Good morning, body.

I know we haven’t always been on great terms, but please hear me out.

I’m not going to beat around the bush: there have been days I hated you deeply.

We both know that you didn’t always show up to work. When you hurt me, I lost my self-worth.

You literally tore me up, body. I was so disgusted by you that I separated myself from identifying with you. Sometimes I saw you staring back at me in the mirror and wanted to smash your face.

I let my frustration control me. I acted out. I was very harsh with you. I was raised better than that, and I apologize.

I regret a lot. I’m flawed, oh so very much. But I’m sorry and I love every part of you. I want to move forward, body.

I hope you’ll accept this love letter to you.

To The Body I Love Dearly:

I woke today and thought, “I’m alive!!” I breathed deeply and let out a sigh. I know I’m here because of you and all you do.

There are so many parts of you I want to send my love to. Let’s start at the top.

To my hair:

Thank you for falling out while I was at my sickest. When you found the strength to let go it became clear how sick I had become. Because of you I was able to turn off autopilot and take care of myself. And I love how you wake up crazy! I have never loved anyone’s bedhead as dearly as yours.

Thank you.

To my eyes:

If there’s one part of me that sets me straight, eyes, you’re it. My reflection stares back at me with intensity and ferocious love. Because of you I’m able to see into my own soul. Thank you for allowing sparkles to shine and tears to fall.

Thank you for expressing my heart when words fail me.

To my mouth: We’ve had some tough times. Remember when they diagnosed you with tardive dyskinesia?

I was a full-time performer and losing control of my speech, motor skills, and muscle control was absolutely devastating. But you never stopped smiling, even when one side was drooping. You couldn’t stop sharing your love with those around you.

You opened up at therapy to share how dark your days were becoming, despite the challenges of speaking. I applaud the way you held onto hope. Thank you for the beauty of your expressions.

To my back:

You’ve been through so much, friend. You taught me that when I feel your pain, I can love you more, care for you better, and become one again. Thank you for reminding me to stand tall, to believe in myself, and to know my strength.

To my legs:

We’ve been through it all! From the compliments (remember the nickname “Stemz”?), to the multiple knee surgeries, to the doctors suggesting we rebuild my right leg.

The constant pain has never stopped you. Between the steroids and the bloating from my digestive diseases you hold the weight of my world on you. I cried when the doctors said I couldn’t run again. I thought it was all over. But you work—I have both of you!

Sometimes you’re a little slow, but that just helps me stop and smell the roses more. Thank you.

To my stomach: 

I always thought you didn’t work as if it was a choice, as though you were refusing to do your only job. I forgot you were struggling too. You probably felt accomplished when you digested something, and that feeling was stripped forever by a mistake at the hospital.

None of it was your fault…not the medications, the diseases, the steroids, the bloating.

Not the shame of strangers asking when the baby was due. Not the 22 years of paralysis. Not the pain of hundreds of tests or the organs we’ve removed. It wasn’t your fault that I hid you under sweatshirts.

You deserved better.

Please forgive me, friend, for the missed trips to the beach, the missed dances, the absence of human contact. You’re beautiful and I love you for trying to work. Thank you for staying the course, for not taking away my precious years with drastic action.

From now on we’re a team. Always.

This could go on forever. Body, you’re amazing. So you don’t work like “healthy” people. If you did I would have taken you for granted all my life. Your flaws are your beauty because they have made you strong. You work so hard, you accept so much pain, you overcome challenges, and you never ever give up on me.

Thank you. I love you.

Love,

Me

P.S.: When we go to bed tonight, I am snuggling the sh*t out of you!

Author: Katie Lasky

Editor: Renée Picard

Photo: Author’s own