a letter

Dear Body,

I haven’t been good to you. I sometimes don’t understand how you’re still alive and thriving. I think I’ve hated you because people used you and I figured you weren’t worth much after that. I can’t tell you why I hurt you so many times, only that it felt good, at least temporarily when I did. You aren’t very beautiful, and I wish you were, life would’ve been a lot simpler if you were. You inherited the genes of those who made you, so you really had no say into it. I hate you most days. The way you sit in the world. The way gravity pulls on you. You have however, been loved and admired by other eyes that weren’t mine. I don’t know how they saw past you, but I am happy to have felt that warmth and continue to because my husband loves you just as you are. I wish I were more like him, but unfortunately, I am not. I’m so sorry for what I’ve done to you, please know I’m better at loving you now regardless, if I enjoy you. I promise to feed you good things and take care of you if you get sick. I am indebted to you for all the things I’ve suffered and for all the things I’ve enjoyed.



Dear Ingrid,

It’s been a painful existence. I do however understand why you did the things you did. I knew you’d be ok in the long run. Sadly, I had no way of growing into something you loved because I just did what I was inclined to do, I am only a body, a shell—a vehicle to drive your spirit in. I wish you loved me the way others have loved me. I wish you saw what they saw, but I’m just thankful that you haven’t hurt yourself the way you used to and that there are moments you see something beyond this nothing flesh. You have to understand that the reason people love you isn’t because of this body, and that it’s a beautiful thing to be seen beyond these walls. I hope one day, you get to where you’re at the very least content with how you look and then realize it never mattered in the first place. Thank you for staying healthy and for caring for me. I’m here till you die.


your body

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