#italian womanhood

[bitter69uk]

“By the time she was twenty-nine years old, the child born Sofia Scicolone to an unwed mother from Naples had: changed her name twice; married and had her marriage annulled; miscarried a child; moved from Pozzuoli near Naples to Rome to Beverly Hills to Paris to Switzerland and then back to Rome; won prizes in beauty pageants; become a star of fotoromanzi; appeared topless in two movies; and accrued more than forty mainstream film credits … She had won an Oscar while speaking a language other than English (a first); she had received a $1 million payday to appear in a movie (a first for an Italian, male or female); she was held as a living embodiment of Italian mores and style and, especially, movie art; and she had become an international symbol of sex, glamour and in some eyes, shamelessness and vice.”

/ From Dolce Vita Confidential: Fellini, Loren, Pucci, Paparazzi and the Swinging High Life of 1950s Rome by Shawn Levy, 2017 /

Born on this day 90 years ago (20 September 1934): Italy’s gift to mankind, Sophia Loren! Off the top of my head, my favourite performances by Loren would include romantic comedy Houseboat (1958) (opposite Cary Grant), gritty drama Black Orchid (1958) (opposite Anthony Quinn, in a role originally intended for Anna Magnani), Heller in Pink Tights (1960) (looking astonishing in a blonde wig in a fun Western directed by George Cukor) and It Started in Naples (1960) (singing and dancing opposite Clark Gable). But I especially love her in Boccaccio ’70 (1962) in the segment directed by Vittorio De Sica. If you’re mainly familiar with Loren from her frequently decorative English-language roles, seeing her act in her native Italian is a revelation. She’s a loose, funny, self-mocking and earthy comedic performer – and of course, irresistibly sexy! Buon compleanno, lady! Fun article in today's Guardian.

[feral-ballad]

I was not the woman who breaks into pieces under the blows of abandonment and absence, who goes mad, who dies. Only a few fragments had splintered off, for the rest I was well. I was whole, whole I would remain. To those who hurt me, I react giving back in kind. I am the queen of spades, I am the wasp that stings, I am the dark serpent. I am the invulnerable animal who passes through fire and is not burned.

Elena Ferrante, tr. by Ann Goldstein, from The Days of Abandonment

[artthatgivesmefeelings]

Anselm Feuerbach (German, 1829-1880) The Mandolin Player, 1868

The young mother listens raptly to the father, enlarged in his mandolin playing in the shadows of an arbor. Her blue cloak and the green foliage surrounding her remind us of depictions of the Madonna in an enclosed garden (Hortus conclusus). But Anselm Feuerbach does not depict family bliss in this idyllic garden scene. Rather, here he has created a symbol of personal melancholy. The artist has portrayed himself as the mandolin player. The mother is Anna (Nanna) Risi, the wife of a shoemaker from Trastevere, whom Feuerbach viewed as the embodiment of the classic ideal of beauty. This was in keeping with his endeavor to produce a painting that is timeless. Nanna became Feuerbach's model and mistress in 1860, but left him in 1865 for an Englishman, plunging Feuerbach into a deep personal and artistic crisis. The two did not have a child together. His great love did not turn out to be eternal but, instead, as fleeting as the music.

[mirthridatism]

Lyrics: Paris Paloma. “Labour” (2023)  || Artemisia Gentileschi. Judith Slaying Holofernes (1614–1620)  || Caravaggio. Judith Beheading Holofernes (1599–1602)

[outstanding-quotes]

Francesco Petrarch, Sonnet 190

[vinescreens]

BBC News - Gina Lollobrigida: Italian screen star dies at 95

[classycookiexo]

Important to add: she says the Italian coaches knew her since she joined the national team and she trained with them. They knew her for years, she joined the national team in 2018….they knew she was too good

It’s crazy to see her womanhood get questioned

[nyaagolor]

Thinking about a Natsuhi-Beatrice concept. Some assorted notes under the cut

One of my hcs is that all the witches are the age when their irl counterparts "gave up". Beatrice is 19 because that's when Sayo decided for sure to commit the massacre, Eva-Beatrice is in middle school because that's when Eva gave up on becoming the family head, and so Natsutrice is 15, mentally stuck in her wedding day when she realized she would not longer be Natsuhi, but a borrowed womb and wife for the Ushiromiya family's successor and not much else

