I hate my body...sometimes. The boyish figure, buying bras and bathing suits for non-existent boobs, the way it does whatever it wants despite my prodding and cajoling. I dislike the sudden roundness of my abdomen even though the weight hasn't changed. With age has come; slack to the once taut and supple skin, crow’s feet and let's not even talk about the neck. My body laughs at me and my mistakes. It says, "Why didn't you appreciate me when you could? Even when your strength was at its peak, when the aches were few and far between, you still found reasons to be unhappy." Frequent uproars....when I exercise too hard, eat food it decides is not appropriate for us or simply ask it to do something that was once so easy. An all over profound dryness reminds me that we are aging. I need drops for my eyes, chew gum for dry mouth, require continuous applications if lotion on my skin and even when my desire for my Boy Scout is tremendous, more times than not my body sits quietly as if to say...."Nah, don't think so." Those are the emotions I have when the societal pressures of looking and being perfect have come to the point where 18 year old women that are 5'10" and weigh 100 lbs are being airbrushed to look thinner, smoother and "better". When every magazine cover tells me how I can improve.
Truth....I do feel these things once in awhile. But mostly....
I love my body. It has done miraculous things. It has, for 52 years, protected and cared for me. With a little help, it formed 9 fetuses. It developed 4 of those fetuses into incredible human beings. It brought the first baby into this world through a tiny incision in my abdomen and then went ahead and did what it was designed to do with the other 3. It gained and lost many pounds. It fed those babies in a way that amazes me still. It was damaged with wounds and broken bones and procedures and it healed itself wondrously. It reacts and protects. It is still strong and beautiful and completely, beautifully imperfect. My glorious almost "A's" have never once given me any crap about my running. In fact, I don't believe they even bounce (hence the lack of porn movies and Chive gif.'s on my resume). My body has loved and been loved. It has hugged nearly every person that it thinks will tolerate it. It held, with tenderness and love, both of my dying parents. It has given itself to just a couple of men and only regretted one of them. It connects me to what is beautiful on this planet....this body allows me to see and hear and feel all that is lovely.
We are beautiful miracles. Don't let that fucking voice in your head, or anyone else, tell you anything different.