Before we begin… a programming note:
Hi everyone! It’s so wonderful to see you all here. I just wanted to say a few words about some changes you are going to see here at The Civilian. You probably came here to read about politics, which is very near and dear to my heart. You will still find that here, sometimes. However, I’ve realized that the main thread that I research and write about is, of course, how we treat others. I’ve been doing a lot of work recently to treat myself with the same kindness, compassion, and respect that ask of others. This newsletter is going to continue with this thread, but some of the posts may hit quite differently. I welcome you, at any time, to unsubscribe. But for those of you who stay, I humbly thank you for walking in vulnerability with me.
For this post about body image, I thought it was important to record so you can hear it from a voice. You can hit play and hear that version above, or you can read below. I committed to reading it in one take, so you will hear my voice cracking and breaking and the emotion get the best of me. Thank you for your love and patience.
A Letter to Myself
Over the weekend, I had what I (not so creatively) call a “bad body image day.” I was trying on some summer clothes and, although I have tried so hard to improve my mind’s programming, I still have days that are extremely difficult. Maybe you can relate.
This day was particularly rough, and I went to bed feeling absolutely horrible about myself. In the morning, still feeling rotten, I decided to take it to my journal. I filled an entire page with absolute hatred for my body— the poison seemed endless. But then, enough. I thought… what if my dearest, dearest friend came to me and said all of these things about herself? What would I think? What would I say to her? Turning over a fresh page, I wrote a letter to Her. And this is what I would like to share with you now.
Oh, Friend,
Please, please stop being so hard on yourself. It wrecks me to hear you say these hateful things about your body. You are so loved. You are so beautiful. Every part of you is good. Your body is good. Look at what it has done! Your body has carried you safely and healthily to this age. It has taken you on many adventures. It has protected you from hurt, and it has protected you from yourself. It has never let you down.
Remember when you were twelve, at camp, and went on a backpacking trip for three days? Your body now is the same body that was there then. When you were small and were running, and biking, and skinning your knee? That was the same you, too. When you were fifteen and had your heart broken for the first time? Your body kept you standing tall— shoulders back and head held high.
Remember when you turned twenty-one and had way too much to drink (as newly minted twenty-one-year-olds are apt to do)? Even at this folly, your extraordinary body knew to be sick and remove the toxins from you.
Remember when you were a bit older, and you would have a project to get through—a clients’ wedding, or an event you were running— and you didn’t yet know how to take care of yourself? Your body did. Your body carried you, stress and all, across the finish line. And then, and only then, would your body say enough! and force you to rest.
Your body knew precisely what to do when it carried three children. Amazing, isn’t it? When you were twenty-three and had absolutely zero clue what to do, your body did. It knew how to hold a baby and comfort him. Your body knew—it knew!—how to make that sound and to sway just right so you could soothe your child to sleep.
Remember when you were pregnant with your last baby and were facing a cross-country move? Remember how your mind was not ready. It was not there, it was not functioning. But your body showed up for its job, safely and consistently, every minute and every hour and diligently did everything it was supposed to do.
And, friend, remember when wave after wave or horribleness happened two years ago, how your body took care of you? Your mind would not let you sleep. Your mind would not let you eat. The last thing your mind could do was to be strong. But your body was so resilient. Your body—those muscles, those bones, that blood, that flesh—carried you through your darkest days yet. Even when you were not quite able to care for her. Remember how surprised you were that it did not kill you? Your body rescued you.
Friend, remember when life is good and beautiful, it is your body that allows you to experience it. Your ears hear the notes. Your eyes see the light. Your fingers feel the touch, your muscles feel the ache. Your voice echoes the laugh! All of these things are you. Without your body, what would your life be? Who would keep the record?
There is no hour to waste here. Life is experienced with and through our bodies. We cannot spend another moment discounting that magic. So please, please. Be kind to yourself, friend! You need to experience this world. Do not hate the very thing that carries you. I know you and you think your mind is everything—you rely so much on her depth and strength. But please remember: to whom does your mind belong to?
And now we get personal