A Letter To My Body.
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Dear Body,
This is my first letter to you.
After 48 years in existence together, I am just starting to realize how little I acknowledge you, not only for your diligence in healing, but also for your persistent ability to carry this troublemaking brain so far in our life.
I remember when we were young, I cursed you for hurting me. Growing pains, hmph. Why are you doing this to me?
And when we fell from the playground bar (trying to show off, surely), resulting in a ginormous scab between my upper lip and nose, I was at the age where the horror and embarrassment completely wiped away any appreciation in your ability to heal without leaving a permanent scar.
I was a sickly child, with enough ear infections and swollen tonsils to last many lifetimes. From there I went straight into the hormonal barrage that made it impossible to see you as anything but a hindrance to my popularity.
For many, many years, I fought with you, nagged at you, tortured you. Why can’t you just be perfect? I asked more than a thousand times.
I didn’t give much credence to you and your superpower abilities back then. I took you for granted almost every day of my young existence, cursing you even for my awkwardness and blaming you for me not fitting in. If only I was more aware back then.
If only I knew how insecure the hormones made us all back then so I could stop blaming you. I would have been much sweeter and more supportive. I would have seen that you weren’t doing to me, but more likely I was doing to you. Instead, I tried to hide you.
For years, I hid you from everyone, including myself. Punished you in disgust.
I’m sorry for ever wishing that you looked different; crying because your thighs were too big, your ankles were too fat, your skin wasn’t dark enough.
Too much of my youth was spent wishing you would cooperate with me when all along it should have been the other way around.
I am completely flabbergasted that you’re still with me today. That you’re still willing to carry me, to heal me, to forgive me after all the bad shit I said about you.
And to boot, to muster through the physical abuse in our younger years — the alcohol, the sugar, the refusal to listen when you needed a helping hand. Wow. I am seriously humbled.
Now, with this new facial laceration, a term they used in ER as they closed the wound on my forehead with 17 stitches, I am reminded of how amazing you have been to me, O Sweet Body.
You have gotten me through 48 years safe and sound, even at my every attempt to thwart the healthy automatic systems you so silently and consistently provide.
So resilient you are in this moment of trauma; I can already see the healing, and am amazed at how quickly you work when I can get out of your way.
As I allow you to rest, I am watching you in wonderment and awe; I can’t believe I’ve spent so little time in gratitude for you and everything you’ve done for me. For crying out loud, I’ve been nicer to my car than I have been to you. And my car won’t last nearly as long.
So, my sweet loving tortured body, thank you. Thank you for being so sturdy. Thank you for loving me for so long, even when I didn’t love you back. Thank you for carrying this tormenting brain even when it didn’t deserve it. Thank you.
I will never again wish you looked different.
The scars, the subtle leftover quirks from past injuries, the signs of aging that I’m beginning to see, will all remind me of how much you took for the team and how resilient you have been, instead of reminding me of how much closer I am to the end.
I understand that you’re meant to thrive, and although it’s important to give you the daily opportunities to move, rest and be nourished, I must also strive to support you mentally and spiritually.
I know now that the hardest fight has probably been between you and my mind, and from now on, I’m going to dedicate myself to lessening this struggle.
I am committed to doing a better job in the second half of our life. I promise that I will support you more willingly and gratefully as we approach the other side of middle age.
I will trustfully stay out of your way when you need to accomplish something majestic, and will listen to you when you have specific needs. I will keep you moving, gently care for you, and show you off with pride.
Not because you’re beautiful — which you are, without question — but because I can’t have this life without you.
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Dawn Greaney lives in Denver, CO, and is a life coach, a self-development junkie, and has recently become the biggest cheerleader her body has ever had. You could contact her via her website.
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