An Open Love Letter to My Body

An open love letter to my body.

It’s hard to believe how long we’ve been together. 

You’ve been through every significant triumph and sorrow with me. Some of my very favorite moments have been because of you. As a kid, you helped me twirl a baton and perform in musicals. You grew and stretched.

And stayed healthy. All the way through college, I never had any major health issues. No broken bones and no surgeries. Even though I didn’t apply enough sunscreen and burned you every summer, you still encourage me to lift my face to the sun and LOVE the warmth.

I love that I have curves. Sometimes I don’t like that the curves are thicker or squishier than I’ve come to believe is attractive. But when I think hard about what I love about you: it’s the curves. I know those curves helped attract the man I love. Also, kindness and laughter, but nice curves certainly helped.

Growing my babies is the best gift you’ve given me. Wow. I mean, how exactly does such a crazy miracle happen SEVEN times!?! I dreamed about each one of the babies we grew together. I planned for them, adjusted for them, and loved them. 

So did you. I saw the way you added strength in my legs to support the growing babies. I felt the changes in my limbs, in my stomach, and in my heart. Even in my mind. I grew and nurtured and dreamed about those babies.

And, when I’m at my lowest, somehow you still seem to be there making sure I’m able to function and do what needs to be done. Losing three of those babies; well, it was awful. I’d always trusted you to take care of me and then, I realized that even you have limitations. 

I was so hurt. But on that first loss, I believed it was an abnormality in the baby that wasn’t meant to be. After three babies died inside me, we tested and found that, perhaps, it wasn’t only the baby but rather a mutation in me that caused blood clotting. I try not to blame you. You didn’t mean to do it. And, you certainly responded well once we realized what was happening and took the proper adjustments to fix it.

Let’s think about that. One small aspirin and a little progesterone pill and you were able to adjust enough to grow more babies. Thank you. Thank you for being able to grow Simon. He is the perfect final chapter and fourth boy and completes us in ways we didn’t even know we needed.

Can I ever love you enough to thank you for all you’ve given? It feels immeasurable. YOU GAVE ME THE GREATEST GIFTS. I love our boys so much. They make my life worthwhile.

Why do I shame you? Why do I look at you in the mirror and poke fun or feel disgusted? Why am I mad that you can’t do or feel or look the way I want? How can I possibly ask you for more than you’ve given me?

Because that’s what we do to those closest to us. We trust them enough to treat them badly when we feel bad ourselves. But it doesn’t make it okay. 

When was the last time I asked you what you needed from me? Maybe not since I’ve been pregnant.

Perhaps much like I don’t want to have to ask for what I want — I want those that care about me to just know and support me like I want to be cared for — maybe I could do that for you.

What would it look like to care for my body the way you deserve?

1. Stop talking bad about you. To your face or behind your back.
2. Stop making decisions that will make you feel bad. I know what makes you uncomfortable. Why do I keep doing those things? Instead of dieting, I can pick the food you like and that makes you feel good.
3. Find ways to make you feel strong. You love feeling strong. Why have I stopped supporting that? Why have all the other things in my life become more important? Being strong makes me so proud of you, yet I don’t make space to help you be strong.
4. Recognize that stress is really hard on you. Stop laughing off the idea of “less stress will help” and make choices to breathe and relax.
5. Find products and practices that make you feel good. Is there a certain lotion you really like? Is there something that gives you relief or helps you feel better? Do more of those. 

I still get mad at you sometimes. I feel betrayed by health issues and the inability to feel better even though I’ve tried so many procedures and medicine. I sometimes lose sight of the fact that you’re not perfect. You try, but not everything always works as it should.

I’m working so hard at forgiving myself for my mistakes. Maybe you, too, would like to be forgiven and supported anyway. 

Oof. That feels like something I should have known you needed many years ago. 

I forgive you. I forgive you for the times you haven’t been perfect. I forgive you for not being everything I wanted because when I really think about what I’ve wanted most: healthy amazing children, a great husband, and a happy life, you’ve given me those. Every. Single. One.

In some ways, all I really need to forgive is myself. For not loving you more. Appreciating you more. Valuing you more. 

I love you enough to take better care of you. 

I vow to think hard about how much you have given me. I want to care for you instead of always thinking about your shortcomings. I’m not exactly sure how to do that, but I’m starting to pay more attention to what you need. I’m starting to see you as a complicated, amazing, partner that needs someone to notice what you need most. 

Thank you for being with me every step of the way. I hope you won’t give up on me. I’m just starting to realize how lucky I am to have you.

A 45-year-old mom