Let me just say simply this, You are beautiful.
Truly, you are this amazing piece of art that has carried me through thirty-three years of digesting and moving and thinking and creating and loving and living.
You are more than 600 muscles stretched over 206 bones, running alongside an incalculable number of nerve endings which scientists can’t fathom to count.
You are this machine that is constantly working and producing — 100 billion new cells and 4,000 heart beats
every hour you live.
Body, this brain that sits at your crown has more connections than stars in the universe and moves information at 268 miles per hour, and it allows me both to think philosophy and move my pinkie toe.
And yet, and yet.
I belittle you. Call you fat. Complain about your stretch marks. Compare you to younger versions. Obsess about all the ways you don’t measure up to the girls in the magazines.
And, Body, I am sorry for that. Sorry for all the times I haven’t appreciated you for the complex gift you are that has birthed babies and run down basketball courts and morphed from toddler to adult.
But, this year, this summer, will be different– I promise.
I at-least hope.
This year, I’m going to revel in the ability to dig in the sand without worrying about what rolls are showing, where.
This summer, Body, I’m not going to look too long at the other bathing suits on the beach, not going to whine about her bigger chest or flatter stomach or skinnier thighs.
I’m not going to miss the memories of today, distracted by the discontent with this awe-inspiring masterpiece that’s been given to me.
Because work of art, you most definitely are.
Grateful for You,
Question: Do you struggle with self-image more in the summertime? What are two things you LOVE about your body?