Guest Blog by My Cugina, Rebecca

An Ode to my Beloved Bellybutton Ring

I believe it was my wise friend Swami (local South-Bay guru and urban turban specialist) that once said, “People are only unhappy about impending birthday’s if they imagined they would be something/somebody else at a particular stage in their life”

A couple weeks ago I celebrated my 26th birthday. As the day approached, I felt a looming sense of doom. I kept thinking about this quote and wondered if perhaps my birthday blues were a result of feeling as though my life had hit a roadblock. What was I doing? Where was I going? Am I really mature enough to be 26? Clearly, the answer to that is ABSOLUTELY NOT.

So, I took stock of my life. I did this whilst bronzing in my backyard, obviously. As I did some deep, life altering thinking, my eyes traveled to the shiny, cheap piercing in my belly button and I had a sudden mini-crisis. There it was: absolute proof that I was immature, that my growth had in fact become stunted. “Oh My God, I have to take this out before my 26th birthday,” I declared. I immediately got on Beluga (belugapods.com-check it) and did a 911 to my  “Girl Talk Pod,” and asked their opinions on my belly button bling. While this was by no means a new conversation, I thought their disgust might push me to the point of finally unscrewing the little ball and burying it forever, both figuratively and literally. As I suspected, they did find it utterly appalling that I was approaching the elderly age of 26 and still had my belly button bling in-as they had all been enlightened many years before that it was a thing of the obnoxious past.

Why did I struggle so much with this seemingly simple decision? Why did it mean so much to me and why the eff could I not just rid myself of it without a moment’s hesitation?

So, I reflected back to my 17-year-old self. To the girl that wanted her belly button pierced so desperately that she was willing to be kicked out of her father’s house. True story. I remember fully believing that it would instantly transform me into a tan, anorexic, Brittany Spears/Victoria’s Secret model. I naively assumed that with a millisecond pierce of the skin, I would suddenly become something that I wasn’t. I failed to recognize at the time that in order to achieve this idea of “perfection”, I would also need breast implants, rhinoplasty, luxurious hair, 5 more inches of height, thin legs...the list goes on. I cried and pleaded with my parents. Actually, mostly just with my Dad who thought a belly button ring was both trashy and promiscuous. Conversely, my Mom was ready to take me to the closest Vibes body piercing shop. Totally normal. Of course, my boyfriend at the time told me straight up that, “Only whores had belly button rings.” Sweet guy.

The week before finally getting my belly button pierced, I had officially broken up with that sweetheart of a boyfriend. I felt as though an oppressive weight had been lifted off my shoulders. The sense of freedom was overwhelming. It was akin to a spiritual awakening-I wanted to desperately repossess the girl that I once was prior to a relationship that I had thoroughly lost myself in. I remember driving down highway 1 with my friends and on an impulse told them, “ What I really needed was a rebirthing ceremony.” Weird, I know. We pulled over and went out into the bitterly cold fog that perpetually clings to Half Moon Bay’s coastline-both familiar and yet always somehow shocking at the same time. We made a beeline for the cold Pacific Ocean like madwomen on a mission, stripped down to our bras and underwear and screamed and laughed until the salt from the ocean and our tears became indistinguishable. It was thrilling, absolutely retarded and yet completely and wholly cathartic. As my heart thumped fiercely against my frozen skin, I felt truly alive. I felt reborn. I made a promise that I would never again compromise myself for anyone or anything. I was going to do what I wanted and do it in my own way. A week later, my belly button ring would become my official act of rebellion. A declaration to myself and to the world about how I was going to live my new, adventurous (reborn) life.

And so maybe that’s why I can’t simply unscrew the ball and toss my belly button bling into a forgotten, dusty corner. Through writing this it has become evident that my belly button ring has become symbolic of something much deeper in my life. Perhaps, it’s a fear that though the process of letting go of my belly button ring; I would also be simultaneously annihilating the free-spirited, rebellious child within. A rebellious nature that I feel has led to some of my life’s most unforgettable moments and decisions. Or maybe I’m just getting way too sentimental about an ugly, trendy belly button ring. Btw, did I mention it’s also glow in the dark? No joke.

Nevertheless, as my 26th birthday came and went, my belly button ring did, indeed, remain. As I sit here now, it has become a source of personal contention. I loathe it but I can’t bear to let it go-just like any unhealthy relationship. And yet here I am and my beloved bellybutton bling still ultimately prevails-possibly my final act of rebellion and middle finger to an adult world that I’m not quite ready to fully succumb to.

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Thank you cousin for sharing this intimate story between self and belly button ring...I thoroughly enjoyed the read!