eyes of others who already lost their way.

Oh, to break the mold society sculpted for me, reshaping the stigmas attached to a woman's heartbreak, her failed relationships, societal expectations, and her worth when all things go amiss...

Searching for Butterflies, a Solo Exhibit

Butterflies are beautiful, and I have loved them since I was a small girl.

Often associated with change, hope, spiritual rebirth, and transformation, the butterfly represents awareness, expanding consciousness, and insight.

I recall many summers chasing monarchs on my family’s acres of land.

The v-shaped flight pattern of the magical orange one, forewings, hindwings, deep, dark veins with white spots; her sight brought such simple natural happiness.

Life was so simple when I was a child.

I was at peace and comfortable in my own skin. I loved simply being me.

Innocence without a care in the world.

And then, the world happened; I grew older, experienced a couple of “heavy duty” relationships, and somewhere in there, my perspective changed.

No more flutters, no excitement, no awe for tomorrow.

No more confidence, no artistic flair, no sense of self.

The beautiful spirit I once held near and dear evaporated, leaving me a reluctant mess, and the previous notion of the world being a prettier place with me in it became the world is persuasively charming, but I am not relevant.

I felt utterly unpretty.

The adventurous girl I was no more; my search for butterflies was over.

Depressed, insecure, and lonely prompted me to make unwise decisions to redeem myself after marrying a man with mental health and addiction problems and, later, a relationship with a man who became abusive.

I was lost and trying to find out what was wrong with me.

And without even realizing what I was doing to myself, I began searching for any love to validate that I was a woman worthy of time and affection.

Constantly questioning why I was not good enough and what I had to do to prove that I deserved love and companionship led to me making many poor choices with men.

Unconsciously, I tried to redo my past and erase the pain with new faces in new places.

It took me until my late forties to realize I was going nowhere but in circles.

A date with a nice man with who I had nothing in common

Over two years ago, I met a lovely man through Match.com. We talked on the phone for a couple of months before agreeing to meet.

My adult children were thrilled for me, and this was the first time in a long while that I was excited about the potential of a new relationship.

I traveled by train in August to Maryland, meeting a man whose native language was not English, but despite our cultural differences, we had a splendid time.

He was generous, explicitly well-mannered, and treated me like a princess.

Our conversations were light, about simple things, and never took a serious tone.

We enjoyed watching movies and dining, and I felt spoiled as he took extra care in preparing my plate; the food arrangements were exquisite, and the table settings were crafted with time and attention.

Through simple joy and laughter, two strangers came together. An intimate weekend including romantic persuasion was lovely, but it was fleeting.

Upon my return to New York, I realized that despite the lovely time he and I had, we shared nothing in common. However, I did not feel sad or disappointed.

This man, this stranger, showed me a new perspective on life and reminded me of the creative flow I lost a hand to. He reintroduced a tender touch into my chaotic world, reminding me of life’s precious beauty.

And for a weekend, I felt pretty again.

A temporary shift in my vision prompted the quest for more, and my vow of celibacy began.

Finally, I could admit that I needed time to reconnect with my self-esteem, honestly deal with my past heartbreak and trauma, and get to know myself all over again.

Yes, much needed overdue time just for me to work through my emotions and wake up to the fact that the romantic failures of my younger years do not reflect negatively on me.

So, I began a journey backtracking the source of my insecurities, befriending the pain and turning the emotions into a self-portrayed exhibit of art.

Whereas for some people, celibacy holds religious motivation, my vow was about learning how to let go of all the hurt and finally get back to me. To return to my little girl sight, a child whose perception saw the glamor in everything around her. Wide-eyed and willful, this girl knew not the unsteady road of doubt, darkness, or deceit; she only knew the self-driven sparkle of eyes that found beauty in every encounter, dream, and footstep she so boldly took.

As with any healing process, time and patience are virtues, and I started finding my way.

Reconnecting to the Flutter; Art Restored

Through many tears and reflection, something amazing happened; I rediscovered the butterflies…

Not the pretty winged friends from my childhood, but the inner flutter one feels when excited. So often, we associate this with an encounter with true love.

My flutters, however, were not of the romantic sort, but instead, a reconnect to life, my life just as I am, perfectly content with myself.

Oh, what joy it was to find self-love and rekindle the creator’s spark buried under layers of guilt, shame, and self-loathing.

A return to the artist in me, someone who lives in a surging spiral of fluorescents, ever inspired and hopeful.

It is an eye-opening moment to uncover personal traits lost in the dust of despair.

Like unwrapping an ash-covered attic painting for the first time in decades, memories rush in, rejoining watercolor passion with a zest for existence; the creator’s eye again finds appreciation.

Or restoration achieved to fine art subjected to weather and decay; success means reviving old colors.

Peeling back the layers of metaphorically time-warped pieces not only restored the light to my weary hazel eyes, but the societal garments assigned to me denoting me as a shamed woman began to fall off thread by thread.

Disrobing the layers of the "Woman who married an addict, so she must be one," the "Woman who was abused, so she must have deserved it," the "Single mother raising four children from different fathers, so she must be a whore," the "Woman who is struggling, so she must be unintelligent."

Unclothing these stigmatic layers, left me standing in my true skin, the flesh of my flesh, restoring my freedom.

Baring my soul, the artist in me awoke for the first time in decades, and my eyelashes fluttered.

All the flashing colors in my mind's eye, a rainbow, a chakra revival, a healthy dose of intermingling blues and greens, pinks and purples, gave me the courage to open my eyes.

With the helping hand of a golden butterfly, she lifted the veil of darkness, confusion, the veil of a land of self-banishment awarded with worldly influence.

And this golden butterfly flicked and flittered lightly, caressing my lips.

Kissing me golden, I step from beyond shadows, ready to kiss the world.

But not a kiss meant for him or him or maybe him; a kiss to the sky, the here and there and in between. A kiss to rejoice the return to me, the little girl whose inner sparkle is more than enough to suffice her quest for life.

Hurtful words and occurrences of relationships past no longer trap my mind and cunningly define me. Others’ wrongdoings are not my fault and do not reflect negatively on me. I no longer walk that illusionary guilted road.

With celibacy as a canvas, I exhibit a meshing of the old with the new, creating unique design patterns.

I found myself again.

All parts of me are the pieces that create my art.

I am art, a color collision, past, present, and future.

I am beautiful, not because he says so, or she, or even if you say it. No, I am a beautiful creation, a work of art, simply because I believe.

And, for that matter, aren't all women beautiful?

The way she moves, the way she parts her hair, the way her crooked smile lights up a room, the way she cradles her children, loving them selflessly, the way she makes miracles without a penny to her name, the way she sighs when she is feeling less than inspired; yes it is all of these things.

Women are art, naturally, an exhibit of beauty unlike no other.

My third anniversary as a celibate woman is approaching in August, the same day my youngest daughter walks down the aisle marrying her high school sweetheart after nine years together.

I smile, knowing I have much to celebrate, and I know that one day I will find that special one, that special man for me. For now, I am happy, evolving my art in true butterfly form.

Butterfly flutters live inside us all. If lost, look within and rediscover what is beautiful and exciting to you. Embrace this vibration and release it to share with the world. And always remember that you are beautiful just as you are 🦋

* This story was originally posted on Medium on November 2, 2022, and was adapted and evolved for this challenge, reflecting my butterfly nature.