Dear body,
We have jumped, stretched, dawdled, run, snuggled, hurt and recovered together for thirty years. I have witnessed my feet in tap shoes learning how to dance, the spread of stretch marks over my hips and breasts like strawberry vines, the death of my pancreas and the daily battle inside my head. As a teenager, filling up and out, there were some moments of doubt. I didn’t know how things were going to turn out or if I’d have a body strong, useful or desirable. Most of the time though I trusted you as you took me where I needed to go; and when you needed to rest, I let you.
I’ve hated this body at a few key moments. Notably when my pancreas betrayed me at 17 and when I realised I suffered from depression and social anxiety at 21. It was pretty hard to come to the realisation that our relationship would not be ideal or normal. We have had to learn to work together and when you let me know you needed a break I would defend you against the accusations that I was just lazy or non-compliant because I knew you weren’t any of those things. Some people haven’t treated you the way you deserve to be treated, and I will always fight back but I’m not on the defense any more. Now I am on the offense with this body that supposedly offends, because I love you.
As we navigated our way through this last decade we got fatter. Our belly became full and our arms plump. For all the messages telling me that this was a bad thing, it didn’t seem so bad. I have felt strong and soft, paradoxically peaceful within, decorated by time and loving modification. I need to give my body a voice because we’ve got so many things to say and we’re sick of being silenced.
Much love and respect,
Natalie.