Tuesday, November 12, 2013

A love letter to my body

Body love. CC image by schipul on Flickr
Thank you feet, for being my solid connection to the ground. I love your width, your sturdy shape, your recovering arches.

Thank you ankles, in pain for so long, for learning to be vulnerable again, and so allowing me to stand well once more.

Thank you legs, awesome muscular fat shapely legs, for running and biking and dancing me through life.

Thank you hamstrings, so tight, so like my father's, my brother's, my son's. I love you for reminding me of my limits, of the tangible ways I am who I am from.

My hips. Oh, my beautiful hips. Wide and wiggly and laced so fine with silver, since we were oh so young. Thank you, thank you for relearning to sway, to swing, to bounce, to glide.

You and I, back, we still have our negotiations, and I love you for it. I love you for keeping me honest, for teaching me the frustrating beauty of incremental progress.

I shouldn't have a favorite, shoulders, but I do, and you are they. Round and freckled, strong and smooth, I love your look, your feel, your work, your steady, smooth presence. Thank you for your willingness to just show up, over and over.

Thank you arms, jiggly, strong, streaked, solid arms. You may not be able to push me up, but you hold my babies, embrace my friends, massage my clients, play my music. Thank you for being my way to touch my world.

And arms wrap us back down to belly. You didn't think I'd forget you, did you dear one? Thank you for squishing, thank you for bouncing back, thank you for swaying and sagging and saying I am here and I always will be and thus giving me the chance to learn unconditional, unhindered, enthusiastic love.

I've written whole letters just to you, breasts, my Dorito-shaped queens, so grant me forgiveness as I move on...

Thank you chest, my beautiful chest, for forgiving me for burning you again and again in my reckless sunscreen-skipping youth (of just last summer), for growing freckles and wrinkles, for growing older with me so well.

Thank you neck, for your folds, for your chins, for your length and creaks and quirks. I love you for learning to look behind me again, for learning for the first time to hold my head up high.

And head, well, it's harder here to say "you". So thank you, for being the closest to the "I", for giving the lie to any fiction that I am not my body. Thank you for being the truth that I am you and so my neck, back, ankles, feet. I love you. (I love me.)

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