An Apology to My Body
To my body,
I abuse you. I bully you. I have never truly accepted you. Because I was consumed in my belief that I can mould you. That I could shape you into something you’re not.
I conjure up wild fantasies of how and what we should be, chasing dreams that our legs cannot keep up with. Yet, you entertained the notion like a puppet manipulated with strings as we move onward and indulge in the pursuit of my dreams.
I wanted you to become stronger. Faster. More athletic. Leaner. Taller. Sexier. But you failed to keep up with my incessant demands.
In retaliation, I punished you. I pushed you harder than before. I starved you to exhaustion. And when that failed and I lost hope in these goals - I overindulged you till our belly swelled to twice its size and we entered a “food coma” state that lasted for days.
But never, no, not even once, did I ever say ‘thank you’. I never showed any gratitude towards your sacrifice and commitment, when I pushed you to the utmost extremities that would make anyone mad.
At some point, I pretended to love you for what you are. However, I should have known that first I needed to accept you for what you are. Because without acceptance of your limitations and flaws, I am still a liar. I am still a torturer. I am still an executioner of happiness.
Behind closed doors, I secretly despise the flaws. The scars, the afflictions, the abnormalities. Anything which remotely looks and feels out of place. Because we should look like everyone else. But we don’t.
Maybe we never will.
Our skin isn't smooth and flawless. Nor is our skin an acceptable ethnic colour that would shut down even the most casual racial insults. There are outrageous scars and blemishes that spoil our skin. I’ve attempted to mask them with lotions, creams and many more beauty products… but to no avail. And the imperfections still scream back and haunt me as I breathe.
Our face isn't symmetrical and beautifully proportioned. We glance at a reflection and only pay attention to the negatives: the large hooked nose, the bushy monobrow, the dark eyebags, and the unusually-shaped teeth. We rarely see the character traits underneath. Because people make snap judgements based on our looks. And they will judge us and rate us and discriminate against us because we are far removed from the “most desirable” in the human population.
We lie far below the ideal body standards. We have hairs growing in places of our body where we don’t want them to be. Darker hairs. Longer hairs. Thicker hairs. Sometimes an odd white hair... Yet, we are also absent of hair growth in places of our body where they are expected to be. Bare blotches of skin left untainted, making it seem stranger to our eyes the more we glare at these parts of us.
Nor are the muscles on our limbs sculpted like Greek statues, Hollywood stars and cover-worthy models. Instead, we scrutinise the pudginess around this tapestry of flesh and bone. Our bellies puff out, balloon and form a muffin top from a mere bite of food. Our arms and legs jiggle away through our clothing as we walk around attempting to conceal parts of us.
I know that I must ignore the background noise of self-loathing and learn to love you. But I don't. And I don't know why I can't silence the voices in our head and the opinions of those around us and simply say, "Enough". Because you have given me everything and more. But I continue to take, and take, and take…
Until the day comes, one Friday evening in Spring, when I finally realize the truth. As we lie there, our limbs are anchored like lead to the mattress. As all the energy in us dies with each passing breath from our lungs. As our heart sinks low in our chest, burrowed deep in emotional torment. And our eyes are vacant, remaining fixated on the ceiling light above us, staring into nothingness. That is the day when we finally ask ourselves, "Have we taken too much?"
Because when does it become too much? When do you finally give up on us? When do our organs and limbs shut down? When do we develop a terminal illness? Will we ever learn to stop and think about your limits… or do we continue to push you till it reaches breaking point?
Or do we learn to accept you for what you are, because we may not have you forever? Someday, you will be taken from us, limb by limb, organ by organ, till we remain as nothing but a memory buried in the ground.
The truth is, we should be thankful. No, we should be extremely grateful for what we have. I still have all of my limbs intact. There are many who don’t. All of my organs still function well. There are many whose organs don’t. I am still alive. There are many who are not.
That is why I must make amends with you. And I am not the only one who needs to do this. There are thousands, if not millions like us, who cannot accept that what we already physically have is ‘precious’. We have all made grandiose comparisons and upheld lofty expectations for ourselves.
We want to be "great" and "exceptional". We want others to see what we see in ourselves. Not what the mirror sees. Because we believe we are worth more than what that person in the mirror is. It just hasn’t shined through yet.
Yet, when will it ever be enough? When will you ever be happy with the way you were born?
Time is fleeting away and our bodies age more every day. So, perhaps we should act now. Perhaps, today we say ‘enough’.
Today, I have learned to accept you, and not focus on fixing parts of you that will ever be “fixable”.
From someone who is trying to love you more (and slowly getting there) each and every day.
Signed,
A compassionate mind
This was first written by me for a body-positive organisation called Label, back in April 2019. As I read over it, it still rings true today in 2023. The words leave a haunting impression in my head, as this is how I still feel about my own body, especially during summers. I don’t give it enough gratitude and appreciation that it deserves. Yet, I still remarkably take and take, always expecting more from it than I cared to admit.
It’s tremendously difficult to accept our bodies as they are. But we often need the poignant reminder that we only get one given to us since birth. So why not honour and cherish it? Perhaps this letter will help someone else show more compassion for their body as well. I certainly know that I need to heed these words right now more than ever.