Her outfit is based off 1950s Italian wedding dresses with elements of Lolita fashion (the layers and roses, mostly) but also tinged with red both to show her sins as well as her Shinto background (red features on many shinto wedding kimonos underneath the white). I specifically wanted to have the darkest red on her hands (representing the whole baby cliff thing), her innermost layer of clothing around her legs (fertility issues / womanhood related trauma) and the trail of her dress (always dragging the past forward). Because blood is used as a representation for sin, I wanted to use the red to show both Natsuhi's own actions / philosophies as well as mix it through the western and eastern influences on this design to call back to the ideas of forced assimilation and conquest that Natsuhi represents within the broader narrative. Also bc it looks cool

As for how she would actually act within the narrative I have not thought about that much, but I think because of her obsession with cleanliness and her constantly requesting to cover the deceased's faces during the Episodes there would be at least some aspect of Shinto funeral customs involved. I like to think all the bodies would be laying down + facing north, their faces covered and with piles of salt by the door instead of the magic circles. It's less gory, but deeply unsettling either way

[nataliescatorccioapologist]

What I think each Yellowjackets character’s Letterboxd top 4 would be

*I’m including movies past the 90s even though some of these characters didn’t live long enough to see them*

Natalie

I think Nat is a huge horror movie fan (specifically 80s slasher and demonic possession) and loves edgy gothic vibes. I also think she would love some artsy indie movies about sex and challenging gender roles (and just some cool action movies with hot badass women).

Honorable mentions go to The Craft and Kill Bill

Misty

We all know Misty is a theater kid. She loves musicals and I think girlie is definitely singing Sweeney Todd and Phantom of the Opera songs to herself 24/7. And I feel like I don’t even need to explain the Steel Magnolias inclusion, she had that monologue memorized like it was imprinted on her soul.

Honorable mentions go to Hairspray and Hamilton

Jackie

I know Jackie loves a good chick flick, particularly those with homoerotic subtexts. I think, if she had gotten to live long enough to start coming to terms with her sexuality, But I’m a Cheerleader would definitely be her gay awakening. And then Bottoms once she’s tip-toed out of the closet a little bit more (RIP Jackie Taylor you would have LOVED Bottoms). And of course, I had to add Beaches because of the “Are you quoting Beaches at me right now?” line, and also because I think Jackie would watch it and shed a secret tear because it makes her think of her and Shauna.

Honorable mentions go to Uptown Girls and Heathers

Van

Van would definitely refuse to watch anything past the 90s. She loves comedy classics and queer staples. I know Van quotes The Godfather in the full Italian accent constantly (especially around Nat to piss her off) and she’s watched The Princess Bride an ungodly amount of times and knows pretty much every line (Buttercup was her queer awakening).

Shauna

Like Jackie, Shauna love movies about intense (homoerotic) friendships. I know she relates to Needy in Jennifer’s Body living in Jennifer’s (Jackie’s) shadow and resenting her for it but also being so obsessed and intertwined with her; and she also just loves the visuals and its satire on female exploitation. Shauna maybe relates to and roots for Pearl a little too much, she loves a movie about a woman desperate for recognition and teetering on the edge of insanity while maintaining a sweet and innocent facade. Also I can see adult Shauna in particular just being charmed by Little Women (partly because of the love triangle but mostly because of the womanhood and female friendship themes).

Honorable mentions go to Juno and Scream

Also side note: I feel like Shauna would love Daria, but it’s a TV show so I didn’t include it.

Laura Lee

Laura Lee loves uplifting and wholesome movies. I can see her shamelessly liking kid’s movies well into adulthood. She likes movies centered around helping people in need like The Rescuers or going through hardship and discovering faith like Soul Surfer. Girl is religious-religious so her favorites are definitely going to be centered around faith and Christianity. But she also just likes a simple feel-good film; the cheesiest, sappiest movies you can imagine.

Lottie

Okay Lottie was hard to pinpoint but I’m pretty sure she would like angsty, artsy shit. Like, in high school, she would pretend to love chick flicks like the rest of her classmates but when she gets home she’s putting on the darkest and most depressing weird girl movie you’ve ever seen. I think she likes Suspiria for the occult themes, the otherworldly feeling of it, and eccentricities of the main character who never knows what’s real and what’s not, which she relates to. I think she likes some mental illness movies like Donnie Darko because of her diagnosis and upbringing and The Virgin Suicides because she’s lonely and feels overly-controlled by her parents. And Amelie because she once again relates to the loneliness and likes that the main character discovers her gift for helping people. I think Lottie would prioritize good cinematography and visuals in movies, too.

