At some point I realized that I did not want the relationship with my body that my mother had with hers. Nor did I want the relationship with bodies in general that my dad had. This fear of fat. This shame. This disgust. This drive to dominate your own body. To think a body without the evidence of discipline was unworthy, unlovable.

I don't know exactly when, but I started speaking to my body. It was somewhere between finding that certain foods made me sick and beginning to do capoeira with very nearly no experience with organized exercise. When food makes you sick and brings pain instead of energy and health, you lose a support that so many people take for granted. It was like not being able to trust the atmosphere of this planet. My food problems intensify if I don't deal with my stress and just pack it away. My body was telling me that I was not being thoughtful or kind to myself. So. At 19 I needed to confront my trauma and my stress if I was going to be able to eat.

I asked everyone I knew what they do with their stress. No one in my life had anything helpful to say. No one. Many people wished me luck. And nearly everyone asked me to let them know when I find the answer. I was a brand new adult born into a world with no functioning role-models for the only thing I needed to know at that time in my life. And somehow that led me to talking to my body. I remember lying in bed one morning and asking my body if today was going to be a good day. There was a lot to do and I wanted to know if we were going to be able to do it together. It probably sounds silly. But that was a turning point.

Since then, I have apologized on the days when I know I have taken on more than I should and for the grief that weighs both body and spirit down but has to be experienced. I have asked my body to forgive me when it hurts because I ignored my limits. I have thanked it for being a good home and thanked it for keeping my mind and spirit safe. And I have come to realize that all of this is important. Not because talking to your body changes very much. But it does is make space for gratitude, regret and forgiveness. For a relationship with yourself based on wholeness and respect.

I'm a person who tends to live in my head. I don't feel particularly good or bad about how I look, what I weigh, or what beauty standards are out there. I tend to be aware of my body only as it relates to how I communicate and am received. Like how being tall can make it difficult to talk to men who are sensitive about being short. Or how being thin means people will assume that you are healthy even in a doctor's office for a visit about how you get horrible, burning pain whenever you eat anything. I have had weeks upon weeks in which I have only given enough thought to my body to make sure I am wearing clothes and showered which is to say, entirely on autopilot with almost no thought at all.

But when I talk to my body, I think about what I need differently. It helps me respect and accept my limitations instead of pushing to burnout. It helps me be on my own team instead of always waiting for positive feedback from the people around me to determine my course.

This is a funny week to wrote this. I work a very physical job and have gone immediately from work to our new house to sand floors every day until 10pm or later. “Burning the candle at both ends” has never felt more apt and I am the candle. But I found myself asking my body, “do we have one more day in us?” and waiting for the answer. That’s a kind of success that doesn’t get celebrated often enough.