Bath

I decided to have a bath tonight. I don’t know what compelled me to do this, I hate baths. I rarely ever have them and when I do I only last for a few minutes before heaving myself out feeling soggy and disgusting. I can’t understand why so many people love having baths. The romanticism, deep relaxation, and pure bliss others describe baths as do not resonate with me at all.

Nonetheless, I wanted to bathe. Unlike showering, bathing is a ritual. It takes time to draw enough water to fill a tub. Then there is the apothecary of concoctions to add in. Bath salts, bath bombs, bath soaps, Dried flowers, luxury oils, and sents that you are meant to stew in. After that comes the ambiance. Dimmed lights and a vigil of candles that would typically belong around a church altar. Finishing touches might be some soft jazz or classical music, perhaps a glass of wine or a tray of chocolate-covered strawberries and a steamy novel.

It sounds so perfect but this is never my experience. Perhaps it is because I am too impatient. I don't find joy or pleasure in rituals, I want to get things done and usually as quickly as possible. Showering is much simpler and more practical for me, I like to feel a torrent of water pulsating on my head and running down my body, washing away the dirt, pain, frustration, or sorrow of the day. A bath traps me, as I slowly submerge my naked body into the hot basin of water I feel like a toad simmering to a boil. When I finally get used to the temperature I am left in my most uncomfortable state. Naked, wet, silent, and sitting like a beached whale in a shallow pool.

My body cannot fully fit into the bath. Parts of me stick out like strangely shaped islands and I have to shift constantly to keep my body covered. The soap and bubbles stick to my arms and hands making it impossible to pick up the book I wanted to read. So there I am, left in a puddle of water with nothing but my thoughts. And that is the worst part of it all.

I can hear the tsunami of thoughts begin to come forward. like a swarm of buzzing bees, they fly in with no structure, sense, or safety for my weary soul. The only way to escape them is to submerge my head into the water and everything stops. My mind is silenced, I can only hear my heartbeat. It is pounding in my ears like the beating of a drum echoing through the chamber of water. I look at the ceiling, I feel calm and sleepy. Finally, a moment of rest of real peace I feel my body exhale in relief. This time the thoughts trickle in slowly at a speed I can process now.

I drift towards my body and the complicated relationship I have with it. I have spent years of my life blaming, berating, and belittling, my body. The home of my spirit and the sacred physical creation given to me has endured much hate. I trace the scars along all my edges, the pathways I have forged marking my body as my own. I have not recognized before the struggle and work my body has done to heal those wounds and bind my flesh together. As I touch the skin I can feel it quiver, the anticipation of picking, scratching, and clawing is all too familiar, and the nerves are bracing themselves against the pain.

I weep. For the child that lost herself to doubt, despair, anger, and fear. The girl who felt unloved or unlovable and blamed herself for the heartache that would not go away. For the lost opportunities, confidence, and belief that life is beautiful. For shutting the door on a joyful existence when all she could see or hear was pain. Yet, she is healing. I am overcoming those lies, I am listening now. I can love, protect, encourage, and care for my vulnerabilities. I am creating a space of safety and solitude, I choose to embrace my body with gentleness.

My time underwater is up. I pull my head out from the bottom of the tub gasping for air. I feel different now, I can't hear my heartbeat but I can feel it. I rest my hands on my chest and exhale. There is no physical transformation, I'm not skinnier or prettier than I used to be but I feel lighter and kinder. I cup the soapy water in my hands and brush it over my arms, shoulder, neck, and chest the way a mother does when she washes her baby for the first time. I am cleansed, baptized in renewed love and devotion to myself, I can drink in the silence without drowning.