Fifth Sunday of Lent: Sacred Bodies, Misunderstood Hearts

“Your pain is the breaking of the shell that encloses your understanding… so must you know pain.” – Khalil Gibran 

It’s fascinating how often I see posts from men—grown men—acting like women’s bodies are mythical, unknowable landscapes. Mysterious. Dangerous. Like they’re explorers stepping into a haunted forest. Beware: The Womb! As if we’re some kind of ancient curse they can’t figure out.

The truth? Women’s bodies are miraculous. Sacred. Divine. 

We bleed and survive.

We bring life into the world.

We carry pain and power and tenderness in every curve.

What’s so scary about that? 

I used to work for Planned Parenthood as an Education and Outreach Manager. I taught teens and adults about healthy relationships, reproductive health, and comprehensive sex ed. I’ve always believed a lot of gender inequality stems from how rigidly we’ve been taught to see gender—as binary. But it’s not. Not even close. Neither is sex. Neither is sexuality. 

They’re all on spectrums. 

And you know what? That fluidity—that expansiveness—is beautiful. It’s human. 

Young people today talk about “catching feelings” like it’s an unfortunate accident. Like it’s something to be embarrassed about. I don’t know what dating is even like anymore. It’s not like when I was in my twenties, but I do know that this generation is navigating something we weren’t given language or tools for at that age. They’re defining their identities in real-time, under the weight of climate anxiety, economic collapse, and growing up with the internet permanently embedded in their nervous systems. 

I’ve been single for a while now—and living through global collapse solo has been both… interesting and traumatizing. When I was in relationships, I remember spending a huge portion of my day focused on someone else. Sometimes too much. 

In hindsight? Some of them spent a whole lot of their time telling me what was wrong with me. 

But now? I spend that time with myself. And let me tell you—I’m not always easy company. There are days I can’t stand me. So, shout out to all my friends who’ve had to endure me during my existential spirals. I get it. You’re heroes. 

I lean into humor because otherwise, this political hellscape would be too much. And I am not perfect. Far from it. But I’ve spent a lot of time in community work, which often means having a “public persona.” It’s exhausting. People think they know you, but they don’t. Not really. They know the version of you that gets the job done. That shows up. That keeps it together. But they don’t know the soft, confused, overly analytical version that cries in the shower after a rough week or stares at the ceiling wondering what’s next. 

I love women. All women. Their strength. Their softness. The complexity. There’s nothing more intoxicating than someone who owns her power and her tenderness at the same time. 

But dating while being “a public person?” That’s a whole different game. I remember a conversation I had with a State Legislator from Wisconsin who told me, “You can’t be single and in politics.” You can’t be out here swiping on Tinder. People will use that against you. Especially if you’re queer. She told me, “I wish I had someone to come home to. A safe place to land. A soft place, after all the fighting and partisan vitriol.” 

But here’s the truth: sometimes that person isn’t a safe place. Sometimes the people we think will catch us, drop us. 

And if we’re not honest—really honest—about what we need, we end up hoping someone will become what we want them to be, instead of accepting who they are. We fall in love with potential instead of reality. And that’s where things go sideways. 

Especially in queer dating culture, there’s a lot of hoping. A lot of projecting. A lot of, “Maybe they’ll change.” And not enough clear, grounded communication. That’s where the misunderstandings happen. That’s where the weirdness creeps in. In dating. In bed. In life. 

We need to say what we mean. We need to ask for what we need. We need to stop being afraid of being “too much” and start being unafraid to be fully ourselves. 

Lenten Reflection: Sacred Bodies, Resurrected Hearts 

The Fifth Sunday of Lent calls us to consider resurrection—not just of Christ, but of ourselves. 

“Jesus said to her, ‘I am the resurrection and the life. The one who believes in me will live, even though they die; and whoever lives by believing in me will never die. Do you believe this?’” — John 11:25-26 

Where in your life have you died to something too small for you? Where are you being called to rise again? 

🔹 Have I accepted half-truths in my relationships instead of asking for honesty? 

🔹 Am I showing up as my full self—or the version I think others want? 

🔹 What parts of me are ready to resurrect? 

This week, may we see our pain not as punishment, but as the shell breaking open so our hearts can stand in the sun. May we hold sacred the bodies we’ve been taught to fear. May we speak boldly, love bravely, and trust that we are always being led somewhere deeper. 

Take care of yourself. Take care of each other. 

📖 Read more reflections at: flanneldiaries.com (link in bio)

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