I don’t think Lottie would really watch movies as an adult because she would be too busy running a cult and disconnecting from society, which is why these picks are centered around Teen Lottie.

-

I couldn’t think of what Tai would like! She is a mystery to me. I can see her maybe liking something like Whiplash because she is super driven and ambitious and kind of tortures herself for success? But idk. Please comment or repost with what you think her’s would be!

[eatmangoesnekkid]

I’m so tired of feminist women over 40 saying how they continue to be invisible to men the older they get.

I have never felt invisible to men and I’m close to 50. I do not try to be visible to men. I simply take care of myself and that naturally increases my visibility.

Today in my rebounding class, a young attractive Italian guy in his 20s asked for my number after class. Another lady in class commented on how attractive he was. After letting him know that I wasn’t interested and having a chat, I said to him that I was going towards 50 years old.

Santos was stunned. He, like everyone else, could not believe it. He said “I thought you were 25.” He was completely shocked and said “you are very beautiful” which made me blush because I could feel his sincerity. And I was sweaty in leggings and had my hair in two messy afro puffs in a gray winter climate. But it is really my aura, the fact that I don’t carry a lot of density in me, along with my love of being a woman, that attracted him at the level of the *unconscious.*

As we get older in these beautiful female bodies, our physical merely becomes a hologram of what lives in our subconscious in ways that we can no longer mask, hide, or lean on through youth or genetics. I was never the “pretty” or “beautiful” girl growing up; I was the smart girl. The “good” girl. The “nice” girl. But what I have learned is that every year we truly take care of ourselves will add up overtime and radiate out into the world in a higher frequency eventually.

Moral of the story —do not believe these women who say they are invisible to men because many of these women have spent years, their whole lives, living in their heads or complaining about their monthly cycles, not fully embracing being a woman. Now they want men to find them attractive after all those years of being disconnected from their own bodies. Over the years that constant dissonance and disconnection with self will add up and show through your aura.

You must enjoy being a woman. This real genuine enjoyment is your magnetism.

Take care of your body. Be aware of what you are feeding your mind and your skin. Love your bleed time. Find ways to enjoy your breasts. Smile at yourself in the mirror. Nurture your softness. Laugh often- don’t take everything so seriously. Destress and nourish yourself in ways that stop you from having monthly cramps. Believe in something much more than what you have been taught about female physiology. Be lighthearted and connected to earth. Grounded. Let go, get rid of some things, sometimes people included. There are some deeper female mysteries that I will keep more veiled and private on this blog but will teach openly in my online school.

All in all, when you *consciously* spend time being good to your body and saying good things about every facet of your womanhood and femaleness, then you won’t have any problem with people of all walks of life being attracted to you. Every year your aura will get bigger and bigger, more radiant and alive. Adore yourself and the world can’t help but to love and adore you back….at any age.

Living on earth is a game of frequency and consciousness. Nothing more or less.

—India Ame’ye

[slushiepizza]

Marie and Mother Mary

Relationship : Marie & Milo Greer

Tags : Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Post-Partum Depression, Gender Roles, Catholicism, Motherhood, Italian American Marie Greer

Word Count : 1,510

ao3

Notes and Warnings:

this fic kind of surprised me because I'm not super into the Shaw Pack. But I do find Marie Greer's presence and bits and pieces we know of her character fascinating. I wanted to explore Marie's mind and feelings about being a mother when she's dealing with a gambling husband; and for her to raise someone like Milo Greer- she must've done a great job as a parent.

I took inspiration from my own experiences growing up with Catholicism and specifically in relation to the biblical Mary as a religious figure; and how mothers often find comfort in the thought of a figure who related in their struggles of motherhood and womanhood. It also has a theme of gender roles/ alluding to rigid gender identities because of the circumstances that Marie grew up in.

This fic isn't really... religious per se, and it takes more of a neutral standing while still criticizing how religion could be used to provoke feelings of personal guilt and trauma in someone who grew up in it, while also giving comfort to anyone that needed the universe to say that everything will be okay. If any of the themes may cause distress in you, I do implore you not read this fic, as consuming writing is a vulnerable activity.

The year was 1993. Marie Greer walked into the empty church lot with her baby in her arms. It had been decades since she last stepped on its stone floors. The security guard stationed outside looked at her strangely, but let her in once she asserted that she was there to pray.

