When I was in high school, we had an activity where this lady came to talk to us about body positivity. (It was a girls only activity.) They asked us to say what our favorite body part was, and I said my hands.
I found myself thinking back on that after watching Molly Roberts’ 20(ish) Grimoire Prompts for Witchy Wellness on youtube the other day. One of her prompts was: “What do you LOVE about your body?” She goes on to say that it is difficult to nourish something that you loathe and are ashamed of.
For fun today, I’ll tackle her question. What do I love about my body? Isn’t it so much easier to go into detail all the things I don’t love? My puckered stomach worn out from carrying my two kids, my psoriasis-plagued skin that burns and itches and sheds flakes of skin if I don’t take baths regularly, my stupid pincer toenails that grew inward at some point and “look like staple toes” according to my husband. I could go on: my hair, which is uncooperative and underneath my eyes, which are always heavy and dark. And of course my stupid knee that hurts when I run on the treadmill too hard, serving as a reminder of age and old injuries and, irritatingly, keeping my heart rate down when I work out. Yes. It is easier to go into these details. I’m dissatisfied with my body for many reasons: its performance, its appearance, its inability to create serotonin with any regularity, etc. But what do I love about my body?
I can still start with my hands. These two wonderful, ugly, psoriasis-ridden hands have made sweaters and scarves. Without these hands I couldn’t knit. I couldn’t draw pictures, write stories, wash my daughter’s hair. I love my hands, because they are so fucking useful. I hold books with my hands, I drive my car, I pick up food and put it in my MOUTH!
I love my mouth! Food is pretty much the best thing ever, and my tongue does a great job of tasting things every day. I used to smoke cigarettes and so I was worried my flavor-gauge was sucky, but I haven’t really noticed any problems. Food is still delicious, a fact I’m able to enjoy because of my wonderful mouth.
I love my body, because it has served me well so far. It has carried me through a lot of tough situations. It has held up in spite of the abuse thrown my way. I love my body, because it reminds me to take it easy. I love my body, because of its ability to do things: see, smell, feel, taste, hear.
I have good vision, and my hearing is decent (maybe a little not so great because of all the loud heavy rock I blasted directly into my eardrums throughout high school, but it’s decent).
I love my body when I am running. I identify as a mouse a lot. Like, if I had a wheel I would spend a lot of time running on it. In fact, whenever I’m in a bad mood I tend to find myself at the gym “hamster-ing it out.” When I run and run until my heart pounds and I can only think about taking the next step all of my problems are gone for that moment. I love that feeling. And I love the feeling that comes after, a euphoric crash of exhausted giddiness when my workout is over.
I love my body when I’m riding a bike. Riding a bike is so much fun. And you can’t do it, without a body.
I love my body when I’m doing yoga! I’m not great at yoga, and I don’t practice it with regularity, but when I do focus on breathing and moving with my breathing I feel very in tune with myself. And just standing in a warrior pose for an extended period of time can raise a LOT of energy within my body, which makes me feel very powerful.
I love my body when I’m lifting weights! This is also something that makes me feel very powerful. I also love to stretch my body. Like a cat will push out his little tail-end and yawn, stretching his little front paw beans. I like doing that.
In one of my first college courses, philosophy, we discussed the body and the brain and sort of, where does one end and the other begin? Can I appreciate my brain as a part of my body? Do I love my brain? My sad, squishy little brain with all it’s connections all mixed up? If you don’t love your brain, do you even love yourself? And if you don’t love your body?
I do love my brain. And my body. But, ultimately, I think they both disappoint me. Much in the way my children disappoint me. Like, I know you can do better, brain. I know you can do better, body. And Jesus, kids, clean your fucking room. You know? Like, I LOVE them. But because I have to, because I’m stuck with this brain and this body. It’s what I have and I have to make the most of it. Is that the same as love, really? It’s how I feel about my kids, and society says that mothers love their children. So maybe disappointment is just a part of love. But I’m disappointed because I see their potential, right? And with my kids, my brain, and my body I try to be gentle and acknowledge when they try their best.
Love is one of the hard things about life. I’m sorry that it doesn’t come easily to me. I think I would be a lot better off if it did.
Sometimes, my kids and my dog all lie in a big cuddle pile on the bed. And the day is over, and we did our best and maybe we yelled at each other or maybe the dog peed in the house. And maybe I was too busy to read a story, and we had top ramen for dinner again. But we are all laying there, our little hearts beating together and it’s a nice feeling. I love that feeling, which I wouldn’t get to feel without my wonderful human body.
My love for my body is definitely a work in process. I can say that I don’t loathe my body, and I’m not ashamed of it. It is what it is, in this time and space. I do my best with it, but sometimes it is hard. I have chronic fatigue and chronic depression and psoriasis which wrecks havoc on my immune system and causes me to feel under the weather almost all the time. I have low iron and sometimes I fall asleep in the middle of the day even if I slept good all night. I pass out occasionally and I’m not sure why, but I suspect it’s the iron. I have aches and pains like anyone else. My serotonin levels are sub-par, and something else in my brain is fucked up because I’m an alcoholic. I have allergies, I grind my teeth, my knees pop when I bend… Having a body sometimes seems inhibitive to me. Like a fleshy prison that is a chore to take care of. [Side note: Sometimes I think, I’d like to get a big fat tattoo on my back that just says “I’ve been dying to meet you,” specifically for the mortician who prepares my body.] Just keeping my body hydrated and nourished is a difficult task! So needy!
I do absolutely love one thing. The best thing about having a body is being able to be asleep. I don’t know why I’m not asleep right now. I love my body when I’m sleeping. I love everything when I’m sleeping. Even my apocalyptic zombie nightmares- another creation from my amazingly wonderful human body.
Witch of the West 