Body by Rebecca
I have recently been relearning how to love my body.
I’d say my body and I have always had a love hate relationship, but that’s not true. Like most beings born into this world, I was born connected to and in harmony with my body. We were in it together…mind, body, and soul. I was fascinated with my toes, my tongue, my fingers, and my reflection, both in the mirror, and in other faces. I was delighted to be alive, and every moment of every day all my parts were working in concert to help me become…me.
Isn’t this one a cutie? Me at around 4 or 5 at Disneyland. Yes, I still make that face. It’s one of my favorites. And I did finally grow into my ears.
I was what was once called a tomboy. Today we might say gender fluid or nonbinary. In this picture I loved my body…the one that played three flies up and tether ball, jumped rope, climbed trees, swam in the ocean, tasted honey from the jar, held my baby brother and kissed his chubby cheeks, rolled down grassy hills, and spun in circles until falling down.
Somewhere along the lines I lost that precious love and my body became dangerous, different, and dowdy. In the 4th grade other students called me ‘the nun’ because my school skirt hung down past my knees and I didn’t roll it up, tease my bangs, or wear make up and three pairs of different colored socks coordinated to my scrunchies and earrings like all the other girls. I had a friend, Jenny, that took me under her wing and quickly taught me how to do all those things, as well as using Noxzema to wash my face, and the importance of a Caboodles make up caddy. I learned to clip my wings, to bind myself, to conform for other people’s comfort and to feel like I fit in.
After (and during) that time many other things happened that taught me what it meant to be female-bodied: hyper-sexualized and scrutinized for any deviation from the standard of American beauty from a single-digit age. This is nothing less than trauma, and it’s cumulative effect on young girls in this country is debilitating.
It was through a recent spiritual journey that I came back to this work…this war…after so many battles. I was preparing a bath for myself, and as I looked into the mirror I saw myself not as I am, but the way my body has looked at some of the most unhealthy times in my life, deep in grief over the loss of my father, or toward the end of a long and emotionally abusive relationship. One thought rung out in my mind, so loud, so urgent, so ready to take up arms once more:
I thought I had defeated you.
What an awful thing to say, when looking at my own reflection. I thought I had defeated you. When did I become my own enemy, and how did it happen? Into the bath I went with all my spiritual allies to think about why, when I thought I had put my body issues behind me, this was coming up, and what I was going to do about it. I cried for a while, hummed and rocked and wept, and I let the feelings wash over me. There was shame, confusion, grief, disgust, discomfort, anger, despair. It all came pouring out…sexualization of my body beginning at 5, boys no longer wanting to be friends when my breasts started developing at 9, my friend telling me her grandpa was molesting her at 11, being put on diet and exercise programs to manage my weight starting at 12, attempted rape at 13, my first sexual experiences at 14, getting sex ‘out of the way’ at 17, actual rape at 19, a C-section at 25, a miscarriage at 27, sexual harassment at every job I had from 1997 up until 2019. All true, and all things I thought I had dealt with. There is no one in my life today who has access to me that looks at my body with anything other than love. Isn’t that a gift? Aren’t I okay now? Aren’t I safe?
I had saved myself from every danger, slayed every monster, and rescued myself from every tower save one - the one I built for myself. Because it is true that I am so lucky, and so privileged that no one else is studying my body except to give it love. And as I sank into that realization it became a song.
That no one else is studying my body, except to give it love.
No one else except me. What a powerful realization that having built a tower of my feelings to protect me from all the trauma around me I had made myself a captor. I sang and wept and sang and wept. At some point I accepted the image of myself that was being reflected back to me and decided I was the monster that needed locking up. I sang for my captivity. I sang for my fear. I sang for the child who never should have been so burdened. I sang for the realization of my privilege that no one else is studying my body except to give it love, when that’s not true for so many. I sang for the black and brown bodies, trans bodies, indigenous bodies, female presenting bodies, queer bodies, old bodies, fat bodies, skinny bodies, different bodies of any kind who are still targeted, hunted, who live in fear. I sang for my growth and my strength, being powerful enough to protect myself now.
Over and over I sang until I felt the stones of my own tower I had erected out of all those feelings of grief and shame and despair began to crumble and fall.
From the rubble the truth emerged shaky and weak from having been hidden for so long, but now growing in strength every day: My sex is my own. My gender is my business. My body is strong and keeps me alive. My body is smart and tells me what they need. And beyond how my body wants to feel, and look, and be, nothing else matters. Because they are my body, for my pleasure and purposes, and to be shared and enjoyed in the ways and when, where and with whom I choose. Because they are me as much as my mind and soul. We are a beloved trinity. We are three who are one.
Here are some practices I am using to fall back in love and deep relationship with my body:
Create a safe space in whatever way we do that for ourselves: Therapy, calling on loved ones/allies, creating sacred space, prayer, meditation, journaling, church or temple, etc.
Map out our body with pictures or words. Revisit the places in our body where we hold significant memories of trauma that have formed negative patterns of thoughts/feelings about our body. Make art, dance or move, sink into it.
Feel into the anger/shame/grief or other negative emotions. When feeling this way, how have we been unkind or less than loving to our body? What are the things that we have done, or may still do that are harmful to our body? Draw it, sing it, write it down.
Take responsibility for the impact of our negative actions that have harmed our body in the past in an emotionally charged or upset state. Maybe write them out. Make a list. Make an apology for each transgression. Imagine how it could be different. Dream about it.
Make amends. This involves not only truly coming to terms with the self-inflicted damage we have both caused and endured, but also creating a plan and making a commitment to behave differently in the future to rebuild love and trust with ourselves. What’s your plan? And how will your forgive yourself and try again when it’s hard?
Cultivate gratitude. What are the things we love about our bodies? Whether it be the taste of ripe fruit warm from the sun, orgasms, cuddling those we love, hiking in nature, the feeling of the ocean on our skin, or the smell or taste of it. There are so many things to take delight in. What are the ways we can get back to this state?
Listen. When our body speaks they tell us what they need. And our body speaks to us all the time, when they are tired, thirsty, hungry, hurting, desirous, joyful, craving touch…movement…nature…adventure. We are the enchanted creature in the woods. Follow us.
Express love. Stretch. Eat. Hydrate. Sleep. Spend time in nature. Exercise. Make love. Adorn ourselves with ornament and beauty. Apart from addiction and dysfunction, our bodies can be trusted to tell us what we need. How can we rebuild this loving trust?
May you find this of good use.
Happy falling in love again.
💖
