[Inspired by a commenter on Sal’s recent post about Flaws]
Hey there, body:
I know we’ve had a rocky relationship over the years. Sometimes, I’ve been a jerk to you, and I know you were totally mystified why. None of it was your fault: I didn’t know then, just how much power the views of others had on my own self-worth. But I know now, and I’m really truly sorry for not appreciating you for all that you do for me.
For one, you’ve taken me out dancing, and for that I can never, ever express enough gratitude. The greatest joy in my life is moving you to music, by myself or with someone else. I couldn’t take one tiny step without all of the muscles working together in these awesome legs. Wobbly they may be, but feeling resonance within you is one of those fears turned into a joy.
You’ve also turned me into a casual cyclist, saving me time over waiting for the bus like a boss.
I used to worry that your giant rack might be a bit overkill: after all, when I was younger, I was so content when it was smaller and I had been so hopeful that I was done growing. Now? I know what those marvelous boobs are for. They’re for shimmying and catching cookie crumbs and turning heads and for feeling powerful.
Calves? I thought it was you stressing me out, but really it’s all the sock makers who don’t quite understand one size fits all isn’t enough sizes in terms of socks. You, on the other hand, just provided the best canvas for me to work through some of my grief, and look freaking fabulous in high heels. Fuck those sock makers, we’re cooler than them.
When I weighed 140, I wanted nothing more in the world than to weigh 125. Now, at just shy of 200, I want nothing more in the world than to treat you right. I’ll take you out dancing. I’ll make us some solid home-cooked dinners when I can. We’ll go on walks and explore the city of Chicago together. I promise to treat you better, because I know, we both know, what it’s like to be mistreated, and I can’t believe I’ve been doing that to you.
Thanks, for everything you do,