A few months ago I answered a public call for submissions on the theme of writing to your body. In the end, my entry was not one of those selected, so I decided to share it here instead.
Dear Body,
I hope that one day you may find it in your battered heart the strength to forgive me for all you’ve endured. Not for the bumps and bruises, cuts, or scrapes, as those were inevitabilities on our path through this world. I am sorry, however, for the things I said, and the way I treated you while you only ever did your best to see me safely through this journey.
My disdain and scorn started so very young. By age eleven, I already suspected we would not get along. You seemed determined to embarrass me. Tall so fast. Feet far larger than other girls in my class. Clumsy. Awkward. Chubby. All words I grew to associate with you, and with those, the attached negative connotations society told me to believe.
Even if I wasn’t sure I believed what I saw on TV or read in books, the women in my own life all but confirmed those negative beliefs to be true.
I watched my mother, weighing less at age twenty-eight than I did at age eleven, skip meal after meal because nothing seemed to terrify her more than looking like me. Now, I will grant she never said that aloud… but there are some things don’t need to be said to understood.
I watched my grandmother lose weight after a terrible accident, and everyone congratulated her and told her how much better she looked, and oh, wasn’t she happier? Then spent years watching the fads of yo-yo diets pervade the lives of almost every female loved one I knew.
So, with this foundation of disdain, nurtured from such a tender age, how could anything but hatred grow?
We never stood a chance, did we, dear body?
When I was a teenager, I hated you. Hated your softness in the wrong places. Hated your splotchy skin, frizzy hair, and nervous hands. Hated your need to be held. Hated the way I felt when I looked in a mirror and saw all you’d never… we’d never be.
Yet, amidst the self-loathing, there were flickers of defiance. Moments when I marveled at your resilience. How after every trauma, you would find a way to pick us up from off the ground. The way you powered through colds and fever, healing cuts and mending broken hearts, never giving up on me, even when I berated you at every glance in the mirror.
As we grow older, my perceptions and your visage shift like stoic cliff faces eroded by the unrelenting rain. Slowly, but little by little.
This mole used to be a freckle… I liked it more when it was a freckle.
Things I took for granted started to slip away. And at first, I hated you for this as well.
I never used to bruise this easily. Since when were there stretchmarks there? Does this taste different?
But as I look back and see that while all I gave you was hatred, in return, you always gave me love.
Hugs, hand holding, kisses, caresses, triumph, pride, hope, and success… we have shared them all.
Reflecting on the countless ways you've endured my scorn yet still continuously fought for my well-being, my perspective has begun to shift. From our first faltering steps to the assured strides of today, each chapter of our journey has etched a story of survival and silent support.
How can I hate the form that grew my son? That has carried me across the world. Seen wonders some have only ever dreamed of. The form housing the heart that races with possibility of what’s to come?
Hatred is not an emotion to be directed at this holy temple that has sheltered and carried me.
You should have reverence. Monuments built in your honor.
At the bare minimum, dear body, you should have my respect.
Lately, I’ve started us down a different path. One where I see what we have now and try to appreciate it. One where, if I find true failings, instead of hating you, I help you as you’ve helped me.
I have not been the best companion to you so far. Thank you for all the things you’ve carried. My shame will no longer be among them. Instead, let my love aid in lifting those burdens from our shoulders.
Forward may we move as one, finding peace we never dreamed would be ours.
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