I was taking a little one mile walk for my lunch half-hour, and I was feeling the sun and the wind and my legs carrying me along. I realized at that moment that I had never loved my body before and why not? Because it was ugly. Because it didn’t do what I wanted. Then I realized that my poor, dear body had been doing its best with what I was giving it, not understanding the circumstances, and having no way to tell me what it needed besides with aches and pains and added weight. Every lump, bulge, hard place, and soft place a testament to my life’s journey. Now that I am making friends with my body I notice that it seems to joyfully help me along, but I have to listen to what it really needs.
I imagine a conversation with my body. It wonders why I keep feeding it when it’s not really hungry, it faithfully stores the food I give it in case of famine or a long journey. Dutifully it tries to rebuild itself with insufficient nutrients, it asks for more food in hopes that it can get what it needs, and what does it get? more junk. So it does what it can, it asks for more rest because it’s not able to continue with such poor quality fuel.
But then it’s passenger gets an idea! Better fuel! More nutrients! My body can finally start doing it’s job properly with good materials. Realizing this today, I started loving my body because it’s doing it’s best with what I give it. It carries me along and gives me a home, and even all my bulges and bumps show where my body is trying to protect me against potential famine. I love my legs, stocky and strong from a lifetime of walking. I love my teeth, poor and crooked as they are, as they still chew up my food despite lots of sugar abuse. It goes on and on, as my body and I learn to finally work together.