She passed the main building for a small garden in the back. There were rows of wooden benches but nobody to be found. Good. Marie didn’t want company at the moment. To call it a garden was an overstatement- it was tiny and cramped, overgrown with vines. In front of the benches, the centerpiece of all the foliage was a statue of the Virgin Mary. Mother Mary, she thought, the double entendre not escaping her. 

As soon as she sat down right in front of the statue- Milo wailed inconsolably like he always did. 

The baby’s loud cries echoed disturbing whatever peace that was left from the place. Marie sighed, tired and weary, of this. He was an especially sensitive child, smaller than other babies his age. Marie was used to catering to people who’d fuss over the littlest things, Colm had a particular affinity for order and cleanliness whenever he came back from blowing his month’s earnings in a night, after all. The addition of Milo to the family just added more on her plate- she had to catalog every single one of his many allergies, and make sure that the room was never dusty because he’d have a coughing fit otherwise. The replacement of their popcorned ceiling had not been cheap, either, not with Colm leaving barely anything left after his trips to Vegas.

She did this all for love. For him. For her husband. But oftentimes, she felt like there was nothing left of her to give. Dry. Hollow. 

She shushed Milo and lightly rocked him in hopes that he’d calm down but to no avail. He thrashed and turned, his nails accidentally scratched her in the arm. Marie winced and tried to soothe him, lightly patting his back. It took thirty minutes of rocking and soothing Milo until the baby went back to sleep. 

St. Mary’s weathered ivory-colored face looked down at her, her expression blank and unmoving. Her lips were sculpted into a serene smile. Her pupil-less eyes gazed back at Marie. 

Just like any other Italian-American family at the time, church was a routine for Marie growing up. Her mother would dress them in their Sunday’s best and wrangled her and her seven unruly siblings into the building. “Quit fussin’ your pigtails, Marie. I did that real pretty for you,” she’d chide. They’d sit in the back of the church because tardiness ran in that family’s blood like a curse. 

Past the twelfth and thirteenth pews, God felt distant. 

Marie would follow everything diligently. She stood up when everyone else stood up as the priest lifted the circular white wafer, the body of Christ, above the altar. As a child, her height wouldn’t allow her to catch a single glimpse of it. She’d comfort her younger siblings whenever they’d make a ruckus. But the whole thing- it went one ear out of the other. 

She could’ve sworn she tried her best to listen and followed whatever the adults did. 

I have greatly sinned, escaped past her lips as she did the same thing she had now, rocking her baby sister in her arms. At the time, she hadn’t even lost her milk teeth. 

She stopped going when she married Colm. He was the opposite of the man her mother wanted her to marry, and in retrospect, she felt that it was one of the many reasons she liked him. His mind was raucous, his eyes wild and unmoored. Like nothing was holding him back. Colm used to be an ambitious man- the thrill of being an Investigator for DUMP perfect for his unrested soul. 

Marie loved that part of him, the fact that he’d question everything, unbelieving in anything unproven. 

He said that he wanted to purge the world of assholes- the unjust, those who hurt others for their own sake. As he turned in empowered criminals in the pursuit of it, he became one himself. 

Marie met St.Mary’s gaze- almost challenging her hollow stare. Something surged through her, from the ache in her back settling to her tight diaphragm.

After the birth of her boy, Mary couldn’t cook or clean. All she did was stay in bed. Her sister came by to help take care of the house while Colm stepped outside as usual. She said that it was normal, her body had been through hell, after all. But the heavy feeling, the heaviness that settled in her chest persisted for the next two months.

 Marie hated feeling helpless- her house a mess, and her baby cried constantly. She was a woman of action, and stagnation shackled her, leaving her trapped. Her visit to the psychiatrist- and the fourth edition of the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual- had told her that it was depression with a postpartum onset. She told the doctor that she refused to accept that she was a ‘bozo who was sick in the head’ and that she will cure herself with a margarita and a sorely needed hair perm alongside a fresh coat of manicure. 

And look where that got her. Crying in front of a statue in church.

She still stared at the other Mary, the statue’s size and height caused her to look like she was looking down on whoever prayed in the confined space, guiding them iin a time of need. With that, for once, Marie realized that she was angry. 

