This Body

This body is old.  This body is ugly.  This body is slow, weak, cumbersome. It gets in my way and pisses me off.  It trips me when I’m tired and gets sticky when I sweat.  It has rolls and wrinkles, and cellulite dimples.  It has jiggly thighs and arms that aren’t half as strong as I want them to be.

I sit immobile at a desk all day and complain when my body gets sore. I work out and dance and stretch and move and push it to the limits.  I punish it because I want my body to know how wrong, how bad, how unruly it is.

And it forgives me.

My Body Forgives Me

My body accepts my complaints, my fears, my worries, my aches, my pains, my childish demanding nature that wants it to conform to the tiny girls in the magazines that are 15 years younger than me and photoshopped within an inch of their life.

My body gives me permission. To try something new. To emulate a pretzel on a flat yoga mat.  To twirl and spin on shiny poles. To dance until I can barely breath. To smile and laugh until my mouth aches and my lungs burn. To run until my sweat turns pure.  To cry until my face swells and my throat dries up, and I simply can’t scream anymore.

My Body Gives Me Space

Space to withdraw into myself when I’ve said too much, gone too far, felt too judged. Space to watch the clouds drift across the sky.  Space to feel the sun heat my back and the wind caress my belly. Space to be whoever I want to be, whenever I want to be, with no expectations. Space to be held and loved. Space to share myself with the world or just one person. Space to choose.

My body is the one who listens when I rant and rave over something that I won’t remember a week from now.  It’s the one who knows all my deepest fears and doesn’t belittle me for them.  Who hears me and understands perfectly, even when I’m still figuring out what the hell I’m trying to say.

My body holds my memories, of the past that I’m not ready to let go of.  And the future I’m not ready to posses. It holds my dreams, my wishes, and my hopes with hands so gentle I sometimes think I’m floating. It’s the one who holds me until the sobbing stops even if it takes hours.

My body is the one that remembers to breath. Inhaling deeply from the pool of living air that surrounds me. Exhaling and releasing what I no longer need. The loving breath, the angry breath, the shallow breath, the purging breath, the cleansing breath, the everyday breath.  My body is the one who takes a deep breath with me, right before I take the plunge that could change my life forever.

My Body Loves Me

And loves me. And loves me some more. Everyday, every moment. Every shout, every tear, every laugh.  My body proves it’s love by showing up day after day, morning after morning.  I close my eyes in the dark of the night and my body loves me enough to keep me alive until I’m ready to open them again.

It asks for almost nothing in return. Food to feed me. Shelter to protect me. Water to sustain me. And for this it showers me with pleasure, sensation, titillation, emotion, intelligence, understanding, comprehension, nothing less than the ability to experience life over every inch of my skin. My body fills me with boundless energy and lets me ride that fluid wave over and over again.

My body is dedicated to being with me, loving me, living only for me, until I take my last breath.

And I’m Not Going To Punish It Anymore

I’m going to practice loving this body. Moving with love. Breathing with love. Being in love.

I’m going to practice acceptance.

I’m going to practice experiencing this body without judgement while it laughs and cries.  While it learns to fly and sometimes falls down.

I’m going to practice giving this body permission to be whoever she is. With compassion on most days and trust on the rest.

Because finally after all these years, I think I’m falling in love with her.