sawyer story.: A love letter to my body

Dear Body,

I’m ready to make amends. I want to be your friend. I want to stop hating you, comparing you to others, wishing you were different, picking you apart. I want to love you for exactly who you are. No more, no less. Let me begin by saying I’m sorry.

I named you my thorn in the flesh.

Because of your cellulite, dimpling along my thighs.

Because of your breasts, too small to offer me cleavage.

Because of your all-American face, too plain to let me stand out in a crowd.

Because of your stubby fingers, that always made it hard for me to play complex chords on the piano.

Because of your stretch marks, streaking along my sides in bright hues of purple, pink, and white that I can never hide.

All of these imperfections, and the countless more that I will not name, dug painful wounds into my soul day after day after day. The more I hated your flaws, the more I noticed more of them. You were my thorn. Slowly and gratingly burying yourself beneath my flesh.

Now I see that our broken relationship is the thorn in my flesh.

Because your thighs hold me strong as I run in the sun, bike for miles, and climb mountains.
Because your breasts stay perky for my husband and out of the way for my active play.
Because your simple, freckled face seeps familiarity and kindness to everyone I meet.
Because your fingers are the vessels for spilling words on pages, for making melodies on keys, for caressing my little boy’s soft back.

Because your stretch marks announce to the world the triumph that we have accomplished together, you and I—the love & communion & ecstasy of two people swelling to a crescendo in the birthing of new life.

I had you all wrong. You weren’t driving a painful thorn into my soul, I was. I couldn’t see how beautiful & amazing & strong & delicate & playful & life-giving you are. You have always been perfect in your imperfections.

Can we start over now? I’m ready to see you for who you are, to love you for who you are. I’m ready to dig out that deeply rooted thorn of hatred and let the wounds heal. I want to see you in all of your intricate, simple, messy glory.

I know I won’t be a perfect friend. There will be days when I start picking you apart again, naming your flaws, and fighting to make you different. Just please be patient with me. Whisper to me of your greatness, and I promise that I will listen, even if it takes me awhile to quiet the critical chatter in my head.

You and I are a team. A great team. And I trust that as I learn to love you better you will love me better too. Let’s start a new chapter in our friendship today.

Love,

Monique.