She wasn’t stuck to her mattress, fatigued, and lacked energy because of sorrow- she was so angry, the weight of her job description as wife, mother, woman, wolf, dog, bitch- Marie weighed down on her like anchors. She was angry, at the fact that Colm was nowhere to be found throughout all this, angry at her mother- for making her a mother to her own siblings when she was barely a child, angry at the fact that she couldn’t even love her child properly because she no longer had any love left in the hollow of her heart. 

The emotions had clawed the insides of her ribs and caused her to let out heavy breaths- she was a dog panting for air when there was none. 

“When does it get easier,” she demanded to the Mother of all Mothers through gritted teeth. “Tell me, Mary,” she begged, desperate, as tears started to roll down her face. “Tell me!” 

“When does being a mother ever get any easier?”

Her voice was a whisper, barely audible, as she started to sob and heave quietly. 

A soft breeze blew past the branches of the trees that surrounded her. It moved the leaves and allowed them to move gently back and forth. The statue still looked down at her, hand slightly outstretched in a supposed kind, helpful gesture. Ants crawled from the crack in the marble, they moved past Mary’s dress down to the hem, circling around her exposed foot, past the head of the sneak that was crushed triumphantly under her toes. 

Marie sank into her seat, tired. She wiped her face with the back of her hand, sniffling. Unbecoming of her, she thought. She’d rather die than let anyone see her like this. But there was a comfort between women, she supposed. Damage from rain stained Mary’s cheek like tears- not unlike the thick mascara that currently ran down her own. The air was comfortable, easy, and Marie felt light. It reminded her of the 80s. Of girls in the bathroom of the disco, talking someone out of calling their past lovers as they applied lipstick and passed cigarettes between one another.

“I guess,” she sniffed. “I guess you know better, right?” she stared into a picture that hung on a distant wall. In it, St. Mary cried as she held Jesus' dying body. “He didn’t give you a hell of a good time either,” her voice cracked pathetically. 

Girl, tell me about it, Marie imagined the statue said. The Virgin Mary had the voice of her best friend in college. Is that not what being a mother is? The pain so bad, it feels like you’re splitting in two? Going through all seven hells for your baby’s sake?

“Why do we even put ourselves through this,” she chuckled sardonically. “If I wanted to go through pain, I’d rather just listen to Colm talk about whatever fish he caught on the weekend.” 

Mary didn’t answer, and Marie understood. Milo opened his big eyes in her arms and reached up to her with tiny hands. He giggled, light and oblivious to the puffiness of Mary’s face and the swell of her eyes. She cooed at him and held up a finger. Milo wrapped his hand around it, gentle. 

St. Mary’s serene smile was still plastered on her face, her hand outstretched in the air between them. 

[equalitymattersallaround]

Okay, for anyone who needs context, and this is WILD...

There was an Olympic boxing match between Italian boxer Angela Carini and Algeria’s Imane Khelif which ended after 46 seconds when Carini broke down in tears and left the fight, later telling reporters: “I preferred to stop for my health. I have never felt a punch like this.” Khelif is one of two boxers permitted to fight at the Games despite being disqualified from the women’s world championships in 2023 for failing testosterone and gender eligibility tests.

Numerous right-wing figureheads have started complaining about fairness in sports with JK Rowling going so far as to say, “Could any picture sum up our new men’s rights movement better? The smirk of a male who knows he’s protected by a misogynist sporting establishment enjoying the distress of a woman he’s just punched in the head, and whose life’s ambition he’s just shattered.”

But Imane Khelif is a cisgender woman.

Imane Khelif was assigned female at birth, has lived her life as a woman, and is 100% a cisgender woman. Even by the bullshit, bigoted standards transphobes set for women she meets them. But TERFs on this website seem to be having a hard time believing that so they're coming up with conspiracy theories, saying Khelif is intersex (which I can't confirm if she is or isn't), and that she, "moves like a man."

But Algeria does not recognize or respect the civil rights of LGBTQ people, so they would not send someone who could even possibly be trans to represent them at the Olympics.

This just goes to show that the standards of womanhood transphobes set-up to keep trans women out hurt cisgender women as much. Khelif is a cisgender woman who was disqualified from the women’s world championships in 2023 for failing testosterone and gender eligibility tests and now has people like JK Rowling - who champions herself as a defender of cisgender women's rights - calling her a man.

TL;DR - A cis woman hit her competitor so hard at the Olympics transphobes are calling her a man.

