The Art of a Celibate Woman

For the Echoes of the Year's Challenge, I revisit a post written two years ago that still bears personal truth in 2024. I suppose this is the sister story to my Soundtrack of Your Year entry Soundtrack of a Homeless Addict's Wife.

While edited partly to fit the challenge, my story depicts how current traumatic events rehash old trauma and a recommitment to a vow taken four years ago.

2024 marked the rapid decline of my long estranged husband's health due to decades of substance abuse. The first phone conversation after years of silence pivoted me back in time reliving much heartache and began a process of me requestioning my self worth all over again.

The revisit, a decision made in 2020 written in 2022

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.

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 soloist, 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 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...

I wrote the above two years ago; it's funny how I needed to read those words again.

Searching for Butterflies, a Solo Exhibit

The following are continued recollections from two years gone by. Worthy of another read and detrimental for an ongoing lesson.

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.

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.

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.

Without 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

In 2020 I met a lovely man through Match.com. We talked on the phone for two 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.

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 whole 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

And restored once more in 2024

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 enough to suffice her quest for life.

I found myself again.

***

2024 Lesson

In 2024, I found myself once more. Through recent trauma, I have revisted a decision I made four years ago and realized I am not ready yet to enter the world of dating and intimacy.

And it's okay

Just like the artist who values their creative process minus time constraints, I, too am working my canvas without a clock.

Art of a celibate woman- it's me and the butterfly cycle starts anew with each internal flutter.

To fly again one day.

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