I really wanted to write a love letter to my body for all of the amazing things that it has done for me. Sometimes I falter. Sometimes I just don’t love my body the way I should and I want that to be okay, too.
Every day while I scroll through social media I notice images, quotes, and infographics about self-love and all of the reasons we need to love the skin we’re in. We feel compelled to share them and add our own dialogue and opinions about how loving ourselves is the healthiest thing we can do. We leave encouraging comments and write messages or support to our fellow comrades in a harsh society that is anything but accepting. We band together and pretend like we’re all more than happy with the way we look and feel because it’s the right thing to do.
But what about those of us who just aren’t feeling it? I can’t be the only person who suffers from moments where I just don’t love my body the way that I should. Maybe it’s part of the postpartum experience. Maybe it’s aging and several years of wear and tear. All I know is I want to stand in solidarity and commend every single person who makes positive changes toward loving themselves and being body positive. I want to be that person too. But I also want to be honest with myself and share my truth. I just don’t always love you the way that I should.
I love you most of the time, but other times I do not. I’m really working on that.
Now, don’t get me wrong. I respect the hell out of you. Your legs walked you through so many new places carried you through numerous adventures. Your arms have held and embraced friends and family members who needed you in desperate times. Your shoulders have been cried on. Your hands and fingers have folded together during prayer. You danced and performed your way to gold medals. You carried my daughter inside of you for 9+ months. You endured hours of painful back labor. You pushed a literal tiny human out of you so that she could be a part of this world. You have provided nourishment and comfort to her when she needs it.
But sometimes I do things to you that are hurtful. I’ve called you names, I’ve hidden you in the back, I’ve deprived you of nourishment, I’ve exhausted you, and I’ve neglected you.
I’m sorry for that.
There are thighs that rub together where a gap used to be, skin that folds over my waistline, wrinkles alongside my eyes, gray hairs that peak out amongst the blonde, and scars and stretch marks that tell a story of 32+ years.
I want you to know that I’m trying. I want to stop picking apart all of the physical traits that make me self-conscious. I want to stop looking back and wishing you looked the way you used to look. I want to give you the affirmations you need to confidently carry you through the day.
Most importantly, I want you to know that I still love you.
Thank you for all that you’ve done and all that you will continue to do.