May 8, 2020

Dear Body,

Hey. It’s me. Or, you. Us…? I’m not sure. Anyway. You know me. I’m the one who has treated you like absolute shit since about 1999. I think it’s safe to say that I’ve been, like, the worst life partner ever. I’ve never just let you be what you want to be without questioning and berating you at every turn. I’ve never accepted you! I’ve just criticized you over the years, day in and day out, for old flaws and new flaws I’ve perceived you to have. But you know what I want to say to you now? Fuck those perceived flaws. I think I love you. And it’s about goddamn time, for you and me both, sister. 

You know what’s crazy? I have believed, since puberty, that gaining weight is a failure and losing weight is a success. Black and white, plain and simple. And if you were to ask 50 women if they feel the same way, I can almost guarantee you that 49 of those women would agree. (Disclaimer: I know nothing about math or statistics. These just felt like good, strong, realistic numbers). The point is, we are told, from as early an age as society can get its death grip on us, that our bodies are more valuable, more lovable, if they are smaller. We receive that information everywhere: TV, movies, magazines, our friends, our families, well-meaning aunts, creepy strangers. And the most heartbreaking thing about it all is that many of those people don’t even realize they’re feeding us that poison. It’s as natural to them as breathing, as ingrained in them as it is in us. It’s hard to fight an enemy you can’t even see.

It’s not fair, body. I have forced you into one of two extremes way too often to quantify. I either get a case of the fuck-its and stuff you full of food and drink because it’s already too late and we’ll never be the kind of skinny we want to be; or I deprive you completely. I refuse to feed you. I punish you for being weak, and for encouraging us to turn to food for comfort, for relief, in anger, in joy, in boredom, in depression, in fear. I wonder if maybe I could’ve spared us such grief all these years if I’d just listened to the cues you’ve so gently given me since I was a baby. Since before I even knew what a body was. 

You tell me when I’m hungry with a gentle rumble of our stomach. You tell me I’m anxious before my brain does with a flutter in our chest. (Take that, dumb old brain. You think you’re so smart but you’re working embarrassingly hard all the time. Just chill the fuck out and let body do the talking). You literally wake me up from a dream in which I’m bleeding on my sheets to get me up to the bathroom to pee to find that I’ve just started my period, therein preventing me from actually bleeding on my sheets. That one happened recently and it really blew my mind. Are you a frickin’ magician? I can’t believe I haven’t worshipped you every day that I’ve known you. 

I owe you so much. And I’m gonna start paying you back now. I promise you that I will let you lead the way from now on. I promise that I won’t force you to do things you don’t want to do. Like burpees. Can I just say, fuck burpees? I don’t get it. They hurt, they suck, they’re not fun. If you like burpees, I’m happy for and also jealous of you. But us? Over here? Emily and her sweet, sweet bod? We hate ‘em. You know what I’m gonna let you do, body? Yoga. So much yoga. That feels good to us. We feel strong and expansive when we’re doing it. Stretching! Stretching feels so nice. I’m also gonna let you ride our bike as much as we want. We feel so free when we’re riding, don’t we? So childlike yet autonomous. I’m gonna let you knit, I’m gonna let you play piano, I’m gonna let you lie flat on our back for hours at a time if that’s what’s calling to you. And one day, maybe, when the world continues, I’m gonna let us have sex again. I know, I know, it’s uncomfortable to talk about. But I extra promise you that, when we do, I’m not gonna let us just be a pornographic fantasy come to life for whatever male person we’ve chosen to take our clothes off with. We’re gonna be the full scope of ourselves with them, and if they’re anything short of awestruck by us, we’re gonna say a nice firm bye-bye because it’s just not worth the effort.

Body, there’s one more thing. And it’s a pretty big one. You’ve changed quite a bit since the pandemic began. And it’s really hard for me to not be mad at you for that. In fact, sometimes it feels nearly impossible to even forgive you for that. But… we had a new moment in the shower the other day. I looked down at you, at the parts that I’ve spent years loathing -- the softness in our belly, the way our thighs push up against each other -- and I felt such a gentleness toward you, a curiosity. I thought, “Well, body. We’re in this absolute shitstorm together, huh? I wonder what shape we’ll take next.” And with that thought came a genuine wash of gratitude. Gratitude because you’ve kept me safe, kept me healthy, kept me alive during this time when so many others’ bodies aren’t doing that. So many others’ bodies are being brutalized by this virus that doesn’t seem to discriminate at all. How dare I take this time to punish you for literally helping us survive? You, my friend, are a goddamn miracle. 

This situation we’re in is cataclysmic. It’s a global trauma that none of us are equipped to handle. It’s impossible to know how to cope with the roller coaster of feelings that faces us every day, every hour, every minute. But lately, when it all has felt like too much to bear, I try to come back to my body. You, body, are the thing that has kept me here for all of these years. So, in an effort to express my gratitude to you, I sit down, I close our eyes, and put a soft hand on our heart. We breathe in pain, we breathe out hope. We are alive. 

Thank you. I love you.

Emily