It was just the other day I looked in the mirror and had a “what the f*ck” moment.
I changed my clothes umpteen million times yet again. All I was doing was getting ready for clients at work.
I thought to myself “I am nearing 50 and I am still doing this shit”?
"What in the...."??
I was disgusted with the fact that at almost 48 years old, I still felt like I was in 9th grade trying to find something to wear that made me feel good in my own skin. Sadly, I do this more often than I care to admit.
I swore to myself years ago I would not do this to myself… but here I was, doing it again.
I stopped for a moment, confused as to why I gave a shit what someone may think of me.
I have struggled with body image since a family member told me I was chubby at 13.
Those words scarred me deeply, and hence I fell into a lifetime of self-destruction, trying to make my body good enough to be loved by others. I didn’t think that maybe I needed to be the one to love my body.
At 13 I became anorexic. Food became the enemy in a matter of 3 or 4 words. I remember a guy pal said he wouldn’t talk to me anymore unless I started eating. I remember that in those words, I knew he cared me when i didn't think anyone did.
No one told me what being anorexic would do to my metabolism after that.
I sat with the realization that someone’s stupid words caused me to hate the body I was in and how I tortured it for a good 35 years. All because someone couldn’t deal with their own insecurity and put that shit on me.
I sat with a vision in my mind of me sticking my middle finger right up in their face.
Then I got to thinking about that gesture... the meaning behind the Middle Finger Salute.
Is it a sign of anger or is it a sign of not giving any fucks?
I do not want to be an angry person, but I tell you what, I bear the mark of my astrological sign strongly should you cross me (any Leos out there?).
I would rather transform that anger into not giving a Fuck.
So, that day, I made that my goal.
To use the Middle Finger Salute as my symbol for life.
Not in anger... but in telling society it can get bent.
By 40, I wanted to be over giving a rip what others thought of me, what I looked like or how I spoke.
By 40, I was able to love who I was as a person, my confidence growing, I began to see myself as funny and let go of being “politically correct”.
I have a fowl mouth, have a strong protective streak and like a lion, can be fierce to protect those I love… and those I may not even know. I love that about myself.
So, today, I have 1 middle finger at half-mast, telling me I got work to do.
When I turn 50, my goal is to approach life with that middle finger fully extended, nails polished and decorated with a gaudy gemstone ring.
My goal is to not give a shit about what others will think of my face, my hair, my body and all the tattoos on my skin.
To not give a shit of what you may think of the words I use and how I speak them, but rather I would like for you to know I am real, authentic and I do not hide shit. I wish for you to be able to do the same with me.
My goal is to not be afraid to tell others what I do for a living, and proudly say what I do, and not give a fuck what others think of it.
By 50, my goal is for you to see my heart and to know how I love and for me to love me too.
For you to feel safe with me, and for me to feel safe within me too.
At 50, my goal is for others to know I don’t tolerate jack shit because I love myself, my boundaries are strong and for me to believe I will protect me too.
I want you to be able to know I feel gratitude deeply and that I love (all of you), fiercely.
By 50, I want to no longer hide my skin because I am embarrassed of my body or what you may think of me and all my tattoos. That ink is my story of what I love and what I’ve lost. That shit made me who I am.
By 60, my goal is to hopefully be a grandma and be a bad ass one! How many grandmas do you know who have tattoos all over their arms?
I want to run around showing those saggy flabby arms off and being proud that I am a grandma who looks like a hippie rock star.
I want to be proud I am a weirdo and smile strongly when I tell you that I talked to the dead for a living.
At 60, I want to look at my body and be reminded of what a badass it is and all the pain it helped me get through over my lifetime, and to know we made it through. I want to love my body and its scars and to be reminded of my strength.
I do not want to feel the need fit in, and I want to be proud of my uniqueness.
By 60, I want to see myself as a wise old sage whose wisdom was earned and learned the hard way… having something to offer others who wouldn’t understand or who don’t know what the hell they are talking about.
And at 60, I still want to be dropping the F bomb.
I do not want to be afraid of growing old. I want to grow old gracelessly... doing flip flops all the way into the grave.
By 60 I want to hold unbreakable peace within and know when a shakeup occurs, that I got this.
I want to know that what I did for myself, in turn, made this world a better place.
I want us all to stand there, both fingers strongly in the air with a huge smile on our faces, proud of who we allowed ourselves to become.
Unabashedly authentic and inspiring for the generations that follow.
Also… little announcement!
You can now book in-person sessions online at www.rebeccacostello.com
With Love,
Rebecca Costello Psychic Medium
Dancing Elk Shamanic Healing