My relationship with you isn’t easy. We have such a tumultuous past. No matter how much you do for me, I don’t love you the way that I should. Instead of thanking you and treating you with the respect that you deserve, I often find myself criticizing you and wishing you were different. I find myself staring at you and wondering what it’ll take to ensure that you transform into something that’ll make me happier.
I’ve spent too much timing hating you. I’ve spent countless hours bitching about the ways that you’ve disappointed me.
This dangerous thought process started to spiral out of control throughout the years. I began to view other parts of me as less than because of you. That made me hate you even more.
I swear I’ve judged every single part of you- every mark, every bump, every scar.
I bought creams and serums because I thought they would change you. I wore baggy shirts to disguise you. I tried so hard to prove to myself that you could be quickly altered in some way.
Needless to say, I was let down over and over again.
I know it sounds like there isn’t much hope for our relationship- but that’s actually not the case anymore. We’ve come so far.
I may not love you all the time, but I appreciate you so much more now than I ever did.
Even at my lowest, you stuck with it. You didn’t give up on me. When my anxiety-ridden mind triggered heart palpitations and desperation, you never gave up.
When I needed to get out of my bed in order to function- you were my vessel. You are my vessel. You allow me to get from point A to point B. You stand by my side, even when I don’t respect you in the slightest.
I don’t blame you for everything anymore. Instead, I now understand that you’re a small part of a larger issue that goes much deeper than the surface. Now that I’m uncovering just how deep these wounds are, I realize that it was so much easier putting the blame on you. Unfair, but much easier.
I’m realizing that I take better care of you when I respect you. I get better results when I approach you with love and admiration.
So now, I promise you this- I promise to be fair to you. I promise to treat you with the respect that you deserve because your beauty is more than skin deep. I can’t promise to always like you, but I can promise to work on making you healthier instead of wishing you were perfect.
My body is a temple and so is yours. Let’s embrace what makes us unique. Let’s work on strengthening the connection between our mind, body, and soul. We’re on this journey of self-love together, one foot in front of the other.
I wrote these poems (more appropriately, I should say, proclamations) during highs and lows of my relationship with my body. Aside from the oh-so-obvious patriarchal, phallic societal lens that aims to destroy womxn with heads full of sense (can I get an amen?), the rest is
As I’ve said in earlier posts, I’ve been at war in my head for...well 29 years now. And my poor body has the most physical remnants of it. I put her down so much I could cry if I truly thought about it deeply enough. Which is now.
And I’m so ashamed.
I could go through the list of “medical” conditions that I have, but I know deep down in my soul of souls that these are all the physical manifestation of a girl with somatizations that stem from the hatred of
And lord, anyone, someone up there...do I want to love her.
But I’ve been doing it wrong.
I try to love her through spending hundred of dollars, if not thousands (which I don’t even have now) of shoes, clothes, accessories, skin products, make-up, you name it! And the only time I actually nourish and care for her directly is when I (ha...it’s so sad, guess what)
have a guy.
Not a girl! Cuz believe it or not, I’ve never been as worried about the girls in my life. The ladies and I have never had it out with my body. And neither have the dudes, but somehow it’s always been about them.
Not about me.
And I’m sure (code for I know, okay? Leave me alone) there’s some psycho-crap that I have yet to explore with my therapist with respect to where this stems from...(again, my belief is a combination of the social context and personal experience *go social work baby*). But, whatever it is, I’m sick of it.
I’m SICK of it.
I spoke with a powerful woman this past weekend about our personal journeys with relationships, with our selves, and she shared a great insight that I want to share with you:
Treat yourself right, and you won’t even have time to check your phone for the dudes out there.
And you know what? She’s right.
So dear body, dearest, most irreplaceable, loyal, and precious body, please forgive me. You are perfect. You are enough. I’m so grateful for you. For your strength, your beauty, your colors, your curves, your smell, your safety. Thank you for keeping me safe and not leaving me when I’ve left myself. I never want to leave you again. I love you, and I’m sorry. You are the only body I will ever know, and I thank god for you. You tell my story. And now it’s up to me to start the next chapter.
It won’t be perfect.
But I think you’ll like it.
We would love it if you left us a line in the comments :)
Feel free to use your name, a pseudonym, or "Anonymous" in the name requirement field.
If you choose to contribute anonymously as a commenter on our blog or upload your own post under Your Voices, we want you to know that we do NOT have access to any of your personal identification. The only exception is if you subscribe to our newsletter- in this case, we will only have the e-mail that you provide us with.