[inmydreamstate]

today my therapist asked me how i think anger has aided in this process & i had a big expansion of thought as i peeled back layer after layer like a big ripe onion of self discovery and connection and it was incredible and also so thought provoking and exhausting but also a jolt of energy like hello!! healing is taking place here!! how exciting

it is so so weird and cool and beautiful and scary and exciting to feel like i have just closed a big chapter of my life and walked into a huge fulfilling transformative healing love-filled one. like wow watch me change and grow and thrive and become the me i dreamt about as a little kid. she’s arriving!!!

[leaves-fall-down]

Hate to say it but the overlap of "has a fanbase that heavily values their writing abilities" and "has a fanbase that deliberately detaches/miscontrues/borderline insults/fetishizes the singer's identity and inspiration from their artistry in an effort to pretend the music is closer to what the fans think they should be" venn diagram is not only just a straight up circle, but has taken over many of the same musicians and the fandoms overlap with each other to such an extreme extent that it sometimes becomes exhausting to consume any of their music as independent artists and then discuss them, let alone seeing how a lot of these artists have a "collective" fanbase that treats them all so bizzarely. Like do y'all not see the pattern with how you always feel some need to focus on certain "nicer" aspects of musicians' identities and entirely disregard others, or be all weird about it when you do acknowledge it? I'll provide examples, hopefully you'll see what I mean.

Tamino is an Egyptian and Lebanese man, at the same time he is Belgian, and that influences his art and it's so weird to just focus just on Persephone and his more "western" songs, or compare his nose to just a bunch of western white men. Hozier is Irish and inspired by Black American musicians who make political music and it's weird when you guys pretend he's just the fairy bog boy, which tbh you also likely wouldn't be saying if he was from Pennsylvania or Manchester or whatever, you're absolutely doing it with him because he is Irish, plenty of other artists write nature themes and don't get that weirdness put on them, you're doing it because he is Irish. Ethel Cain is a Southern American and writes from that very specific experience and has religious themes that influence her music and isn't just some "backwards" "hick" "redneck" (in a derogatory, insulting sense) girl that a lot of you clearly view "people like her" down south as. Måneskin has written in English since the beginning of their career, clearly takes inspiration from English and American musicians, and isn't entitled to write in Italian just because you think they should or because their native language ~fascinates~ you as an english speaker. Mitski often writes from a very VERY obvious perspective of being an Asian American woman and yet so many of you pretend that her songs about that experience are innately applicable to all of womanhood when they clearly aren't. They just aren't. They are about her experience as an ASIAN AMERICAN woman.

There are other artists y'all do this sort of shit to too (mainly Black ones!!) and it's absolutely annoying as shit to see that you can't just appreciate their identities for what they are and still need them to be closer in proximity to you and your identity or needs to "fulfill" something for you as an outsider, to the point of being delusional about the fact that this is all first and foremost their music and that it operates with their identities and they're all fantastic writers because on various levels they're being vulnerable about their identities and selves. That's not to say you can't pull your own meaning from the songs they write or whatever, but when discussing the artists themselves a lot of you are showing your asses with how you view "people like that" and how even though you're not being weird or bigoted in an obvious, deliberately mean sort of way, a lot of you still have shit to unpack and look at before you engage with them and their stuff. I mean Jesus christ even the most surface level understanding of erasure, fetishizing, and sterotypes can show what y'all are doing subconsciously, I'd hate to see how you talk about these people's identities when it's someone you don't see as both a product yet (parasocially) a friend, but is instead someone you hate.

[cursecuelebre]

Roman Goddess Luciana of Childbirth and Light

Attributes:

Childbirth

Matrons (Married Women)

New borns

Midwifery

Soon - to - be Mothers

Virginity/Chasity

Celestial Light Moon and Sun

Light that which brings Newborns into life.

Fertility especially when it comes to women

Symbols:

Torches

The colors red, black, and white

Libyan Lotus trees or Nettle trees. Member of the Elm tree family. The trees are southern European species of nettle trees, the Romans just refer them to as Lotus trees.

I’ve read from a source that lady bugs or lady birds are sacred to her but I find just one source so take it with a gain of salt. Lady bugs is mostly associated with Freyja so I would imagine relating to fertility.

Titles and Epithets:

Luciana is the Goddess of light and childbirth and newborns. Her name is alone to be just be a goddess alone which is possibly she originated from a Sabine moon goddess. But her name itself can be a title like how “Hekate or Hekatos” is used not just for a name of a goddess. Her name Luciana can be derived from the Latin word “Lux” which is luminous and light also “Lucus” which means Groves I’ll explain in the next paragraph. I’ll put other names she was referred by but also what goddesses of which they took her name as an epithet/title.

