Me and my body are fighting but this time it’s a full out war.
We always used to be acquaintances, not close friends and bound by an understanding that we’d have to live with each other for a while. Most of the times we’d resent each other; resent the pairing between us as if an annoying (but sensible) schoolteacher thought it would serve best the perfectionist suck-up and the lazy delinquent by seating them next to each other. We’d mostly ignore or avoid each other or turn a blind eye when one of us were in trouble. It’s not my problem you know. In fact, you deserve it.
A few times, my body would obey my wishes in looking acceptably desirable; I’d even feel mildly satisfied with what I saw when I got dressed. And that would make everything alright, even temporarily shine a light on some of the gloomy crevices inside. Like the small pieces of goodness I had always wanted to feel cancelled out the large chunks of badness I still knew I had.
We’d grow closer in those moments. Finally we were on the same page.
Such superficial bonding.
And then the goodness would fade and I would chastise my body because of course it was my body that fumbled it. I promised to not feed it and then I’d have no other option but food to fill the emptiness. And then I’d chastise my body again because
How could you lose control like this?!
But it’s not me that dictates how much to put in - it’s you!
Well then, how could you not buffer it like you’re supposed to?! You’ve betrayed me.
You have betrayed us all - you’ve betrayed yourself most of all.
Is it any wonder that my body refuses to move and bend and fit into the mould of my aspired desirability when all I’ve done is neglect, resent, loathe and - worst of all - disowned it? Is there any stronger indicator of dislike quite like dissociation? Even hate hides behinds hope and hurt.
Is it any wonder that my body that is fed by, and is a mirror into, my inner workings reflects as something to be hidden, hated and a never-ending project to be worked on? Is it any wonder that my body refuses to change in proportion to the things I’ve done to it; like a buffered solution? Is it any wonder now that it has no sympathy for it’s king and is leading a revolt against me?
Indeed only love could mend this fracture. Or is it only love could lay the foundation for this relationship to actually form - from scratch?
Because is it any wonder most of all that glimmers of deeper connection between me and my body came when I showed it some love?
How intimidating.
Because there’s a stick house built on it - do I have to tear it down? What if I can’t lay the foundation? Will I always be stuck without a shelter for protection? Isn’t there something easier to start with? How about ~compassion~~? Okay, how about ~acceptance~~? Big words; big asks. What about (kindness)? What about (gentleness)? What about... “I know it’s been really hard and I’m really sorry. And I’m sorry I haven’t made it easier for you; I really am”......
Start there.