I have spent 36 years in this body, and I kinda like it.
I’m sad that I haven’t always been kinder to it, but I’ve learned a lot along the way, and I am more at peace than I’ve ever been with my body.
This body of mine has been underfed and malnourished, and overfed and abundant in excess storage. It’s been sleep deprived to the point of near insanity, and so well rested I’ve felt like I was floating on air.
I have housed 6 lives, and fully grown and given birth to 4 amazing souls. I’ve felt the pain of losing a baby too soon, and the joy of meeting the little one you’ve yearned for and felt dancing in your belly for months on end. This body has the stretch marks to remind me of miracle of the female body in pregnancy.
This body has suffered the RIDICULOUS pain of endometriosis, missing school, missing important life events and experiences due to pain and murder-scene type of hemorrhaging. This body has had, off the top of my head, 7 surgical procedures, 10 if you count 3 c-sections. This body has the scars to serve as reminders of each one of them.
This body has weird random scars, like the one that goes across the back of my calf from the time my rescue dog Leya pulled me on an extendable leash around a parking lot with me in rollerblades, a wildly exciting and slightly terrifying experience that ended with a nasty leash burn for me. And the newest scar on my right bicep, reminding me of the day I tried and failed about 50 times at wakesurfing, but was absolutely freakin’ determined to nail it, which I did, and it was the best 2 minutes I’ve had recently…but the life vest left a HUGE and NASTY burn on my arm, now a huge scar.
And yes, I have scars from a tummy tuck I had after I had my second child and thought I was done having kids. Oh well, I’ve had 2 more kids since then, but, I was young, and got my feelings hurt when wearing a size 4 and feeling pretty good a woman asked me when I was due. Dumb, but true.
And my boobs are fake. It’s Texas, I love ‘em, my husband doesn’t complain, so deal with it. And yes, after nursing 3 kids, they needed a lift, so I have scars there too.
And then there are those little details, like the way my hands have aged, and how I LOVE looking at them now…because these small hands have wiped so many tears, far too many butts (young AND old–I was a CNA at a nursing home for 4 years), given so many massages, hugs, typed so many words of love and inspiration, played music on piano, clarinet, flute and a little guitar…these hands have given so much love and beauty to the world, and the bit of age that is showing on them warms my heart, as I see the hands of my mama and my daddy emerging from my own arms and I feel the love they gave me over the years. I know that my children look at my hands, and know they are the hands of their mama, who will love and hold them through everything good and everything bad that has been, and that will come.
This body has run a half marathon, completed multiple rounds of INSANITY, INSANITY MAX 30, and taught 2-3 hours of classes back to back encouraging and teaching other women in group fitness classes. This body knows no physical limits anymore, because the only limit it faces is the one in the mind. This body will never quit, because it’s been through a lot. Not everything, but a lot.
And I’m proud of it. Every stretch mark. Every bump of cellulite (cuz I betcha it tasted yummy at the time! 😉 ) Every scar. And MOST of the wrinkles (the ones on my face can go to hell–I botox those fuckers!) The journey to loving and accepting this body has been just that, a journey. But it’s MY journey, and I’m proud of it. And I’m telling you, from the bottom of my butt (it’s bigger than my heart), I love this body. It’s the only one I’ve got, and for all it’s flaws & imperfections, I love it.
It’s the most freeing, peaceful, and beautiful gift I’ve given myself. Ever.