- Noctiluca - Giving Light by Night

- Luna - Of The Moonlight

- Lucifera - Giver of Light

- Juno Lucina - Shining one. With this title there is more information about the worship of Luciana.

- Diana Lucina - Divine Queen

- Hekate Lucina - Hekate was also known to bear this title as a light bearer.

- Saint Lucia or Saint Lucy: It is theorised and not so uncommon of when goddesses or gods become saints after Christianisation a well known example is St Brigid once known before in pre-Christian Ireland as a Celtic goddess of the Hearth. Saint Lucia is said to be the Goddess of Luciana whose symbol is a torch as well.

General Information

During the early days of the Roman Empire Luciana was one of the first temples to be established. She is said to be originated from the tribe of Sabine whose role as a moon goddess. Her role within Roman religion was mostly documented as Juno Lucina which isn’t surprising since Juno is the goddess of marriage and motherhood and childbirth. Her temple was set on Cisipan Hill on a Grove. But a shrine to Luciana was built on Esquiline Hill around 373 BCE on March 1st. It was always set on a grove which was surrounded by Lotus trees or Nettle trees which was very sacred and celebrated by offering locks of hair from Vestal Virgins who acknowledge their vows of chastity and a choice to not become a mother.

When Luciana was invoked during childbirth for easy delivery and a healthy child to be born. Women would let their hair loose and untie any knots from their clothing in a way of sympathetic magic letting energy of the birth flow easily and without any complications. After the baby was delivered, the child would be brought to the goddess’s altar called Sellisternium (a altar dedicated to a goddess) along for a feast of celebration. Luciana is very much centered around all things pregnancy, newborns, fertility, she even is called a Saviour from infertility, She is in charge bringing Newborns into the light of the world, also grants Newborns safe passage.

Her festivals

Held on March 1st, the Roman new year also called Matronalia plus the anniversary of the temple’s founding. Where married women would be given money from their husbands to make an offering to Juno Luciana of Womanhood. They (Matrons) would general go to the temple make offerings on Esquiline Hill. Afterwards a festival of Family would began as the Matrons of the household would be a central figure with their husbands giving them gifts and Slaves would be served as well.

Editor’s Note:

It was brought up very importantly that Luciana is the Italian proper name but “Lucina” is the correct and proper spelling for the titles and epithets for Juno and Diana not Luciana. The difference is very hard to notice at first which I made that mistake, but thank you to the lovely user who made it known to me in the comments! Putting this here so that it’s a marking of update, I will retype the titles and such for the correction 💖

[awellboiledicicle]

I got a referral to an actual gynecologist to talk about surgery AND hrt. As well as xray for my back pain and an ultrasound to make sure the gynecologist has updated images of how bad the situation is.

I am absolutely gonna have to spin this to my parents so I still have a place to live, because my father is a 60+ year old Roman catholic italian and my mother is a vaguely xtian older woman who deeply assumes I'm gonna settle down and have kids to pass the house onto.

Neither of them are GREAT about me being trans. But being nonbinary and very interested in the local town not beating me to death, I use my dead name and she/her. So they tend to completely forget I'm queer at all. Which is useful for stealthing. Not great for hedging reactions.

Logistically they'll assume I'm swapping binaries.

Given I work and time share in the closet, this wouldn't change much.

What will is whenever I actually get to start T. Because my mothers very very invested in taking sandpaper to every "deviation" from "normal" womanhood my PCOS caused. Literally. She had me sand the stubble off my face for like two weeks in hs before she decided it was a bad look compared to razor burn. Several months of max power laser treatment JUST IN CASE it burned out the roots on my face even through my beard is red and the laser doesn't target it well or at all. Spent weeks between treatments healing from the burns. I still can't get too much sun on my face or I'm fucked. She got upset when I was prescribed birth control because it would make me gain weight and it meant I couldn't marry straight out of hs and have grandkids.

Just to illustrate the point that uh.

She's more attached to the mental image of me being a woman in some form than me being comfortable with things.

She's also the lynchpin against my father impulsively disowning me. So keeping her happy enough is a thing.

All this, still in pain. Sweating buckets. Still sitting at work trying not to ruin my accounts register with hand sweat.

We plan and we progress.