Woke up today with a mysterious acceptance and love for my body.
I finally get it. That the more I understand why she exists, I’d learn to love her and dare I say take care of her. Is not life more than food, and the body more than clothes? Is not function more than size?
So dear body:
From the days of bruised knees and busted lips in the 80s, you had always overcome. Even that day I tried to make you bring back what I made you take in, you forgave me. That day I cut your finger underneath the kitchen sink, you bled and still healed. Oh and do you remember that day the boy chased me down the play ground? Knee you bled beneath my tracksuit pants and tongue I bit right through you. And knee although you could never quite remove the scar, you still healed. So funny I thought you had forgotten. How could you, when the scar reminds you every other day. Silly.
Body remember 2008? That day you got a terrible allergic reaction complete with hives? The day I made you wait behind in the dorm-room door until 2am. I was so busy trying to get a good mark for Kim’s geology assignment. And even when I finally respected your protest enough to let you be seen by a physician, I still signed a LAMA form because I was not about to be sedated. I really needed to pass. Kim had said last minute excuses would not work. And dear body your protests felt like one such excuse… You went through so much trauma that day and you still overcame.
Thank God you haven’t been broken because only He knows how many hateful things I may have thrown at you then. I could just see it. The contempt. The disregard for your shelter.
But today all that’s changed. Body, thank you for waiting for me to get here. Your patience will never be forgotten. Right now, right here, I appreciate what you’ve been to me. A home. My home. You’re an incredible 76. And I hope to never default again.