I've alluded to my self-esteem issues in some previous posts. Honestly, I'm not interested in an internet tell-all at this point about my own journey with these problems. That said, I included "Write a Letter to My Body" on the 22 Things list. I originally came across the idea on the amazing blog Already Pretty (you can read Sal's letter here) and have always felt it might be a very productive healing exercise. But for a good bit of time, the task appeared too daunting and overly rife with the potential for a rawness I couldn't handle. Which in my eyes also made it a good goal. Keep pushing, keep growing. "Be Courageous and Vulnerable."
So my letter is posted below. Sharing such a thing on the internet wasn't a comfortable place for me, but the universe surely needs more messages of positivity and gratitude, no? And if it encourages anyone who visits this tiny corner of the web to examine his/her own relationship with their body, it's done good (for more than just me).
Hey love,
Let us begin with the magnitude of that greeting. I have just addressed you, my body, as “love.” Five years ago I wouldn’t have thought it possible. It wouldn’t have even crossed my mind to consider this expression of affection a positive statement. A statement of fact.
Distrust infiltrated our relationship early on. At five, I cried Easter morning that my “poofy” dress made me look fat. By eight, I began intensive ballet training and my sneaking suspicions that you were not good enough were readily confirmed. And confirmed and confirmed every day of the next ten years.
Over time, a vague but constant terror grew and spread into a full-blown hatred. I hated you. I spent hours in front of the mirror pinching you, crying over you. It might have looked like I was doing my homework, laughing with my friends, enjoying myself. And I often was. But those activities, every activity, occurred with a simultaneous litany of self-doubt. Because you were always there, reminding me that I would never be good enough.
Fat. Ugly. Disgusting.
And then I hit a breaking point. That’s always how it goes, eh? We had never gotten along, but the constant companion of negative thoughts swelled to a new level. I began punishing myself-- bingeing, purging, weighing, measuring, and more. And I finally realized that something was wrong. My thought process had become so ingrained as to seem natural. To seem right.
I wasn’t ready to love you. But I was ready to stop hating you, hurting you. Or at least to try. Because, well you and me are really the same thing, you know? And letting day after day pass by, filled with self-loathing and desperate attempts to fill those holes of fear and shame with anything but love, was wrong.
It’s been a long three years of healing. And the process isn’t over. I doubt it ever will be. But, body, can I tell you a few things?
I love you. That thrill I feel when I’m dancing? When I’m stretching and pulling and pushing and testing you? It’s one of the best damn things in my life. Thanks for that. And thanks for giving me legs, strong legs, to walk on. You should know walking is pretty high on my list of favorite things too. And standing, and running, and stomping my feet when the music is right. And for the feeling of running my hands over high grasses. And for my green eyes. And for freckles. And for your stretch marks, always to remind me of where I’ve been and where I’m going. A marker of my past. For the shape of my stomach. It’s not what people tell me is perfect. But I know differently. I know that your softness and your gentle curve feel better under my touch than hard and flat ever did. For my health and your rather incredible resilience to illness and injury.
Here’s the thing. You’ve never done a single thing wrong. You adapt. You found a way to survive even when I treated you like dirt. I still haven’t gotten this all figured out. Sometimes I don’t treat you in the manner you deserve. Or I lose sight of my love when other eyes fall on you. But I promise I’m trying. And I’ll keep trying. You’re too good to give up and I’ve fallen too in love with you to even consider it.
Xo,
MK
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