To My Body: Apologies and Promises
Dear Body,
We’ve been together almost 57 years and lately, as I’m sure you’re aware, we’ve been having problems—you’re literally falling apart! The thought of making yet another attempt to “fix” you leaves me hopeless. What can I do that I haven’t already done to make you better?
I’m puzzled at how we became enemies in the first place. I know it didn’t help when Dad scolded you for eating dessert, or the times my brother called you “thunder thighs.” Then, that coach said you were fat. After that, you lost ten pounds only for my boyfriend, Joe, to pinch your stomach and say, “Just five more pounds and you’ll be perfect!” You were devastated. Why did I believe them and let them talk about you like that? I wish I had stood up for you. Maybe things would have turned out differently.
Those few instances, and too many more, set the stage for the harm I heaped upon you. Starving you until you saw stars; stuffing you mindlessly with food you didn’t even taste or enjoy; bending over the toilet and scraping the back of your throat until it all came up and out; and feeling a hatred for you so deep there were times I almost grabbed pieces of your flesh and sawed them off with a knife. I’m ashamed of myself.
Things got better when you began to run. I marveled at your strength and endurance, and finally embraced your bulky quadriceps. You needed energy and I gave it to you willingly. I took pride in your grace and beauty. Your muscles carried us both thousands of miles, up and down mountains, around lakes, and across finish lines. You walked me into that party where I met the man of my dreams and, years later, you stood up straight in a Russian courtroom where he and I adopted our kids. You taught those kids the joy of movement by biking, ice-skating, and swimming, and relished the taste of the pizza, cupcakes, and ice cream you ate together. I reflect on those good times, wistfully, because I remember the dark undercurrent of my dissatisfaction running beneath it all. Couldn’t you be just a little slimmer? Lose some fat and get a bit more defined? Size eight, then six, then four—nothing was ever good enough.
As you’ve gotten older, I’ve only grown more cruel. I nitpick about your wrinkles and gray hairs. I bleach your teeth and peel your skin with chemicals. I pluck your eyebrows and stick needles in your forehead. I feed you only protein for days at a time and then go completely overboard on carbs. Nothing changes and my unhappiness with you leeches the joy right out of both of us.
Your breakdown began years ago, when I broke your pelvis running. Although we came back from that, it was only temporary, like the honeymoon phase of any dysfunctional relationship. Eventually, my mistreatment ramped up. In the past four years, I fractured your wrist on a skateboard, your kneecap on a hike, and your left hand by tripping over the dog. Those were all accidents, of course, but I think you’re trying to tell me something. You had surgery for a uterine tumor and a torn meniscus, and the dermatologist sewed eleven stitches across your belly from basal cell carcinoma. Each time an injury struck, I tried, mightily, to fix your broken part. The next time I wound you, I fear there will be no medicine strong enough to heal you. It’s come to the point where something has to change. You, I, WE cannot go on.
So, my dear body, I surrender. I apologize for the way I’ve treated you and I’m determined to behave differently toward you in the future.
I will practice gratitude for you, body. You walk, stand, lift, dance, embrace, play, love and move. You are the vessel of my soul. You have carried me through 56 years, six months and 27 days of life and I thank you for it. Every day from now on, I will express how grateful I am you are still here, that you keep on keeping on, with me.
I promise to change the way I speak to and about you. My words were beyond ugly. They were harsh and horrible. They hurt you. From today forward, I’ll strive to soothe and comfort you, to choose tender words over tough ones every time.
I vow to listen to you. You are wise, body of mine! You showed me when you were hungry, tired, and hurting, and I ignored you until you screamed with deprivation, exhaustion and pain. In the future, you need only whisper, and I promise to hear you. I will be silent and let you finish the sentence, “Right now, I need…” and then give you what you ask for.
In spite of all the shadows, we had many days of light. I want more of them. I hope my commitment to treat you with compassion brings our relationship to the place where we no longer battle each other, where you experience the warm sun of my acceptance, and we are finally at peace, together.
With love, gratitude, and hope,
My Self