Dear Body

Dear Body,


Somedays, looking in the mirror at you is hard. There are scars from surgeries, accidents and the ever common fall from a bike as a child. They paint my stomach, legs and arms in what could be sadness and remorse for the past. There are signs of growth and rebirth. The change in seasons are reflected in the varying tones. I could chock it  all up to the mistakes I've made, the negatives. But I've realized that they tell a story. A story of perseverance, strength and hard work.


To my stomach: The blood flowing through my organs keeps me alive, allowing me to absorb nutrients. I could be angry when you inflict pain on me, in order to process trauma, but instead I'll thank you for working so hard. The pain is a message to push through whether it be physical or emotional hardship. So thank you, for creating a force to influence me to become strong.


To my chest: I get so insecure sometimes that I don't look like those photoshopped, equally normal instagram models. But you are what keeps my heart safe, what keeps my heart beating. My ribs form a beautiful crystalline cage to protect the ultimate ruler of my body. My sternum acts as a shield from the bombardment of heartbreak and sorrow that easily could poison my heart, filling it with black smoke and hatred.


To my mind: You and I have had some ups and downs. There are times where you challenged my inner aspirations or what I thought I wanted. You put up the stop sign, when I wanted to barrel through the red flags to achieve some form of fleeting satisfactions. For a period of time, we both were blind, listening to outside critics of what image we should portray. But then a realization came. Changing your path or course in life isn't a definition of your worth. Instead it's the truth that your happiness is more than climbing the rungs of the achievement ladder. You helped me realize that I can help everyone in more ways than the typical road of care. Thank you for showing me the mirror and the validity in my person.


To my skin: I used to hate your color, striving to change it into something unattainable. I hated the shining strings of gold that would run underneath the caramel colored outer layer. But thank you for helping me accept how beautiful that color is. The rich fabric that is painted on to me has been passed down from my ancestors, a lineage of intelligence, culture and dedication. I should have never been ashamed of what makes me, me. A coat of armor that strengthens me to help others like me or others different than me. Don't worry, I will wear my protective gear with pride, instead of shame.


I have my days where I wish I could change things, try and make things "easier". But that illusion of easy or simple is fake. It's a mirage. What has been given to me through my genetics is the blueprint for my true purpose. Everything that makes me different can help me become a better advocate for those with no voice. My body was trying to tell me this the whole time, I just needed to remove the blindfold of self-hatred from my eyes, and see it for myself.